'SHERLOCK-' John screamed, tears pouring down his face 'SHERLOCK, PLEASE NO SHERLOCK!'
John was pulled away from Sherlock's crumpled, bleeding body, John's arms were being held back behind him by a large man, John turned to look him dead in the eye, pleading with him, begging him just to let him go, but the man did not budge, he looked away from John's eyes. John wasn't going to let them take Sherlock away from him, a rage filled up inside of John; he wrenched his arms from the man and pushed him to the ground, and turned and ran back to Sherlock. John shoved his way to the front, throwing his body over Sherlocks, he cried into Sherlocks chest, his tears soaking through his clothes, John turned and placed his ear on Sherlocks chest; nothing, silence. John looked up at Sherlocks blood stained face, John cupped Sherlocks face in his hands, and used his thumbs to wipe away the blood,
'No Sherlock, stop it! THIS ISN'T FUNNY SHERLOCK! STOP IT! STOP IT NOW!'
Johns tears fell onto Sherlock's face, cutting tracks through the blood, John pulled Sherlock up, hugging him, placing the top of Sherlocks head under his chin, stroking his blood soaked hair, rocking him slowly, the tears stinging his eyes; how he wished Sherlock would just wake up, stop this, this stupid joke. John could feel Sherlocks hot blood soaking into his clothes, it pained him, pained him to feel it, the blood was burning him.
-Please Sherlock' John whispered, 'Please, just wake up, Sherlock you can't do this, I-I love y-'
John felt a hand on his shoulder,
'Sir please, we have to take him now' the woman whispered, 'Sir, please step away from him'
John shook his head, like a child refusing to hand over his toys, Sherlock was his, he was never leaving his side, never.
The woman stood up, and before John knew it, two men had grabbed him from under the arms and hauled him out of the crowd of people, away from Sherlock.
'NO! FUCK OFF! I NEED TO BE WITH HIM! I NEED HIM! PLEASE JUST LET ME BE WITH SHERLOCK!' John screamed, this pain was worse than any he had felt before, he had been shot in the shoulder for fucks sakes, but that was nothing compared to what was happening right now. John pulled and pulled, but his arms could not break free, the men held him tightly,
-'SHERLOCK!' John screamed as they lifted Sherlock's body into the ambulance, 'SHERLOCK!'
John continued to struggle, he tried to push forward, and the men staggered a bit but held their ground. Sweat trickled down John's forehead, he couldn't keep struggling, the ambulance had sped off, and John had been released, he fell to his knees; his eyes followed the ambulance until it disappeared around the corner.
John stay on his knees for a moment, frozen in the moment, the shock finally hitting him, his legs couldn't hold him anymore and he toppled onto his side, his eyes wouldn't stay open, the world around John began to descend into darkness.
'-Sherlock' he breathed.
John could still see it, every time he closed his eyes; he saw Sherlock's body cascading down till it found the sidewalk, Sherlock's perfect brown curls drenched in his own blood, his piercing grey eyes staring out into the heavens, his chest silent. John would have given anything, anything at all just to hear the thudding in Sherlocks chest, anything for Sherlock to walk through his bedroom door expressing his lack of interest in everything, just to hear Sherlock say his name, one last time.
John lay curled up in the middle of his bed, staring out the window at the full moon shining down over Baker Street, he remembered the last full moon, how beautiful it seemed, how fantastic it had been, how he had told Sherlock to look out at the moon just so he could see it's reflection sparkle in his grey eyes, but this moon, this was nothing. Nothing to him, nothing was beautiful anymore, it was disgusting, horrible, and it was nothing, nothing without Sherlock standing beside him looking up at it too.
John sat up on the edge of his bed, turning his back on the window, rubbing his eyes as the tears stung them, his throat was dry, he hadn't been able to eat or drink anything, why should he? He had nothing left to live for now, John cupped his face in his hands, the tears falling, stinging his eyes, reminding him that Sherlock was dead. John looked up from his hands, and listened, just listened to the silence, not a sound, empty. Lonely.
John was startled when his phone began to vibrate on the other side of the room; his phone had been thrown carelessly into a pile of dirty clothes. John groaned, and tried to get to his feet, when a searing pain shot right up his leg sending him cascading onto the floor, John screamed with pain, crying and a cursing everything; his entire life. John began to drag himself across the floor toward his wardrobe, when Mrs. Hudson came hurrying in the room. Her face was pale, and she looked even older, her mascara running down her face; she had been crying, crying for a very long time.
'John love, are you alright!?' Mrs. Hudson ran behind John, pulling him to his feet and placing him back on the bed; despite her age Mrs. Hudson was surprisingly strong.
