Thrash, thrash
Sherlock.
I see him there. Up on top of St. Bart's. And all I can do is stare and listen. Listen to him as he speaks to me in a broken voice. Telling me that he speaks words of truth that I know for a fact are lies.
No one could be that clever.
You could.
His laugh. Oh god. It's so filled with pain. So forced. I can't see his face from where I am, but I know he's crying. I know he is. I know what he's thinking about doing an I can feel my heart ready to break any second he says the words that I'm dreading.
Please Sherlock.
Don't say it.
Why are you saying this?
This is phone call, it's my note. That's what people do when-…
Why did he stop? I know the answer, I don't know why the words came out of my mouth but they did. They asked the question with my heart already knowing the answer.
When what?
Then he said it.
Those words I never wanted to hear. The words I'll never hear again.
Goodbye John.
I can hear the phone clatter to the ground with a thud before cutting out. I could see him throw it.
Sher…
Sherlock!
And there he goes.
One step of that building and he's falling.
Falling to the ground.
No.
No.
"No, Sherlock!" John screamed as he bolted up in the bed. His chest was tight, so tight that he could hardly get a breath. His face was hot and wet. Wet from tears that didn't want to stop rolling down his face.
Every night he relives it.
It's always the same.
He always wakes up screaming for him.
His hand moved and covered over his face as he sobbed. "S-Sherlock…" He muttered softly as he plopped back against his pillow trying to breath, only able to get small gasps of air. "Sherlock… Why? Why did you jump? Why did you leave me all alone again? What the bloody fuck am I gonna do?" John spoke aloud to himself, staring at the ceiling and hoping wherever Sherlock was he could hear him. "It hurts so bad…seeing it every night Sher. Every night it's the same. Nothing helps. Nothing makes the pain stop." Both hands covered his eyes now as he inhaled sharply and let out a pained noise as he cried. "Why did you do this to me?!"
Why did you do this to me?
I loved you.
You were everything to me.
So tell me.
God, please…
Just tell me.
Give me a reason.
Just tell me why?
"I can't do this Sherlock… I can't do it anymore. I'm not strong enough." He took a deep breath and sat up, pulling himself out of his bed and padding down the stairs to the flat. Mrs. Hudson knew enough to stay away on nights like these. He hoped she would as well tonight, because enough was enough.
I can't do it anymore.
Opening the drawer on the desk he pulled out his pistol and looked it over. Making sure it wouldn't jam and that it was loaded. He took a deep breath and moved to the window that Sherlock use to always stand by. His free hand moved up and touched the glass. "I'm so sorry for giving up. I know you'll be angry with me, but I can't be here without you. If you won't come back, then I'll come to you." John took his hand away from the window and pressed the cold barrel to his head. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.
I'm coming.
His finger squeezed a little on the trigger, but stopped when a warm arm wrapped around his waist, while another hand pressed the gun away from his head. Warm breath blew against his ear as a pair of lips whispered to him.
"Don't go, John. I'm here."