"You really shouldn't drink." Sherlock said
"I'll have a glass of wine if I want to, Sherlock." He quipped as he moved so he was sitting across from Sherlock who was perched in his chair.
"Geoff drunk and look where it got him."
"A nice retirement in a house in the country? And it's Greg."
"A nice retirement by himself in a house in the country. He was alone, John. Not even a wife."
"Well you never talked to him."
"Oh, John...John...John." Sherlock murmured, "Don't you see?"
"Apparently not, Sherlock." John said with a sigh and a sip of his wine
"Talking to...normal people is like standing in the shallow end of a pool. I sway and get knocked around but I can still stand."
John nodded and rubbed his chin.
"But sometimes..." he paused and inhaled quickly after a moment, "sometimes I want to swim. I want to feel the cool water rushing over me and surrounding me. I want to swim in my mind."
"I think I get that." John replied with a whisper, "...and talking to people more your speed is like that?"
"Yes."
"How is it?"
"Oh, it's glorious."
"How is it...talking to..." he trailed off
"You? Much like scratching the surface of an itch once and never quite scratching it all the way."
John stared for a moment but when he heard a soft giggle he exhaled loudly and couldn't help but giggle in return. Sherlock laughed with him for a moment before growing serious.
The room fell silent and the still of total darkness bore down on them.
"We should sit in the dark more often." John remarked with a slightly airy cough
"Mmmm." Sherlock hummed in reply. "Would you like me to play the violin for you?"
"Why now?"
"Why not, John? It's sometime in the early morning, approximately half and hour before dawn, and we're both enjoying ourselves." He stood and dropped his voice to a whisper, "And I wish to make you happy once more."
He easily found his violin and soon began to pull a sonorous note from deep within it.
"You played this at my wedding." John chuckled, "My best friend: the composer."
Sherlock closed his eyes and moved towards John. On he went summoning the melody from his instrument.
A clear projection of John and Mary's face from their wedding flickered to life behind his eyelids. He smiled and wished he could feel John's hug again. He wished he could hear the simultaneous applause and sniffles coming from the crowd just after his speech. He wanted to relive John saying that he was his best friend and that he loved him.
When he felt a tear drop down his cheek he packed those memories away for another time and focused solely on the song. There was a distinct clank on the floor near John's chair but Sherlock finished the song, uninterrupted.
As the final note drifted out and silence filled the room he set his violin in his chair and walked to John.
"The bravest and kindest and wisest man." He knelt before John and took his hand into his own and smiled weakly. "I said 'whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on, I swear I will always be there. Always.' And I was wasn't I, John?"
Silence was his only answer. And as Sherlock gripped his hand the silence that he once found so comforting immediately felt hollow and suffocating. His chest swelled as a stinging lump he couldn't swallow rose into his throat.
He heard the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs and with each passing tick his control began to crack.
Tears began to sting his eyes and fell onto John's hand.
"I'm so sorry!" He sobbed when he couldn't hold in the burning in his chest any longer. He rubbed the tears off his friend's hand with his thumb and leaned forward until his forehead was touching John's knee. He remained still until the beginnings of the sunrise filtered in through the windows.
"Forgive me..." he whispered just as the morning sun shone on John's face. "I couldn't save them both. But I couldn't live without-" He shifted so he was looking directly at John's face.
He was smiling.
It was thirty-two minutes after seven when Phil, the new D.I., came with an ambulance. Sherlock had moved to the couch where he sat hunched and staring at John.
"Sorry for your loss, Mr. Holmes. He was a great man." Phil said smoothly
"Don't pretend to care." Sherlock said coldly
Phil pulled out a notepad and pen and cleared his throat importantly.
"Died-"
"Natural causes, Inspector. His body simply was too old and too weak."
"Wine?" he asked as he nodded towards the glass on the floor, "Good way to go. All the bliss of being drunk- no hangover in the morning."
Sherlock tore his eyes from John slowly to glare at the D.I.
"Take him." Phil called nervously to the waiting nurses behind him
Sherlock watched as they lifted John from his wheelchair and moved him to the stretcher. That damned leg did always bother him. He thought
"Have a good day." Phil called as he shut the door after the nurses and swept down the stairs.
Sherlock stood and walked to the half empty wine glass on the floor next to John's chair and picked it up slowly. He rolled it in his hand and admired the red drink as what was left of it sloshed around in the glass. He set in on the isle in the kitchen and turned to his violin propped in the leather chair.
With a quick button of his jacket he walked to the instrument and began playing the tune he'd composed for John's wedding so long ago.