'-I need my cane' chocked John, as he held tight to his leg, the pain easing slightly.
Mrs. Hudson ran to the wardrobe and fetched John's cane; she leant it against the bed and took a seat next to John. The both of them sat there in complete silence, not saying anything, for neither of them wanted to say anything; if they did they would only speak of him, not knowing how the other person would react.
After about 5 minutes in the silence, John finally spoke up '-he was the reason it stopped hurting' John chocked, Mrs. Hudson wrapped her arms around him, holding the top of his head under her chin, her tears falling into his sandy blonde hair.
'-and now that he is gone, the pain is back again!' John's tears fell onto Mrs. Hudson lap as she rocked him back and forth in her arms.
'He was everything to me! He was my saviour! He drove me out of my insanity' John muttered, tears burning his eyes.
'-now he's gone, and I'm going insane again! I feel completely empty, like there is nothing left of me! Like a part of me died with him'
John screamed the words into Mrs. Hudson's shoulders, his tears soaked through the sleeves of her purple dressing gown.
'-Bring him back for me, can you bring him back for me?' John whispered
Mrs. Hudson wiped away the stinging tears from her face and her eyes, as she pushed John forward and cupped his face in her hands. John stared hopelessly into her deep brown eyes, searching for an answer as a child does his own mother, because of course, mum always has the answer; John begged that she had the answer.
'-Oh sweetheart, sweet, sweet John' Mrs. Hudson began, her voice shaking as she slowly wiped away John's tears with her thumbs.
'-if I could, if I could pray and beg the heavens for something; for anything, I would beg them for my boy back, for Sherlock back' a single, sparkling tear rolled down Mrs. Hudson's cheek.
'-he was a son too me, the son I never had, I loved him as my own, I cared for him, watched over him-' the corner of Mrs. Hudson's mouth twitched as though a smile was trying to escape her lips as she continued.
'-I was so proud when he brought you home, so happy that Sherlock had finally found a friend, I knew, I just knew that you would look after him and that he would look after you; and as time went on, I had ended up with two boys, two sons to look after-' Mrs. Hudson almost breathed a laugh as she said it, and a smile tried to place itself upon John's lips.
'-you are both my boys, my sweet Sherly and John-' Mrs. Hudson smiled at John, and as much as John wanted to return that smile, he couldn't; he just couldn't.
'-but one of my boys has been taken away from me; one of my angels was taken away from me far too soon' and the smile disappeared, Mrs. Hudson's hands fell from Johns face, and she cried harder than she had ever cried before; John held her tight, crying as he stroked her greying, curled hair.
And that's where they sat for what felt like hours, crying until the tears simply would no longer fall; mother and son, grieving for their lost angel.
Mrs. Hudson sat up from John's chest, pulling away from him, grabbing one of his hands tightly in hers.
'-I think we both need to try and get some rest'
Mrs. Hudson helped John into bed, as his leg was still searing with pain. She tucked him in slightly and whispered,
'-remember John, he will always be with us, he will never leave us if we choose to remember him and continue to believe in Sherlock Holmes.' Mrs. Hudson kissed John lightly on the forehead and left John to cry himself to sleep.
John woke the next morning, his eyes crusty from last night's tears. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, when the pain shot up his leg again; John held tightly to his leg, holding in the howl of pain begging to escape his shut tight lips. He breathed out slowly and grabbed his cane; hobbling out into the lounge.
As soon as he set foot into the room his eyes automatically fixated on the bright yellow smiley face on the wall; John walked over toward it, slowly tracing the outline of the face with his finger, remembering how he had yelled at Sh-him for drawing it, let alone for shooting at it; Johns hand fell back to his side, he stared at the gun shot holes in the wall, 'I never paid Mrs. Hudson the money for that' he muttered. He turned his back on the wall, and his eyes fluttered across the room; all of Sherl-his stuff was still there, waiting as though he would be coming home, like he'd just gone out for a bit; but he hadn't he was never coming back; Sherlock Holmes is dead.
John had no idea what came over him, he ran into the kitchen, he picked up Sherlock's microscope and smashed it onto the floor, he pushed all of Sherlock's science equipment off of the table; jar's and vials smashed onto the floor sending small shards of glass, and strange liquids everywhere.
'I HATE YOU SHERLOCK HOLMES! I HATE YOU FOR DOING THIS TO ME!'
John ran back into the lounge, he picked up the skull and stared at it as he screamed,
'WHY COULDN"T HE HAVE JUST KEPT TALKING TO YOU!? WHY DID HE NEED ME!? I WISH HE HAD NEVER SPOKEN TO ME! I HATE HIM!'
