The one that stays

Chapter 1: Dead but not leaving

He had never believed in god, this almighty being in heaven. The thought about a man and you have to say man as everyone describes him as one, who dictates your fate. He never liked the things the priest told them in church and every time he tried to tell their parents that there is no god, they dismiss him. Mycroft told him one day it wasn't about prove that there is no god or that there is one. If you could prove that there is a god you would destroy the whole concept. It´s all about believe and they both don't have that kind of believe, their parents do and it is not their call to take that away from them.

He stopped questioning god and the church; actually he ignored the whole concept until now. Because right now a god would be a good thing. Right now he needs a miracle. Standing at the edge of St. Bart's hospital roof and looking down in the frighten face of his friend. He is frightened and he has every reason to be, because his friend is on his way to jump down that building what will kill him.

If Sherlock could think of another way to end this without jumping, with John alive too. He would choose it. Whatever would be taken instead? He could live without most people in the world. He could not live without John. Not jumping means losing John and without him there was no need to stay in this world. He wasn't strong enough to survive a world without his friend, being alone again. But John, he was strong and brave. He was a soldier and he will survive. It is a bit unfair of him to let him alone but he will find someone new.

"Good bye John" I´m sorry. If I had another way I would chose it. I hate to let you alone. Please forgive me.

Sherlock opens his arms and takes the last step into the abyss. One of his last thoughts was that it wasn't that high, he could survive. The last thing he saw was John´s eyes pleading him to stop. Sherlock had to close his eyes he doesn't want that to be his last memory.

In the last moment of his fall, of his life he visits John´s wing in his mind palace. To find a relaxed John sitting in his chair by the fire and enjoying a quiet evening.

Sherlock woke up. He woke up on top of the roof from St. Bart's and something was wrong. It was night and a pale moon was up in the sky. It was wrong for Sherlock to wake up, because the last thing he remembers was jumping down from this roof, to his death. He shouldn't be able to wake up or sleeping on the roof.

He sits up and looks around. Even if he hadn't jumped someone must have come up here to get him down. John. Sherlock looked around but couldn't find him. John had watched him he would have come up here to get him down. Where is he and where is Moriarty´s body. He shoot himself right here in front of him. He should lay here except someone took care of his corps but why was he here? Sherlock touches his face and head with his hand to search for any injuries the impact on the ground could have had. Nothing. His arms and hands look fine too. He could move his toes and feel the muscle under his skin move. He was fine, he couldn't have jumped but he remembers jumping, remembers John. He needs to find John, what if something happens to him.

Sherlock stands up and feel the first time a new weight at his back, maybe that´s where he met the ground. His hands wander up under his coat to feel for injures but there was no pain no blood, broken bones or anything else just an unfamiliar weight that doesn't feel wrong but new. He moves around and hears a soft swishing sound and turns around but nothing was behind him. The noise continues but stays out of sight. "Oh come on, whoever you are show yourself, I don't have time for this kind of games." No one answers but as he stops moving the noise stops. Sherlock still hasn't found the source for the weight and his shoulder starts to each as if he would crump some of his muscles in an untrained way. He puts one of his hands on his shoulder and there it was something that shouldn't be there, something soft, something living.

Sherlock pulls his hand away and waits but nothing moves. Slowly and carefully he explores his upper back until his finger touches the soft, living thing again. Now, after touching it probably he can tell that it was something like feathers. He looks over his shoulder and sees in the light of the city and the moon two black wings. Sherlock stops breathing. There are two black moving wings attached to his back. To his shock he is able to feel them now, as part of his body like his arm or leg. The wings were part of his body and he couldn't understand how that had happen.

The winged detective sits down to think, whatever happened that was nothing he had expected. Think Sherlock. And he did. Nothing in his mind palace was helping, of course he found things form the Bible, church and his parent´s education but nothing explained why he had a set of wings and was sitting on top of a roof after committing suicide. That was the only thing he was sure off, he jumped and died like Moriarty had planned it.

With one hand he pulls one of his wings closer to look at it. They weren't black like he thought in the first moment, they had the color of the night sky, midnight blue. Smiling a sad smile, his brother had called the color of the night sky like that as they were children. He used to tell him stories about it and he loved them at night when he couldn't sleep. Once they tried to count the stars but there were far too many for it. Sherlock looks up to the sky, the lights of London prevent him to see more than a few lonely white points on the sky. But that wasn't important he needs to find John.

Sherlock stands up, ignores his wings or what he was right now and walk to the door, he also doesn't pay attention to the suspicious dark spot on the roof. He doesn't care for the blood Moriarty had left behind.

He walks off the roof and comes to stop by the door. He takes a deep breath and reaches for the handle with his hand … and his grip closes around nothing. He couldn't feel the different between air and the door handle. His hand just goes through it. So he was dead after all. His remaining presence in this world was still unexplained but hat least that was solved, he was dead.

