John entered the flat like any other day he would return from work. He went about everything as he normally would. He made some tea then opened his laptop to update his blog. He just typed a few random lines on how he was doing fine despite what day it was, but everything he wrote was an utter lie. After he finished his blog and put the laptop away, John sat in Sherlock's chair with the scarf around his neck and the violin across his lap. Today was the three year anniversary of the fall. "Sherlock, you bastard, you left me here all alone. You were my friend and you left me," John whispered to himself. He looked down at the violin and became angry. He got up, grabbed the old case files, the violin and that stupid skull from the mantel and put them all into the fireplace. John then grabbed a match, but he did not strike it. He only stared at the little piece of wood in his fingers before throwing it across the room.

John could feel the tears forming in his eyes. Why would he even think about burning the violin? That was one of the only things Sherlock really loved in the world and John was just going to burn it! What kind of friend would he be if he did that? John crawled back into the chair and curled into a ball. John decided he has had enough of everything and reached for his phone to text a man he believed to be dead.

Sherlock, I am sorry. I will see you soon. I will have my miracle. -JW

Sherlock sat in a café a few blocks away from 221B. He was reading an article about how an anonymous tip led authorities to the arrest of a sniper by the name of Sebastian Moran. Sherlock smiled as he drank his tea and thought of how it was all over and he could go back home to John. He was not worried of being recognized, despite the crowded café, for he had died his hair red, put on at least ten pounds in muscle, and had gained a small scar on his cheek after a run in with one of Moriarty's men.
He finished his tea and rose to his feet to leave when he received the text message. He saw that it was from John and thought that it was strange of him to do that. He had been receiving texts from John the first few weeks after his "death" but he passed that off as a grieving technique because they were mainly texts that read nonsense as in the usual "I miss you" or "Why did you jump."

When Sherlock read the text he felt like he was going to throw up. He realized he had been away for too long and John needed his help. Sherlock dropped a few notes on the table for payment and ran out of the café as fast as he could. He didn't bother texting back for he knew John wouldn't answer.

He made a beeline for the flat and he knocked a few people over in the process. Sherlock was at the 221B a few minutes later and he began to bang on the door as loud as he could manage. When no one came to the door, he ran around and scaled the fire escape. He opened the window and stumbled into the flat. He noted that nothing had changed since he last left it but that would have to wait. Sherlock ran into the sitting room and looked at the violin but paid no mind to it. "John! Where are you?" He ran to John's room but there was nobody there. The flat was completely empty.

Sherlock stood in the center of the room and ran both hands through his hair in an effort to calm himself down. He thought hard about where John would go and it suddenly came to him, "That sentimental idiot!" Sherlock ran out of the flat and out into the street. He began to run in the direction of the last place John saw him alive, St. Bart's.

John hailed a cab as he exited the flat. As he climbed in, he saw someone in the rearview mirror with red hair running in the direction of the flat but he quickly pushed that image from his mind. The man looked like Sherlock but everyone looked like Sherlock nowadays. John saw Sherlock in everything, the man on the street with the same hair, the way a child would sit down while they waited for their mum, even in how someone would walk. There was no escape from the pain.

He just told the cabbie where to go and sat back in his seat with a small smile on his face. He couldn't remember the last time he gave a genuine smile and he the way it felt on his face seemed foreign to him. There was a lot of traffic so it would take a while to get to St. Bart's but John didn't care, he was in no rush.

John could feel his phone in his pocket and decided to send one more text to Sherlock before he saw him again.

I'm almost to St. Bart's, see you soon. –JW

After he pushed send, John rolled down the window and dropped the phone out of the cab. He wouldn't need it anymore, and he didn't need any distractions for what he was about to do. John smiled to himself once more before whispering to himself, "See you soon."

Sherlock was running faster than he ever did before. He cut across streets and through alleyways to try and beat John to the hospital. He had to get there first or he would never forgive himself. He felt his phone go off again and stopped in an alley as he checked it. Another from John, "Damn you John!" Sherlock dropped his phone and ran even faster than he was before. He was being pushed by adrenaline and fear for what he caused.