John then sent the skull crashing through the window, shattering even more glass onto the floor, and onto the street below. He then upturned the coffee table, pulled down Sherlock's book shelf, lit a fire in the fireplace and began tossing all of the newspapers clippings John had collected, all the stories the papers had done on the great Sherlock Holmes.
Soon the entire lounge was in shambles, tables upturned, books covering the floor, the smell of burning paper filling the air. Sweat trickled down John's forehead, rage and pure hatred boiling inside; he wasn't finished with Sherlock's things, oh no he was not. He turned to Sherlock's bedroom and walked inside.
It was dark, all the curtains were shut the way he liked it, and the scent of Sherlock Holmes filled the air. John stopped and took in the smell for a moment, that musky, inviting smell, regret taking over for just a moment, then rage fought back and John continued his rampage.
'YOU WERE A FAKE! WHY ELSE WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? WAS OUR ENTIRE REALTIONSHIP FAKE!? DID YOU JUST USE ME TO HELP SELL YOUR STORY!? I DON'T BELIEVE IN YOU ANYMORE!'
He pulled out all of the drawers throwing clothes and underwear everywhere, pushing another bookcase to the ground, he then headed for the bedroom cupboard. John threw open the doors, and just as he was about to rip all of what was in the cupboard out, his eyes fixated on a photograph that was stuck to the inside of one of the cupboard doors. John unstuck the photograph and just stared at it; it was a photo of himself and Sherlock, they had taken it last Christmas. Mrs. Hudson had begged Sherlock to put on the silly antlers, but of course had had refused, well until John asked him to wear them.
'Put them on Sherlock come on! For one photo, please?'
'Oh, fine!' Sherlock said in a very un-amused voice.
'Oh you look lovely dear!' Mrs. Hudson smiled, 'Now smile Sherlock!'
Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's shoulders, and John did the same, as Mrs. Hudson took the photo.
John had never actually gotten to see the photo until now, John continued to stare at the photograph as the rage disappeared, replaced with guilt and longing. Sherlock was smiling in the photo, actually smiling. Not that fake curl in his lips that he did for the papers, but a genuine smile, the one he only ever wore for John whenever he was with him.
John looked up from the photograph and placed it to his chest; he could no longer hold it in as he sat down on Sherlock's bed and began to cry once more.
'Sherlock I am so sorry, look at what I've done!' John looked around the room at the mess he had made. 'Forgive me. Please forgive me, I believe in you.'
After a few quiet moments, John got up from the bed, placing the photo carefully in his pocket, and heading back for his own bedroom.
He grabbed a back pack from his cupboard and stuffed it with some extra clothes.
'I have to go, I can't stay here anymore, it's not home without Sherlock.' John muttered as he pulled the bag onto his back, put out the fire and made his way downstairs.'
'Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson!' John called,
'John love, what is it?' Mrs. Hudson had just arrived home from the grocery shop down the street.
'I'm leaving 221b' John said softly, 'I have to go; I just can't be here anymore.'
Mrs. Hudson watched him, her eyes begging him not to leave, 'Alright' she muttered. John held out the keys in his palm, but Mrs. Hudson folded his fingers over them and pushed his hand back to his chest. 'Keep them' she smiled, her eyes shining with tears, 'just in case you ever want to come back, it will always be here for you'
John pocketed the keys, 'thank you' he whispered.
Just as he had opened the door to the building, Mrs. Hudson whispered, 'The funerals tomorrow, please don't forget'
His heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach, 'I know, I will be there' and with that he stepped out of 221 and left it behind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John wandered the streets aimlessly, he had no idea where he was going to go, but that didn't really worry him, he just wanted to get away, get away from 221b.
As he walked along he passed a newspaper stand, every paper in London had the same headlining story 'Suicide of Fake Genius' John picked one up and began reading:
'Self proclaimed 'genius', Sherlock Holmes, committed suicide 3 days ago after it was found out that 'Jim Moriarty' was in fact a part time actor.
Holmes had hired 'Richard Brook' to pose as the criminal to help deal with his psychopathic needs. For more on this turn to page 5'
John scrunched up the paper and threw it across the street.
'HEY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!?' yelled the man working at the newspaper stand.
'HE WAS NOT A FAKE! IT'S ALL LIES! ALL OF IT!' John grabbed the man by his shirt collar and literally pulled him over the counter.
'WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, I WILL CALL THE POL-Oh, oh! You're him! John Watson!' the man began to laugh, 'You're the bloke who fell for his lies and according to this paper-' He pulled away from John's grip, and picked up a paper from one of the stands '-you're the man who fell in love with him!'
