Get down off the roof, John. -/Unknown Number/
Leave me alone.-JW
Get off of the roof.
No.-JW
What are you planning on doing?
None of your damn business. Who is this?-JW
Irrelevant.
Leave me be, then.-JW
You're planning on jumping. Like /he/ did.
So?-JW
So. It's a daft idea. You aren't in a right state of mind.
He's gone.-JW
Is he?
He jumped.-JW
Yes. He jumped.
We buried him.-JW
They buried a casket.
Fuck off. Leave me alone.-JW
Go back to the flat.
No.-JW
Then take a good look around from where you're standing. Notice anything of interest?
Leave. Me. Alone.-JW
Lamppost in front of the bakery. There's an alley directly behind it. Look.
Who are you?-JW
/Look/, John.
He stood in the alley, partially concealed by the shadow of the two buildings. But he was there, his silhouette obvious.
John swallowed thickly as he stared at the alley, his hands shaking.
This isn't funny.-JW
I'm not trying to be funny.
He's dead.-JW
You were fooled into thinking that. It was for your own safety.
Stranger: No.-JW
You: Yes, John. Sherlock Holmes is alive. /I/ am alive.
No.-JW
…
[incoming call: unknown number]
John's bottom lip quivered and he answered his phone, letting out a shaky breath. "Hello?"
"I'm sorry I lied to you."
"Sherlock…"
"I had to do it. For your safety, and Mrs. Hudson's. I'm so sorry, John." His voice lacked the usual confident glow and arrogant tone; it was hollow and desperate, trying to keep composure.
"I…" John let out a quiet sob, closing his eyes. "Sherlock… I need you…"
A pain shot through Sherlock's chest, and he had the strong urge to do great damage to himself. "God, John," he whispered, "what have I done to you?"
John rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to keep his composure. "Fuck," he murmured, letting out another shaky breath. "Sherlock. Don't… Don't go. Again. Please. Please tell me you're staying."
"I'll stay as long as I can. I have to make sure you won't be harmed. I can't meet you at the flat."
"You're real? I'm not… This is real?"
"This is real, John. I promise."
"Oh, thank God." John forced a small smile.
"There's a little hotel on the east edge of town. Molly's family owns it. It's where I'm staying for the time being."
"Can I come?"
"Yes."
"Thank you… Thank you so much, Sherlock."
"Now get off the roof."
"…Alright."
Sherlock stood, unmoving, and watched to make sure John did so.
John carefully made his way off of the roof, going back inside of Bart's.
Sherlock relaxed considerably, knowing John was safe. "Thank you," he said once John was off the roof.
John leaned against a wall, closing his eyes. "I would have done it."
"I know, and that's what was terrifying."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was my fault."
"Don't say that."
"It's true, John. I made a choice. I knew this was a possible consequence."
"Don't blame yourself for this."
"It doesn't matter who has the blame. You're safe. That matters. I won't let you throw that away."
"I've missed you. So much."
"I've missed you, too…"
"Please don't leave me again."
"I never left. Not really."
"What?"
"I've been near. I couldn't just leave you. I wanted to make sure you didn't commit suicide. You almost saw me once. Actually, you did see me, but I hid quickly enough that you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you. That was hard for the both of us."
John closed his eyes tighter, holding back another sob. "Sherlock…" he murmured, his voice weak.
The way John said his name made Sherlock's heart skip. "I saw you at my grave, heard what you said. You wanted one more miracle. For you."
John wiped at his eyes, swallowing thickly. "One more miracle."
"One more miracle," he almost whispered. "This is the miracle, John."
"You… God, Sherlock…"
"Stop saying my name like that, or I'll go in there right now and blow my cover."
John let out a weak chuckle and shook his head.
"I've missed your laugh… I can picture your face perfectly right now, it's so amazing…"
"You always did like to stare when I laughed."
"I always stare at you anyway. I love your face. It's so…affectionate."
"Not much to love about my face, Sher."
Sherlock smiled at the nickname. "There's everything to love about it, John."
"There's plenty to love about your face," John corrected.
"You haven't seen it in three years."
"I still remember it."
"It looks different. I look different."
"It's still you."
Sherlock smiled slightly. "You're still as stubborn as before. Good."
"Haven't changed too much."
Sherlock's phone made a feeble beeping noise. His face fell. "These disposable phones can't hold a charge worth a damn. Come to the hotel as soon as you can. No one else knows about me except you and Molly."
John nodded, frowning. "I'll come. I promise."
"Thank you. I'll see you soon, John. I…" The phone beeped again and shut itself off. "…I love you," he breathed.
"I love you," John murmured, his eyes closing tightly once he knew that he hadn't said it in time.
Sherlock pocketed the phone and leaned against the wall of the alley. He closed his eyes and imagined John's face, his smile, his laugh… One more miracle…