A/N This story is only going to further convince my friends that I'm a bit twisted. Oh Well. My newest obsession has been Sherlock, and I was listening to Jar Of Hearts when the Idea of this story came to me. I've seen a lot of fics where Sherlock comes back and John forgives him right away and things fall back into place, well I wanted to do things differently.

Summary: It's been a year and John is slowly falling apart at the seams. Will Sherlock's return into his life help or would it have been better to leave him on his road to self destruction? A case has come up and Lestrade needs the help of both John and Sherlock to solve it. Can the two work out their issues in time, or will a family they don't know suffer because of them?

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, SLASH, Yaoi, death

Pairings: So far only eventual John/Sherlock

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Sherlock, I've just kidnapped the characters to use for my amusement.

Chapter 1...The Final Rainy Night

John stared at the blank TV in front of him and sighed. The only light in the flat came from the fireplace. He was sitting in Sherlock's old chair, wrapped in his old jacket, as he had been for so many evenings since the death of his best friend. To this day, an entire year later, he still didn't know what had been going through Sherlock's head that day. He knew Moriarty was involved, they had found his body on top of the building, but he was dead, so why did Sherlock jump?

John hated these moments, these hours where all he could do was think. The evenings were the worst, he could work at the clinic or on the odd case during the day, but his evenings were always free, and no matter how much it hurt, he always spent that time thinking of his dead friend. It was odd, after all that work by Moriarty, people still believed in Sherlock. John still got messages from fans letting him know that they believe him, and the people who believe greatly outweigh the people who don't. Even Sally Donavan and Anderson believed in him. But it didn't matter anymore, he was gone for good. Sherlock would never know how much the people around him cared.

Lightning struck outside as John clutched his head in his hands when the tears came. The tears came as they always did; it was part of the never ending cycle that was now John Watson's life. Wake up, work out the kinks from sleeping in a chair, drink a bit of coffee or tea, shower, make his way to the clinic, work, come home, sit in the chair and think, cry, think some more, fall into a restless sleep, and the cycle would continue. John rarely ever ate anymore, the only time he did was when Sarah, Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade make him. He knew they were worried about him, but he couldn't change. Not as it rained, not when he could still remember Sherlock's face as he fell, not when the man he had loved had killed himself right before his eyes.

Yes, John Watson had loved his insufferable flat-mate. He still did, it was a wound that just wouldn't heal. Sherlock Homes had wormed his way into John's life and rooted there. It was like a weed in a garden that you couldn't kill no matter how hard you tried. And no matter how good the rest looked, it was overshadowed by the weed that had taken control. Sherlock had taken over John's life and even when dead still overshadowed everything and John hated him for it.

Thunder continued to crash as he heard the doorbell ring from downstairs. John didn't worry about it; he knew Mrs. Hudson would take care of whoever it was at this ungodly hour. He knew that soon he would reach his limit. He was aware that everyone around him was waiting for the day that they'd find his own dead body. He knew it should scare him, he knew that he needed help, but all he could think about was the fact that when he finally did it, he could see him again. He would see Sherlock and everything would go back into place, it would be right again.

Mrs. Hudson's voice could be heard, muffled, on the floor below as he lifted his head out of his hands and looked at the table in front of him. Sitting there, as it had been for a year, was his pocket knife from when he was in the army. Every night he would look at it and make his choice, live another day or join his beloved? Every night the knife looked more inviting. Every night he found it harder to look away. For some reason tonight felt like the last time.

Where those footsteps he heard as he reached for the knife? His hand wrapped around it as the footsteps grew louder. Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky illuminating the knife in his hand as he twirled the knife against his finger, just staring at it. Without thinking about it a smile grew on his face, a crazed smile. The smile someone wears when they know they're only moments away from seeing the person they love again. He didn't register that he was moving the knife towards his throat; he didn't hear the pounding at the door or the muffled yells. John never realized that he had tipped his head back and closed his eyes. All he could see was Sherlock behind his eyelids asking him to come help him with a case.

He didn't see the lightning strike or hear the door being forced open. He was content until he heard it, the one sound that reached him in his crazed bliss. He never heard the gasps from Mrs. Hudson or Sally. He never saw Lestrade grab on to the nearby table for support. But he heard that. The one thing that could make the smile fall, that could make his heart both swell and crumble. The only thing that could make him drop the knife and open his eyes. The only thing that could make him feel this happy and this furious.

The only thing that John registered was the voice of his beloved Sherlock yelling from the doorway.

"John, No!"

A/N Please let me know what you think. The next chapter will be longer, I promise!

~Lizz