Accepting his fate Sherlock takes a last breath (does he need to breath?) and steps through the door. Nothing happens with him, he stands in the stair case and makes his way downstairs. The door downstairs to get out was as solid as the one on the roof for him. Standing in the middle of a street with huge wings seems no one to bother, because no one sees him. The people walks pass him without looking or getting out of the way, some walk through him. There were only a few to the late hour but a man with giant wings would jump into the eyes of everyone. People can´t be that ignorant. So he is dead, can walk though solid materials and is invisible. His day is getting better with every second. Taking a cab was out of question now so he starts to walk to Baker Street, where he will find hopefully his friend.

During the long walk Sherlock tries to avoid walking though people it feels wrong and it somehow feels strange a bit, not that he would really feel something like a touch … he wasn't sure and doesn't want to explore it further, maybe later in an experiment. His wings were a different story, while walking down the streets he tries to flap them or move or do anything useful with them but it was different to feel a new limp and use it probable, he guesses he has to learn to use them like a baby learns to walk. "Stupid wings." They were huge, heavy and in the way. But flying was out of question, Sherlock would never use them for flying. Just because he has them doesn't meet for him to use them.

He arrives at Baker Street and hesitates. Will John be able to see him? Can he touch his own door? Will he be alone and is Mrs. Hudson alright? He wouldn't get answers without more information so he steps up the three steps to his door and walks right through it. A bit sad about the fact that he can´t touches his own home he climbs up the stairs and walks through the door to his flat. To his surprise he finds a chair blocking the door form the inside. That must be John´s doing.

The flat was cold. That was the first thing Sherlock notice, cold and bare any live as if both resident have vanished. Not just the one. Thinking of it Sherlock wasn't sure it was the night of the same day. It could be days later. Slowly after checking every room he walks up to John´s room under the roof. In his attend to know he had forgotten about the not toughing thing again, he stumbles right into the room.

There he was John Watson, his brave soldier sat on his bed tears in his eyes and looking into nothingness. It breaks Sherlock´s heart to see him like that. Of course he had thought for a second about what his death will do to John but still his tears were worse than anything he had expected.

"John?" Sherlock tries but there is no movement that indicates that John had heard him or could see him. Sherlock knees down and places his hands on John´s leg, not that he could touch them but he holds them in the right position. "John, I´m here I didn't leave you. I never will." But John couldn't hear him. He still looked right through him. "Please John, don't … just don't." Sherlock wasn't sure what exactly should John not do but right now it was pretty clear that whatever decision John would take this second it would be the wrong one. Sherlock sat back on the floor, but keeping one hand on John´s leg, watching his friend´s silent tears.

The sudden movement from John came to a surprise for both of them. John seen to be awake again, out of his grieve-frozen state and was looking for something in his nightstand, something that could only be one thing. His gun, the gun he had tried to hide form Sherlock and given up after Sherlock knew the hiding spots before John had even thought about them.

"Oh no John. NO. You will not do that to yourself. You will not kill yourself. Look at me. You get stupid useless wings when you do that." But John doesn't listen, without hearing Sherlock´s voice it wasn't even ignoring, he couldn't hear Sherlock´s pleading voice. "John please, I tried to save you, don't do that."

John had his gun in his hand placed in his lap, sitting on the bed again as if he waits for something. "No John. I didn't die for you so you could follow me the same day. You stop that right now." John´s hand begins to rise, the one with the gun and Sherlock´s only opting was to hold it down. "NO" He shouts a throw himself on the gun. To his endless surprise the gun stops. John looks as if he would hesitate, as if he was holds back by Sherlock. Sherlock didn't care what happened or how he concentrates on the one thing: KEEP THAT GUN AWAY FROM JOHN.

They stayed like that, John with half risen gun and Sherlock with his hands on the gun pushing it down with all his strength. The room was filled with Sherlock´s unheard words that he shouts and whispers at John do stop it.

"Please don't."

"I shouldn't have let you alone."

"I´m sorry."

"Don't do that."

"What uses does it have when you die too?"

"I jumped for you. Could you at least try to understand why I did it. To save you, so stay alive."

"Please John. I´m sorry but don't go."

"I will never leave you so please stay."

As the sun rises John looked up and Sherlock thought for a second that his friend would see him but John looked away again, at his gun. "Another night I guess." Sherlock breaks down as John stands, tidies his gun away and leaves for a shower, with an empty look in his eyes. Sherlock was sweeting and feeling more tired than ever before in his life or death in that case. It had cost him everything to keep John from raising the gun closer to his head. Thinking of what nearly happened and what would have happened if he hadn't shown up in time Sherlock felt sick and get up, ignoring his tired limps and the useless wings and hurries to find John. He wouldn't let him alone again. Never.