Trigger Warning
I do not own BBC's Sherlock or the characters
This is only a one-shot
"You're not real," he whispered, "You're never real." Sherlock paused at this, staring at the curled up form on the bed.
"John, listen to me," he tried again. John turned the other way,
"Please don't," he begged, tears clogging his voice, "I can't do this again." Startled by his… friend's reaction, the detective stepped forwards, sitting down on the bed next to the body,
"I'm here John," he stated, his tone gaining a slight sadness to it, unbeknownst to him, "I'm right here, alive, I don't understand." I don't understand why you're so upset when I'm notdead, I thought you'd figure it out by now.
John let out a whimper, standing up and stumbling over to his desk, having moved into another apartment since the memories were too much, and grabbing a bottle of pills and his gun before collapsing into his chair. He seemed to contemplate between the two before finally looking up, causing the brunette in front of him to completely stop.
John's eyes were bloodshot and had dark bags lining them, his face sunken in and bangs mussed and stringy against his tear-stained face.
"Sherlock," he asked silently. Sherlock nodded,
"Yes John?" John smiled slightly,
"Which one?" he asked, holding up the two items in his hand. Sherlock inched closer, inspecting the anti-depression pills and the loaded gun,
"For?" he asked, knowing the answer, but, for once, hoping to be wrong. John let out a hallow laugh,
"You know," he scolded, "I'm letting you choose again; another day to live, or get the pain over with," he held the gun higher; "I'm hoping you'll choose this one though." Sherlock's eyes dimmed in realization that he was, once again, correct,
"Pills," he let out dryly, "I won't have you dying just yet." John sunk down in defeat, unscrewing the cap and downing two white pills. He then set down both objects, shuffling back over to the bed and sitting down,
"Hey Sherlock," he asked quietly, lying down and closing his eyes.
"Yes John?" Sherlock replied, throwing a blanket over the man.
"I really miss you, please come back soon," he muttered, already drifting off. Sherlock nodded,
"Soon," he agreed, turning and walking out the door, sitting down on the steps as tears filled his eyes. He grabbed his phone as it signaled a text, looking at the blurry screen and wiping his eyes.
'See?' it read, from Mycroft. Huffing slightly, Sherlock snapped the device shut, burying his face in his hands as he took in a shaky breath.
"I'm sorry John," he apologized, holding in the tears that threatened to fall, "I'm sorry." Taking in another breath, he stood up, steeling himself again before walking off into the night.
John rubbed his eyes as he woke up, looking around in expectance.
"Sherlock?" he asked, semi-hopefully. With no answer, he sunk back down, choking on a sob that ripped from his throat, "Did you have to leave again?" he cried.
'Soon.' The words whispered through his head,
"Soon," he repeated, looking up and laughing slightly as he hiccupped, "I'll wait then Sherlock, I promise."