Author's Note: I had written this fic a while back, just the first part, before Reichenbach aired. I had fogotten about it completely. But these past few days I cleaned up my blog, fixed my tags and such and I came across it again so I continued writing it. You can treat this as the prequel to "Say What You Need to Say". It kind of works anyway. :)
John didn't know what it was that changed him, that made him see things differently, what it was that made him realize that he was in love with Sherlock. Had been for a while. Since the beginning? He wasn't sure.
All he knew was that it felt right - this thing they have.
And, oh, God yes, John wanted more.
He woke up this morning buzzing with anticipation, positively glowing with joy at this new wondrous possibility that had now made itself known to him. He needed to tell Sherlock, needed to tell him right away.
"Sherlock," he called fondly, looking around the flat for any sign of him. There was none. Odd,he thought, and then his eyes fixed on a piece of paper on the wall, held in place with a knife. John smiled as the scene reminded him of the day he first stepped foot in 221B, when Sherlock had stabbed those letters onto the mantelpiece. John wondered when it had all stopped surprising him, the things Sherlock often did.
He walked towards the wall and pulled the knife out. Holding the paper in his free hand, John started to read.
My dearest John,
The knife clattered to the floor and John ran out as fast as he could. He had to stop the bloody git. He had to save him. Most of all...I have to tell him that I love him.
The game had changed. Dramatically. Entirely. John suddenly had much more to lose.
Sherlock had decided to meet with Moriarty to settle this final problem business once and for all. He had been mumbling about it for days. John had heard snatches of words and whispers, but when he had pressed Sherlock about it, the man had pointedly ignored him. It should have worried him, but it hadn't at the time. Now, racing across town in a black cab, he wondered if he was too late. He clenched his left hand in response, his whole body tense and rigid, like an elastic band being stretched to its limit, ready to spring when the cab reaches its destination.
"St. Bart's," he had told the driver. Sensing the urgency in his tone, in his posture, in the lines on his face, the driver had sped off fast enough that John didn't complain. He couldn't sit still, his muscles were waiting to pounce and a knot was slowly settling in his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this and he couldn't shake it off. Don't do anything stupid, Sherlock. Just wait for me.
John recognized at once the building on his right, threw some bills at the driver and jumped out before the cab reached full stop. His phone rang as soon as his feet had touched the pavement.
"Sherlock, are you okay?" He asked, worry and concern permeating his voice.
"Turn around and walk back to where you came.
"No, I'm coming in."
"Just do as I ask… please."
The tone of his voice when he had said that last word stopped John in his tracks. The word had broken on its way out by the sheer weight of the need in his voice. He had never heard Sherlock like this before.
"Where?"
"Stop there."
"Sherlock-"
"Okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop."
He saw a silhouette of a tall man, a big coat and a head of curly hair. He'd know that silhouette anywhere. It barely took a second for his mind to process the sensory information. The realization that Sherlock was standing on the ledge, standing far too close to the edge, took a second more. Then everything had clicked into place and he could see the whole picture. He's going to jump. The thought turned his insides cold.
"Oh God."
No, no, this can't be happening, John thought to himself. He was still reeling from that thought alone, and his mind could not decipher the words Sherlock was saying next.
"…I invented Moriarty…"
"…I'm a fake…"
Wh- what? No… I know you for real.
"Okay, shut up. Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met. The first time we met. You knew about my sister, right?" His voice was pleading, an echo of the words he somehow couldn't bring himself to say. Not now, not like this. Remember. You are amazing. Please remember. You are fantastic. Please step back. You are brilliant. Don't jump.
"Nobody could be that clever."
"You could." Of course you could. Remember. Amazing. Fantastic. Brilliant. You are every variant of the word. Remember. Please. I love you. I love you. Don't jump. Don't-
"Goodbye, John."
Three things had occurred sequentially – the figure fell, John's heart dropped and a name died on his lips.
"Sherl-"
John's eyes followed the figure's descent until he couldn't see it anymore. He walked out from the shadow of the building in front of him, clearing his line of sight. He made his way to the crowd slowly forming on the opposite pavement.
"Let me through. I'm a doctor. Please. I'm his friend."
No pulse. No light. No Sherlock. There was nothing more.
John went home to Baker Street. But as he stepped into the living room, he remembered the anticipation, the exhilaration he had had this morning. He remembered wanting to tell Sherlock right away, remembered the wonderful potential of it all and that note on the wall… He just couldn't.
He turned and left the flat as fast as he could, down seventeen steps and out the door.
"The stuff that you wanted to say, but didn't say it. Say it now."
I was so alone. I was bitter and angry because of my blasted leg. Because I missed the excitement, the adrenaline, the threat of danger. Because I missed the war and I was invalided home while the rest of them stayed and fought without me. I was bitter and angry and then I met you. You saved me and that's a miracle in itself. The first time we met. The first time we met. Remember? We ran. And it was like everything that was weighing me down just vanished. I was so alone and then I met you. You saved me. And then I saved you. But then I failed. You jumped. Why did you jump? I was right there. I would have helped. I would have done anything for you. You were my best friend and I believed in you 100%. I still do. You were my best friend and I love you. And I was going… to tell you. But you jumped and you died and I never got the chance to say it. You never got the chance to hear it, but I hope you knew. I. Love. You. Maybe I should have said it then. Maybe you wouldn't have jumped if I had. But I was afraid… you wouldn't believe me. I was afraid you'd think I was just saying anything I could to stop you from jumping. I couldn't say the words. I didn't want you to have to hear them like that. God, I can't. This shouldn't be happening. This cannot be happening. You shouldn't be dead. Please, Sherlock. I was so alone and I owe you so much. But I'm asking you, please. I need a miracle. One more miracle for me. Don't. Be. Dead. Would you do that… just for me? Stop this.
I'm alone and I'm angry. I'm back to where I started but it's different this time. Because I know what I need, I know what will save me and there will never be another person quite like you. You were the best man and the most human… human being I ever knew and I'm sorry I didn't save you. I miss you so damn much. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
"Sorry, I can't."