Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters; they belong to BBC/Arthur Conan Doyle

It was apt; it was all going to end where it all began. It was strange being here again, at 221B Baker Street. It was all as he had left it, the smiley face on the wall with bullet holes on, the lab equipment, the knife through the letters.

John smiled to himself, memories flooded his head. Memories of him and Sherlock together in this flat. Their flat. But now Sherlock was gone.

He wasn't coming back and John can't live without him. Not anymore.

John couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. The memory of his best friends face covered in blood will haunt him for the rest of his life. People told John to move on already, carry on with his life. How could he carry on when he missed him so much?

After being in the army he knew how to tie a tight knot. The noose was ready. John was ready.

Tears ran down Johns face. It was time. He hoisted him onto the chair and pulled the noose around his neck.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes" he whispered as he smiled to himself, kicking the chair away from under him.

"JOHN! JOHHHHNNN!" 'Oh god, oh god, oh god. Gotta get John down' Sherlock thought. Sherlock ran over to the knife pierced through the letters and ripped it out, he ran over to john hanging there limply and started sawing at the rope. Finally the rope gave way and John fell down into Sherlock's outstretched arms.

Sherlock put his fingers on John's wrist searching for a pulse. His pulse is slow but there. "This is all my fault this is all my fault," Sherlock sobbed holding John in his arms. He pulled out his phone and dialled 999. "Ambulance, quickly, 221B Baker street" Sherlock yelled rapidly. He holds John closer and rocked forward and back, tears running down his cheeks.

Johns head feels fuzzy and his body feels limp, his eyelids are very heavy. He can hear a faint voice. Slowly, his eyes open. He coughed sharply, air filling his lungs. He looks up at the source of the voice. No. It can't be him. No, he's dreaming. "Sherlock?" John manages to say, his throat is sore and it burns to speak.

"John? Oh thank god you're okay!" Sherlock replies, relieved.

"What? What...happened?" John manages to choke out.

"You tried to hang yourself but I cut you down."

"Why didn't you just let me die?" Tears start running down Johns face.

"Because I need you John, I've watched you every day just because I need to see your face."

"So you knew how much I missed you, I can't live without you and you are just going to leave again."

"John... I...-" Sherlock was interrupted by paramedics rushing in and pushing John onto a stretcher.

John couldn't take his eyes off his best friend. His 'dead' best friend.

"John, I love you." Sherlock shouts after him.

"If you loved me you wouldn't of left. Go away Sherlock Holmes, I never want to see you again."

Sherlock watched the paramedics take him away, he fell to the floor, crippled by Johns words.