A crowd had gathered around the newspaper stand, people were filming and laughing at John.
He picked up the paper the man had indicated and read the title of the story:
'John Watson. The man who fell for the lies, and fell in love with the liar'
John looked up from the newspaper, and at the crowd of people all watching him, laughing at him, ready for him to deny it all.
'SO WHAT IF I DID!? MAYBE I DID AND MAYBE I DIDN'T, BUT I CAN TELL YOU ONE THING! I DIDN'T FALL FOR THE LIES, BECAUSE THERE WASN'T ANY! SHERLOCK HOLMES TOLD THE TRUTH, HE WAS A GENIUS AND HE IS THE GREATEST MAN I HAVE EVER KNOWN! I BELIEVE IN HIM! I WILL ALWAYS BELIEVE IN HIM, EVEN IF YOU WON'T!' John pushed through the crowd, until he heard the newspaper guy shout something back at him.
'What do you know!? YOU'RE JUST ANOTHER LOVE SICK FAG!'
John ran back through the crowd and slammed his fist into the man's jaw.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'John what the hell were you thinking?'
'Hey Greg' said John completely ignoring the question.
'John, you broke a man's jaw, fractured four of his ribs and completely buggered his face!' said Lestrade.
'Thanks for the update, now can you let me out of this cell!?' John snapped.
Lestrade grabbed the cell keys and unlocked it, 'just this once John!'
Lestrade handed John his back pack, 'D'you need a lift home?'
'I'm not living there anymore, I left' John muttered.
'Then where the hell do you plan on staying!?' Lestrade asked angrily.
'Well, I-uhm..'
'Don't be stupid John! You can stay with me for a while, no excuses!'
John really didn't want to stay with Lestrade, but honestly, where else was he going to go? John thanked Lestrade and got reluctantly into the police car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John had drifted off in the car, the visions of Sherlock falling from the top of Barts, causing him to wake in a hurry. John opened his eyes, and looked out the window for a moment, he wasn't quite sure where they were but he was pretty sure it was somewhere in Wimbledon. Lestrade pulled up into a driveway, and stopped the car.
'Nice place Greg' said John looking up at the double story building.
'Yeah well, thought I might as well get something out of the marriage'
Lestrade unlocked the door and walked in, John following him inside.
'Tea, John?' Lestrade asked.
John was taken a back by the house, it was huge, he had no idea how Lestrade could afford this.
'John?'
'Huh? Oh yeah, tea, thanks'
John sat down on one of the couches, while Lestrade made them both tea.
'Seriously, I'm thinking about becoming a D.I' smirked John
'Ha! Don't bother; my wage couldn't have afforded this. The ex- wife bought it when we got married'
'Oh I see'
'She left, gave me the house, can't complain really. Was a mutual break-up, sorta just, got over each other' laughed Lestrade, handing John his tea.
John gave him a sympathetic look,
'Don't look at me like that John, honestly it was mutual. She moved out, left me the house. Win, win scenario really'
For the rest of the evening Lestrade and John chatted for a while, and it seemed to take John's mind off things, until Lestrade asked him,
'D'you need a lift to the funeral?' Lestrade looked down at his empty cup of tea
John gulped down hard 'Yeah, I do actually, and uh, could we stop at the drycleaners on Baker street I need to get my suit'
'Yeah, well uhm-the spare room is upstairs, I think I'll go to bed. Goodnight John'
'Goodnight Greg'
Lestrade took John's empty cup and placed it in the sink, and then headed upstairs.
John sat alone for a moment; he rubbed his eyes, and just imagined what tomorrow was going to be like.
'This is going to be hard' he muttered, even thinking about it was a punch to the stomach.
John sighed, grabbed his cane and wandered upstairs to his room.
He opened the door and scanned the room; the room was a decent size and had its own bathroom.
'Bloody hell' John thought to himself, the room also had a huge window; if you looked out you could see all of the town's lights; little spots of lights that seemed to go on forever.
He went to shut the curtains when he saw a man watching him from one of the street corners, John only saw him out the corner of his eye before the person turned up their collar and walked away.
'SHERLOCK!?' John could not believe his eyes, 'Sherlock!?
John threw his cane to the floor and ran downstairs and out onto the street.
'Sherlock!? He screamed into the night as he stood in the middle of the street.
'John what the hell are you doing!? Lestrade had run outside to see what was going on.
'I saw him! He was there! The long black coat! It-it-' John looked at his feet realising how ridiculous he sounded, 'he is dead, Sherlock Holmes is dead. You saw his body, he is gone' John told himself, suddenly the pain shot up John's leg again and he toppled to one side. Lestrade ran and caught him before he smashed his head on the cold, hard road.
