John Watson was tired. He was tired of the pain, tired of being alone. Why had Sherlock left him how he had? Sherlock had admitted to being a fraud, to having fooled everyone with cheap magic tricks. 'There's no way he was a fraud.' John thought.
John was on the edge, literally. He was on the ledge of the building from which Sherlock had jumped. He couldn't get the image of Sherlock's bloody, broken body out of his mind. It drove him to tears every night. John was done trying to act like nothing had happened, done trying to act like he was alright when he wasn't. He really wasn't. He was falling apart.
John took a deep shaky breath. He wasn't alright. He was done. He didn't want to deal with anything anymore. He took one last deep breath, this was it. He took his last step. The last thing that went through his mind was Sherlock's tearstained face. John would see him again soon.
Sherlock heard the sirens first. Then saw the ambulances and the circle of shouting people. He had seen the man jump. And now he saw his face.
John.
John bloody and broken and... Dead. Sherlock felt his mind break, felt himself stop breathing. He knew he was screaming, screaming John's name, but he couldn't hear it.
People were gathering around him now, staring with a mixture of awe and worry, most likely surprised that this man they thought dead was alive, but Sherlock didn't care. He tried to push through to get to John, but the paramedics wouldn't let him, keeping him away. Sherlock knew that if he had been faster about returning that this wouldn't have happened. That John would still be alive.
They were taping off the scene now, the paramedics driving odd. Sherlock's world spun. He sat down on the curb, head in his hands.
He was broken.
~END~