A/N: I have just finished the Sherlock series and I had to write something. This contains Suicide!John after Sherlock's death. It's a year after and Sherlock still hasn't revealed himself. John is driven mad with depression and picks the same way out of the world that his flat-mate did.
Enjoy!
John Watson closed his eyes firmly. A million memories were rushing brightly passed his vision and tormented him evermore. Maybe if the last year of his life hadn't happened he wouldn't be standing on this ledge, so ready to welcome the clouds embrace. The pavement below had never looked so soft and appealing.
Quiet tears rolled down the blondes face at the memories of Sherlock. Always Sherlock. Sherlock smiling faintly at him, the sound of his baritone voice echoing in the Dr.'s ears. It had been nearly a year since the consulting detective had left him alone in the world but it hurt no less.
Sherlock had been John's only friend and the same could be said on the other side. The whole deal with Moriarty had shaken Sherlock a great deal, John knew that. But he had never expected the most brilliant man he had ever met to resort to dying.
It crushed John. It had also crushed Lestrade and Mycroft. Even Anderson had been a bit affected, no one had seen it coming and John often blamed himself.
His best-friend was gone and he had no reason to stay anymore. He had tried to keep going, to keep living for those around him so they didn't have to suffer another loss.
But it was impossible to live without Him.
Just as he would about to step off the ledge in front of him a voice pierced the stark silence of the night.
"Now, what idiotic thing do you think you're doing now?"
John faltered, gasping. That voice. That voice had been dead for a year but he heard it clearly behind him. He was afraid to turn, afraid of what he might see and the dissapointment he might feel.
"Well," John's voice carried a tremor. "I was planning on dying."
The man standing behind him scoffed audibly. "Why on earth would you do something that stupid?"
There was no denying it now. The doctor whirled around, staring at the tall figure about a yard away.
"Sherlock." His name sounded dusty on John's tongue. It had been a taboo since His death. It hadn't been uttered in more than a year.
Sherlock smiled, wider than John had ever seen his mouth open. "Hello, John. Good to see you."
"Sherlock." This time it was an exclamation as John threw himself into the arms of the deductionist. He felt at home instantly in the lean arms.
Sherlock leaned his head on top of the smaller man's and wrapped his arms tight around his torso. "I've missed you."