'Come on John,' Lestrade helped John to his feet; he wrapped his arm around Lestrade as he half walked back into the house.
Lestrade helped John back to his room.
'I'm so sorry' John muttered as he grabbed his cane, 'I just thought I saw him, I swear it looked just like him' John sat down on the edge of his bed, and placed his face in his hands. Lestrade watched John from the doorway before he sat down next to John, placing a hand on his shoulder.
'The same thing used to happen to me when I was kid' he began; John looked up from his hands.
'My Dad was shot on the job, he was a D.I as well, and he was everything to me. Mum left when I was young, and he brought me up all on his own. When he died I thought I could see him, I saw him everywhere, at school on the streets, and I believed it was him. I went to live with my Aunty when he passed, and I told her that I kept seeing him-' Lestrade gulped down hard before he continued,
'-she said to me that, when we love someone that much, when someone so special leaves us, that sometimes they come back to visit, you know, just to make sure we are doing ok' Lestrade looked up at John and smiled,
'Maybe he's just checking on you'
Lestrade got up and left the room. John sat still for a moment, and then got to his feet and walked over to the window; he looked out at the street corner once more and then shut the curtains.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All that night John kept seeing that man, the man on the corner of the street; he had the same curly hair, the long black coat, it was Sherlock, it was Sherlock Holmes.
'Hey, wait! Please wait' John called out into the night,
'Sherlock? Sherlock is that you?'
'John' whispered a voice from the distance,
'SHERLOCK!' John screamed as Sherlock Holmes, his Sherlock stepped out of the darkness. John ran at him and threw his arms around his neck, Sherlock wrapping his arms around John.
'I thought you were dead, Sherlock, I thought you were gone forever' he buried his face into Sherlock's chest, John's tears soaking through his shirt.
'I'm so sorry John, I am so sorry' Sherlock placed a hand on the back of John's head and held him ever tighter, 'I will never leave you again, ever, I promise'
'JOHN!' Lestrade's voice startled John out of his dream, John rubbed his eyes and looked up at Lestrade,
'What?' he said grumpily,
'We've gotta go, I picked up your suit for you already, thought you might like a few extra hours sleep. Come on get dressed, we've got to go'
Lestrade through John's sui on the end of his bed and then left the room, shutting the door behind him.
John groaned, and grabbed the suit, hanging it on the bathroom door. He began to run the shower, not caring whether it was too hot or too cold, he just wanted to get this day over and done with, to say his final goodbye to his best friend.
As John stood in the shower, the cold water finally waking him up, all he could think about was what he had seen last night, about the man on the street corner. Was it just someone stupid idea of a joke? Pretend to be Sherlock Holmes, just to play him, or was Lestrade right? Had Sherlock really come back to visit him, to check on him.
'Don't be ridiculous, John' he said to himself, 'none, of that stuff is real, it was just your imagination'
He turned off the taps and began to get ready for the final farewell.
The car ride to the funeral seemed to take hours; John watched as the rain droplets raced down his window,
'Are you going to be alright?' Lestrade asked softly,
John looked down at his hands, then back out the window for a moment and then up at Lestrade,
'Let's hope so,' he said, his voice caught in his throat.
Inside he knew he wasn't going to be, as soon as he saw the coffin, the coffin where his best friend, the greatest man he had ever met, his saviour, lay dead, he knew he would break; but he promised himself he would be there, he would be there for Sherlock.
John looked up form his hands when the car finally stopped; they'd arrived at the cemetery.
John took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car, grabbing his cane and following Lestrade through the gardens. Lestrade put his arm around John, and squeezed him tightly,
'A beautiful place to say goodbye, he deserves it' Lestrade said lowering his arm, and putting his hands back in his pocket, 'to bad about the rain though'
'He liked the rain, he would never admit to enjoying something so tedious, but he was happiest when it was raining' John muttered,
Both men walked in silence the rest of the way to the burial site, where they met Mrs. Hudson and Molly. Mrs. Hudson had tears swimming in her eyes, and when she saw John, that's when they began to fall, to John's surprise Molly didn't seem too phased, she just nodded at John and Lestrade and stood in silence, her eyes fixed upon something, John turned to see what she was looking at; the tombstone.
There it sat, black and cold, just the name 'Sherlock Holmes' in gold, looming over a dirty big hole in the ground,
'Is that!?' John said tears filling his eyes, 'is that all he gets!? His bloody name!'
