Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
All he could hear was the sounds of the clock hanging against his bedroom wall. The noise, to Dr John Watson, was the only thing distracting him from the recent events.
Denial.
'He can't be dead' John thought as he slowly sat up in his bed, awakening from his restless sleep, the restless sleep filled with the same thought, the same memory- that single jump.
It hadn't even been 24 hours since he saw his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, crumpled on the ground surrounded by blood. No pulse, no breath, no life. Sherlock Holmes was dead.
He couldn't believe is though, he couldn't accept death this easily, he couldn't lose hope. Everyday he had hope. Everyday he reminded himself that Sherlock Holmes was an extraordinary character who, out of every being in the world, could defeat death.
But with everyday that went by without his friend, John Watson lost a tiny bit of hope. Over time, his believe in Sherlock Holmes slithered away and disappeared.
"I can't keep going on like this, I can't keep thinking he is going to come back, because he isn't. Sherlock Holmes is dead, and I hate admitting that".
Anger.
'How could he do this to me, to everyone who ever cared about him' John thought months after the funeral of Mr Sherlock Holmes. The rage of John Watson that Sherlock had somehow managed to contain was finally being released. Years of pain, loss and emotion were finally being freed. John Watson had lost something he could never replace, and that made him angry. No control, no choice, no changing the past, nothing. John Watson had no control anymore, of his past, of his future, of his emotions. Nothing could stop the monster inside being released.
He couldn't speak to anyone- why hadn't they treated Sherlock the way he could have been treated, with respect. Maybe then he wouldn't have killed himself, maybe if they had been better human beings his best friend would still be alive.
'No John, why would he kill himself. He must have been forced' John had to remind himself- Sherlock couldn't have killed himself.
'I should have noticed something was wrong'. John Watson tortured himself with this thought every night, every morning, every minute of the day.
'It is my fault Sherlock Holmes is dead'.
Depression.
"Why are you here John" his therapist asked, obviously knowing the answer to this question- Sherlock Holmes was dead. John was falling into a state of depression and self destruction.
'I don't deserve to be happy; it's my fault he killed himself. I should have noticed something. It is my fault he jumped. I should have been a better friend. I don't deserve to be alive anymore'.
He would have left a note, but who would read it.
'Why should I write a note? No one would read it, no one would care. I am worth nothing in this world. It is my fault that the best man in the world is dead' John convinced himself as he walked to St Bart's hospital, where Sherlock took his own life. It seemed fitting that Dr Watson should end it in the same place as his dear friend Sherlock Holmes did just a few months before.
Standing on the edge of the roof, John began to speak:
"One more miracle for me Sherlock, that is all I asked for, and you couldn't do that for me. I am sorry Sherlock, I truly am. I should have known that something was wrong, I shouldn't have left you alone. The world deserves you more that it will ever deserve me, and I am sorry that I made that happen. I can't keep living like this Sherlock, hoping and praying that you'll come back. I can't keep living in hope, because all hope is gone now Sherlock. I can't keep surviving with this pain; I need this all to stop now Sherlock."
And then she appeared behind him.
"Dr Watson, sorry the other nurses said they saw you coming up here and well I need you to lo-" she spoke as she marched onto the roof where John Watson was preparing himself for death. As she looked up, she fell silent as she saw the blogger leaning further and further over the edge of the building.
John Watson turned and his heart skipped a beat, his breath stopped for just a second.
For just one second, John Watson saw hope.
"Are you ok Dr Watson?" she asked, approaching him slowly. In her eyes, John could see the concern she had for him, the fear she had of him falling.
"Not really no, but I guess standing on the edge here deciding whether to end it all isn't the most comforting of things for you" John smirked, and then laughed as he stepped down from the ledge of the roof.
"You were going to, weren't you?" she questioned him, worried that saying the wrong thing would drive him to actually jumping, but curiosity took over.
"Suicide should never be the option. We all have to face death one day, but we shouldn't have to make the choice of whether it is today or tomorrow. We should never allow death to solve our problems. You may be at rock bottom right now, where there appears to be no light shining, but if you are at the bottom how can things get any lower? You just need to start climbing and then you'll begin to see the light" John explained, finally beginning to think more sensibly.
"I lost my best friend, and I feel guilty about that everyday. He killed himself, right here. I watched as he fell from the top of this hospital to his death and I couldn't do anything about it. I should have noticed, as his friends and as a doctor! But I didn't notice, and now he is gone and I cannot live with the guilt of that anymore" he explained to the random nurse who stood listening. She nodded.
"I almost ended it all, my life hasn't exactly been, well, decent you could say but we can't let that stop us from living. Time for a fresh start I think Dr Watson, time to forgive yourself and begin living life. What would Sherlock Holmes want you to do?" the blonde nurse on the roof asked the now calmer Dr John Watson.
"Wait, how did you know this was all about him? I never said that it was Sherlock Holmes" John question curiously, although the answer was obvious.
"Come on Dr Watson, I read your blog" she laughed, as did he, and then they laughed together on the roof of the hospital.
She was right though, Dr Watson thought, Sherlock Holmes was never coming back, but Sherlock would want John to live on. There was more to life than denial, anger and depression- there was the future and hope.
"So what was it you were coming up here to ask me Miss-?"
"Oh, Morstan, Mary Morstan, and I just needed you to help me with something"
John, at that moment, never expected life to change so quickly. He never thought he would see his best friend Sherlock Holmes again and he certainly never thought that the women who saved his life then fell in love with him and chose to be his wife.