Breath that had been lingering with him for too long seemed to escape from his lungs as he took his final step before it would be too late. But too late for what? The life that he had known was long ago abandoned, after the first fall. Now, there would be a second.
John Watson had long since been a broken man, but he'd though that those days were over. He met Sherlock, the perfect idiot, and he was healed. And then it all went to hell. Moriarty took over their lives, and Sherlock saw no other way out. But he didn't think of the people he kept alive by his presence.
Standing now on the very precipice of his final moments, John felt the breeze for the last time as he heard his phone ringing. He already knew who it was and what they would say, but he picked up anyway.
"John, please, don't do this. You were doing so well, and we can work through it this time too. Just step away." The desperate voice of Lestrade echoes through the phone. A harsh, bitter laugh forces its way from John's throat.
"You don't get it, and you never will. I can't work through it, because he's never coming back. There's nothing to work through." John tried to keep his voice steady, but it wavered as salty tears began to force their way from his eyes.
"This is my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note." Sherlock's voice began to tremble. John ignored it as best as he could, hoping to God that he was wrong. Sherlock wouldn't do this to him, would he? Would he?
"Leave a note when?" John was begging to be wrong about this. Sherlock wouldn't just leave him behind. He had to know that there were those who still believed in him. He couldn't just...
"Goodbye, John."
"SHERLOCK!" John's heart stopped. Time seemed to run in slow motion as he watched his lanky friend fall to the ground, his body bouncing like a ragdoll against the pavement. John closed his eyes. This wasn't-couldn't-be real. He would open his eyes, and the blood pooling around his best friend's curly raven hair would be gone.
But it was still there.
John ran a hand over the phone he was holding. The engraving that Sherlock had looked at when they first met lay under his fingers. For a brief moment, John considered Harry and what she would do, but it didn't last. He was no use to anyone since Sherlock was gone.
John took a deep, final breath, and stepped off the edge.
The wind around his whistled through his ears, burned his eyes, and blurred his vision, but he didn't care. He wasn't aware when he stopped falling. All he knew was that he felt more at peace when he was done.
Blinking his eyes open for one final time, John could have sworn that he saw familiar curly black hair standing over him, begging him to stay. The last words that John heard were, "Please. I need you." from a raspy baritone before his world faded away to blackness.