Everyone turned to look at what was causing such a fuss,
'I couldn't get in touch with you love,' said Mrs. Hudson, her voice shaking, 'I didn't know what to put on it, I didn't like thinking about it, it made me-me-' then she burst into tears, Lestrade wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair, and gave John a piercing look,
'No, Mrs. Hud-I'm sorry' said John, 'I'll get a new one, I'll worry about it later'
'Well we are all here now, I suppose we should say goodbye' said Molly suddenly.
The coffin had already been placed; all that was left was to pay the final respects, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and John all stood in silence around Sherlock's final resting place, when they heard footsteps coming up behind them, John turned around and was surprised to see Donavan holding a bunch of flowers and Anderson with his hand's in his pockets refusing to look up at the crowd.
'What are you doing here?' Lestrade snapped at them,
'We came to say goodbye,' Donavan whispered, refusing to make eye contact with either Lestrade of John,
'-and to a-apologise' Anderson added, swallowing hard.
'Bit late for that!' John turned on Anderson and pushed him back by the shoulders, tears burning his eyes, begging to pour down his face,
'John, we are so sorry, please can we just say goodbye' Anderson finally looked up at John, stared him dead in the eyes, and John stared back. He could see the pain in Anderson's eyes, the regret; he truly meant what he said, he was just here to say goodbye.
John nodded at them both and turned back to face the tombstone, Anderson and Donavon joined them in the moment of silence.
After a moment or two began the speeches, 'I'll go first then shall I?' said Lestrade, his voice shaking, 'The first time I met Sherlock Holmes, well, I wanted to punch him in the face-' Lestrade smirked, and everyone but John laughed in agreement, '-but he was brilliant, true genius and he helped me so much, I was on edge of losing me job, but this tall, skinny bloke walked into my office one day and saved my career I owe him so-' John drifted out of the conversation, all the memories he had with Sherlock began to play in his mind like a recorded video. The first time Stamford introduced them, when they shook hands out the front of Baker street, their first case together, their first adventure, the moment John new that he was going to have this man in his life for a very long time, but obviously not long enough. John closed his eyes and breathed out heavily, trying to hold back the tears, and stay strong, to stay strong for Sherlock. All the fights, all the arguments, he regretted each one, all those moments when he thought about leaving Baker street pierced him like a dagger through the chest, how dare he ever think about leaving, leaving the most important person in the world to him. He was stupid, stupid to even thin such a thing,
'-John'
John opened his eyes to see everyone looking at him,
'It's your turn John' said Mrs. Hudson quietly,
'Oh, right' John swallowed hard, 'I-I hadn't known Sherlock as long as you all had, but-' John stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, '-but I knew him better than anyone, he was t-the greatest m-man I had ever met, t-the most brilliant-' a single tear rolled down John's face, '-If it wasn't for Sher-for him I d-don't know where I would be, I owe him so much, and I-I wish I could speak with him one l-last time-' more tears began to roll downs John's cheeks, and Molly began to cry, '-If I c-could I would tell him that, he is incredible, and that he means t-the world to me, and that I lov-no sorry, I can't do this, sorry' the emotions took over, and John had could no longer speak, he could only cry. John turned his back on everyone and walked out into the gardens alone, he walked for a while until he knew no one could hear his sobs. And then John screamed, screamed louder then he had ever before, he fell to his knees in the wet grass and gripped his face in his hands,
'Oh, Sherlock' he whispered into his hands, 'if only you knew! Maybe then, maybe you wouldn't have done it, maybe you wouldn't have jumped' John slammed his fists onto the ground, a began to rip out the grass,
'-it's my fault, all my fault! If I had only said it, we could of run away, run away somewhere!'
John looked up at the sky, the sky was grey, a sparkling cloudy grey, just like Sherlock's eyes, those mysterious grey eyes,
'LOOK AT THAT!' John pointed up at the sky, tears still running down his face, 'EVERYTHING REMINDS ME OF YOU! IS THIS WHAT LIFE IS GOING TO BE LIKE NOW!? I LIVE ON WHILE EVERYTHING REMINDS ME OF YOU, REMINDS ME THAT THIS IS ENTIRELLY MY FAULT!'
John cupped his face in his hands again, sobbing and crying into his hands, until a thought struck him, this wasn't just is fault, who told all of Sherlock's secrets to Moriarty?
'-Mycroft' John looked up from his hands, grass stuck to his face from the mucus and tears, '-this is his fault' John clenched his teeth as he said it, '-it's not just my fault, it's his too! Oh, if I ever see him again, it'll be too soon!'
A few weeks had passed since the funeral and John had begun to cheer up a bit, he was staying with Lestrade still because he wasn't ready too return to 221; not just yet.
