Note: I'm currently still working on a different Fan Fic so I was sorta stressed when I was writing this one. Also I was listening to very Cheery music... Please y'know. Review. I may rewrite it later. Enjoy!
The stairs creaked softly under Sherlock's quiet footsteps. One at a time he ascended the stairs of 221b. I climbed at a steady, yet, extremely slow pace.
He was thinking, of course. Each slow step forward was a step closer to John Watson. It had been over three years since he had last seen him. Sherlock remembered the way he had stood over his grave so long ago. He had said something. Sherlock couldn't hear exactly what it was he said but he could tell by the way John had touched his grave that it was something sentimental.
There was so much Sherlock had to explain, and he his mind raced with all the possible ways he could explain himself to John. Sherlock looked up. He would just be plain and simple. He won't make a big deal over it. He smirked as he thought about John's reaction. Sherlock's pace quickened as he knew, no matter what he said, John would welcome him back. Maybe not right away. But maybe in a day or two. He thought of all the cases John would accompany Sherlock on again. He could only hope that things could go back to the way they were.
CRASH!
Sherlock stopped startled. He stood on the last step of the stair and listened intently. A rattling sound of glass came from what used to be Sherlock's room.
"John!" Sherlock called instinctively. He ran to where his bedroom was and opened the door to find it completely unchanged. Kept neat and organized, and not a thing was out of place. Besides a lamp which had fallen to the floor.
Sherlock looked at the floor in horror. Next to the broken lamp was John Watson, who had crumbled to the floor and had tugged the power chord on the way down. Sherlock noticed a bottle next to him. Prescription.
"John!" Sherlock shouted, louder and more frantic then before. He knelt down and turned John over so they were face to face, "John, What did you do!"
Sherlock whipped out his phone and hurriedly called the emergency help line. He told the woman on the line their location hurriedly, but slow enough for her to catch on. When the call was down, Sherlock knelt back on the floor and slapped John's face lightly.
"John. Wake up. You have to stay awake." There was a frantic edge to his voice he looked at his drifting friend. He spoke quickly as he sat down on the floor and pulled John onto his lap.
"Sherlock?" John whispered. He fluttered his eyes opened lazily. Almost as if he was trying hard to keep them open.
"John. What have you done," Sherlock whispered desperately.
"Sherlock, I've been waiting for you. I'm- I've been- I," John's eyes started to droop. Sherlock lightly patted his face again.
"Stay awake, John."
"I was so alone."
"I know, I'm sorry, John." Sherlock examined John's eyes. His voice cracked ever so slightly when he said his friend's name, "Just stay with me, Help is coming."
"No. No, I want to stay with you. That always where I wanted to be. I don't want to go back to a you-less life…." John spoke slowly. Sherlock's eyes became misty.
"John, I'm here. I'm alive. Stay awake. I've come back. I've come home." Sherlock shouted at him. He gripped the side of John's face and studied his eyes one by one. John smiled and closed his eyes. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat when they didn't open for a while, but they finally did but as if they were carrying a great weight.
"Sherlock, I'm tired."
Sherlock knew he wouldn't make it. He had arrived to late. Tears began to silently stream down the man's face.
"John…"
John blinked again but this time he didn't open his eyes. Sherlock matched their breathing, to their chest rose and fell at the same time.
"Mhmm?" John groaned. Sherlock bit his lip as tears fell past his face. He hugged John close to his body. Closer than he has held anyone.
"My dear Watson…," Sherlock began. He started to brush Johns hair with his hand, "I owe you a thousand apologies.."
Sherlock huddled closer to John and he set his lips above Johns head.
"I had no idea you would be so affected…" And he pressed his lips upon Johns forehead affectionately.
"Sherlo-…"
"John?" Sherlock's voice cracked.
There was no answer. Breathing had slowed.
"John!?" Sherlock repeated, more frantically and distressed. Sherlock pulled John's face away from him and started to try and shake him awake, "John, Wake up!"
He didn't. Sherlock knew he wouldn't.
Sherlock didn't know how many minutes had passed until he could finally hear the sirens. He found himself huddled over a barely breathing John Watson crying silently.
Sherlock's ears perked up a bit and he considered that maybe there was hope. Minimal, but maybe there was. And Sherlock cursed himself for believing in such a thing. He already knew.
Sherlock had readjusted his breathing to John's even though the breaths were too shallow and slow. There was a mad rush outside the flat. He heard someone open the door violently and the pound of many, maybe four men, running up the stairs.
Maybe there was hope. The men reached the last step on the stairs.
John's chest rose and fell and Sherlock waited for the cycle to go again. But it stayed. Sherlock went quiet. Tears continued to run down his face but now his features were contorted. He thought he heard voices behind him but he couldn't make out what they were saying.
John was gone. And it was his own fault.
If only he had come sooner.
"Sherlock!" A familiar voice said behind him, pulling him away from John's body. Sherlock struggle and kept his grip. "Sherlock, let go. You have to let go. Jesus Christ…"
The man finally succeeded in pulling Sherlock away and Sherlock saw through misty eyes, Detective Inspector Lestrade.
"I-" Sherlock started.
"Jesus Christ" Lestrade said again.
"I thought he'd wait.." Sherlock whispered, still sitting on the floor. Lestrade watched as the paramedics carried out John's body and rubbed his face. Greg was still trying to comprehend everything that was going on. He looked at Sherlock with sad eyes. He didn't know what to do. The man looked like a child on the floor but had all the mature emotion of someone who had lost the closest person to them. Lestrade had seen it so many times, yet it was different now. Lestrade knelt down in front of Sherlock.
"Sherlock, We all thought you were dead…We all believed you were dead."
"BUT I WASN'T! And this is my FAULT!" Sherlock shouted into his hands.
"Sherlock…"
"I didn't want this."
"No one does."
Lestrade knelt before Sherlock and Sherlock cried silently into his hands as if no one could see him. Sherlock had always made the choice not to feel. He hadn't known how he made a choice like that before. But he did know this. Right now… he was feeling. And there was no hiding it.
Almost half an hour went by before Lestrade went to touch him.
"Sherlock, we need to go. You shouldn't be in here anymore." Sherlock wondered how it was possible to even move. But he did. Lestrade helped him up and guided him into the hall way.
Sherlock looked through his clouded eyes at 221b. He saw the floors and the stairs and the entrance to the sitting room. He saw all the things John will never see again.
He saw on a nightstand near Sherlocks door. He saw a piece of paper with scratchy hand writing. Sherlock let go of Lestrade and walked toward it, while the Detective Inspector waited patiently. He moved toward the note and Sherlock quickly recognized it as John's. Sherlock read it through misty eyes.
I was so alone
And I owe you so much
And even if we both go to hell
You'd be heaven to me.
I miss you
I will always love you.