"Don't be dead. Just don't be dead you idiot, I need my miracle," Sherlock said under his breath as he kept running. He remembered that John had said something very similar to that at his grave site and knew exactly how John felt on that day. Sherlock could feel his eyes starting to fill with tears but he quickly wiped them away, "You can't cry yet. He isn't dead!"

His legs were killing him and he felt as if his lungs were on fire but he couldn't stop. He just kept pushing himself to go faster and faster. He climbed over fences and ran across rooftops till he could see St. Bart's in the distance, "Hang on John, I'm coming!"

The cabbie pulled up to the curb of St. Bart's. As John paid him, he looked up at the spot on the roof that Sherlock had jumped from and gave a slight nod of his head, "That is the spot."

John entered the building and made his way over to the stairway to begin his journey to the top. He moved at a slow methodical pace and his smile grew wider with each floor he passed. By the time he reached halfway to the top, anybody who saw him would think he was an escaped mental patient by the way he was smiling.

He was near the top when he could hear the door to the stairway open at the bottom and could hear what sounded like a man that was severely out of breath running up the stairs behind him. He shook his head as he opened the door to the roof and made his to the spot that Sherlock had stood on three years ago.

John stood on the edge of the roof and looked down at the spot he had watched Sherlock jump from. Today a small boy and his mother were standing there. The mother was busy talking on her phone but the boy was looking directly at John. He closed his eyes and whispered to his self "Will seeing me jump hurt you like it hurt me? I don't even know you but seeing someone die could hurt anyone."

John brought the scarf up to his nose and inhaled. It no longer smelled like Sherlock but he imagined that it did. He looked up at the sky as he gently started to fall forward, "Here I come Sherlock."

Sherlock was on a rooftop across the road from St. Bart's. He watched as a cab pulled up to the curb and saw John get out. Sherlock smiled and tried to yell to John but he couldn't breathe. He quickly climbed jumped down onto a nearby dumpster but lost his footing and crashed into some nearby bins. Disoriented, Sherlock rose to his feet and stumbled across the road. He could barely breathe but he had to get to John.

He stumbled through the doors and made his way to the stairway. He could hear John near the top as he tried to pick up the pace. He was struggling to breath but he kept pushing himself.

Sherlock arrived to the roof and saw John standing on the ledge and in a last burst of energy he ran and grabbed John by the scarf just as he was leaning forward.

He dragged him backwards despite John's pleading to let him go. He dragged him and propped him up next to the door. Still out of breath, Sherlock choked out, "You… idiot!"

John looked up at the man in front of him and instantly knew who it was. He looked him in the eye as he whispered, "Good to see you Sherlock, I must have already jumped if you are here. I am confused as to why you have red hair though." John took the scarf off and wrapped it around Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock gave a pained look as John put the scarf around him. He noted it smelled as if John had been wearing it for a while, "You didn't jump. I never died. I had to fake my death to protect you." Sherlock finished his sentence then wrapped his arms around John in an embrace, "Don't ever scare me like this again."

John's smile quickly turned to anger but then relaxed at the tight embrace. He could feel the tears flowing down his face. He silently cried into Sherlock's shirt. "You bastard," John said in between tears, "You left me. I didn't know how to carry on."

"Don't worry John," the tears were starting to slide down Sherlock's own face now, "I won't ever leave you again. I will be sure of this." Sherlock could feel John shaking with sadness, "I love you John."

John looked up at Sherlock with tear filled eyes and was confused. He wasn't sure if he heard correctly but he didn't care, "I love you too, Sherlock." John tried to stand to his feet, "Can we go home now?" Sherlock gave a slow nod of his head and took John's hand, "Yes, let's go home."

The two men went back down the stairs and began to walk out of the building. They didn't bother with a cab, mainly because they didn't even think of getting one. They walked all the way back to 221B, Sherlock could see that a few people staring at the two men holding hands but he didn't care, he was focusing on John's hand in his. In that moment, he smiled and made a silent promise to himself that he would never let go of John's hand again. And unknown to Sherlock, John was making the same promise.

AN: The reason for the red hair is simple. I think Benedict Cumberbatch's natural red hair is amazing. That is all.