Too take his mind off Sherlock, John took up playing the guitar; it was challenging but it really did take his mind off things, for those few several hours he practised a day, he didn't feel so alone. He also started to enjoy cooking; nothing too fancy, just small dishes; spaghetti or home-made fish and chips. Lestrade couldn't complain he came home to meals everyday instead of his usual BigMac on his way home from work.
John even applied for another job; there was a small practise in London that was looking for a doctor to come in every Thursday, Wednesday and Sunday. Things were really starting to look up for John, he finally felt as though he was moving on, that he could get by without Sherlock; even though deep down inside, it was still hurting him. Hurting him to not come home to the sound of Sherlock playing a new tune on the violin, not having Sherlock run up to him excitedly when one of his experiments had gone well, heck, he even missed Sherlock's constant groans about how tedious everything in the entire universe was. But John wanted to stop hurting, and the only way to do that was to move on, and forget his old life with Sherlock.
Though John was moving on, he still visited Sherlock's grave every day. He would sit by the grave and tell Sherlock about what was going on, about a new song he'd learnt to play on the guitar, or about that one time he'd almost set Lestrades kitchen on fire trying to make mushroom soup; just small things like that. He would pick a white rose from one of the gardens in the cemetery and lay it on the grave; Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but John knew that they were his favourite, there was small florist on Baker street that always had a display of white roses out the front, he had caught Sherlock looking at them and smiling, he then brushed his hands over the flower, until he saw John was looking and placed his hand back in his pocket.
Unfortunately every time he would place a rose down on the grave, he would turn up the next day and it would be gone.
'The carer must get rid of them,' he thought to himself, annoyed that someone insisted on doing that every damn time.
John placed another rose down, and sat in his usual spot next to the headstone.
'I knew they were your favourite,' laughed John, 'I don't know why you would pretend like you didn't care for them'
'Nothing has really been happening, I haven't seen Molly much, she never calls or comes to visit,' John sighed 'don't really get phone calls from anyone much, Greg's on some big case he's not suppose to tell anyone about so he hasn't been home much, I bet if you were there the case would have been solved weeks ago,' John smiled, 'They really are hopeless without you, OH! Mrs. Hudson's gone away for a while, her sister is watching over 221 for the next 6 months,' he looked down at his hands, '-I still haven't been back, I don't think I'll ever be able to go back, I'd miss you too much' John looked up at the headstone, the name Sherlock Holmes glittering in the sunlight, he placed a hand on the name, 'I do miss you, I miss you a lot' he whispered.
The next morning was like any other, John got up and ready for work, but before that he went to visit Sherlock. He passed through the cemetery gates, saying 'good morning' to Mrs. Jefferson who visited her late husband every Sunday morning, plucked a white rose one of the gardens and made his way over the hill and down to Sherlock's grave. Except this morning was different, very different; this morning someone was there before John, someone in a black suit and leaning on an umbrella; Mycroft Holmes.
A fire lit inside John, absolute rage and hatred engulfed him,
'WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE!?' John said running at Mycroft, to which he received no reply, not even any acknowledgement.
'I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!' John yelled angrily, pushing Mycroft backwards by the shoulders,
'I am here to visit my brother if you don't mind' said Mycroft calmly, refusing to look at John.
'YOUR BROTHER!? YOU MEAN THE BROTHER THAT YOU SOLD OUT TO MORIARTY!'
Mycroft said nothing,
'-THE LITTLE BROTHER THAT YOU COULDN'T EVEN BE IN THE SAME ROOM WITH!'
Still nothing,
'-THE BROTHER THAT YOU ABSOLUTLEY HATED!'
'-I NEVER SAID I HATED HIM!' Mycroft finally turned to John, his eyes soaked with tears, '-he was my little brother, and I loved him!'
'Sorry, but I find that hard to believe!' John said angrily,
'Oh, what would you know John? You didn't really know Sherlock Holmes, I was his brother, and I knew him better than anyone! Yes even better than you!' Mycroft got right in John's face, that was too close for comfort, and the way Mycroft was speaking to John, making him feel as though this was entirely his fault, made something inside John snap, he slammed his fist into Mycroft's stomach, sending him toppling over onto his back,
'-YOU HARDLY KNEW YOUR BROTHER! NOT THE WAY I DID, AND WHAT YOU DID KNOW ABOUT HIM, YOU SOLD TO MORIARTY-' John's fist slammed into Mycroft's jaw, who was already on the ground, gripping his stomach in pain,
'-YOU ARE THE REASON HE IS DEAD! YOU KILLED HIM MYCROFT, YOU DID THIS!' John sent his foot flying into the side of Mycroft's face, knocking him out cold.
John stared at Mycroft's body that was lying in the wet grass, blood was trickling from his nose and mouth, and he didn't get up, he didn't move; Mycroft Holmes lay still.
Suddenly the rage and anger left Johns body as he realised what he had done,
'Mycroft!? Oh my god, what I have I done!' John leant down next to Mycroft and placed to fingers on his neck, then on his wrist,
'Thank god, he's still alive' John breathed out slowly,
John looked down at Mycroft, then over his shoulder toward the cemetery gates. What was he suppose to do? Leave Mycroft here, or call for help…
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called for an ambulance, and then he ran, ran for home, ran back to 221b.
And that's where John sat, in the dark corner of Sherlocks bedroom crying into his knees.
'What have I done-' John muttered to himself, '-I'm going mad, crazy!'
He sat in that corner for what seemed like hours, hours of completely silence and muffled sounds of his sobs, until about 10:00pm when he received a phone call from Molly.
'H-hello?' John answered,
'John, its Molly, something's happened to Greg'
John wiped his face on his sleeve, 'W-what's happened!?'
'John, he's been shot. They're not sure if he's going to m-make it' he could hear Molly's voice getting caught in her throat,
'I'm coming to the hospital! I'm coming!' John hung up the phone, and ran out to the street and hailed a cab.
John burst through the hospital doors and ran to reception.
'Hello, I'm John Watson, I live with Greg Lestrade, where is he? Is he going to be alright!?'
The woman at reception looked up at John, he eyes sympathetic.
'He is about to be transferred to Royal London Hospital to under-go surgery, I-I'm so sorry but they don't think he is going to make it'
John froze, his eyes locked upon the woman's, his heart sank to his stomach; he was about to lose the only other person he had. He was going to be alone. Be alone again.
'No! HE WILL MAKE IT! HE WILL GET THROUGH THIS! I'M A DOCTOR, CAN'T I GO SEE HIM!?' John went into hysterics, he was about to lose the only other friend he had in this world. He'd lost his best mates, seen them die in battle, his parents had both passed away, the most important person in the world to him jumped off a building and now, the only hope John had at regaining his life back, the only person who didn't make him feel so alone was dying; and there was nothing John could do about it.
'Please, sir! Take a seat, calm down' the woman tried to restrain John who was trying to make for one of the elevators,
'I CAN'T JUST LET ANOTHER PERSON DIE! I COULDN'T SAVE HIM. I COULDN'T SAVE SHERLOCK, BUT I CAN SAVE GREG, I CAN, I CAN, PLEASE!' Suddenly John was pulled away from the elevators by the woman and a male nurse who had come to see what the commotion was about. They placed John down in a chair and gave him the chance to calm down; the woman made him tea and sat with him.
John leant over in his chair his face buried once more in his hands; over the past few months these hands had only felt tears, so many tears had filled the cups of his hands. How was it that he still had tears left to shed? It just wasn't fair; no one should ever have to feel so much pain in such a short time; to lose everything and everyone that was important to you. It wasn't fair, and it hurt, it hurt so much.
John finally looked up from his hands, and then at the woman, she was still sitting besides him holding the cup of tea she had made him.
'Please have something to drink Dr. Watson, I'm Mary by the way, here' she grabbed John's hand and wrapped it around the cup; he took it but couldn't drink it. His hands shook; he didn't have the strength to lift it to his mouth, let alone swallow the drink.
Mary sat by him to make sure he didn't try to make for the elevator again, and John knew there was no point in trying; the pain in his leg was worse than ever, his eyes continued to let tears escape and trickle down his cheeks. It hurt, it all hurt, he was losing everyone important to him, and he was going to be alone. He thought about all the people who had meant something to him, his army mates, Sherlock, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson was going to be away for months, Molly no longer spoke to him unless it was important, Harry was a complete idiot and he really didn't want to see her ever again, Mycroft…Mycroft…the thought of him was like a punch to the stomach, Mycroft might've been there, maybe he could've turned to Mycroft, but no, he had done something so stupid, so disgusting, was Mycroft even alive still?
'M-Mary, is there someone here named Mycroft Holmes?' he asked quietly, his voice shaking,
'I think so, do you know him?'
'Yes, he is a-' John paused, '-was a friend'
'He is still here if you would like to go see him?'
'No! No, it's alright, but uh-did he say what happened?'
Mary raised an eyebrow at John, not sure if she should be giving out this sort of information or not,
'He says he was attacked while visiting his brother, he had no idea who had attacked him though-'
Absolute guilt and hate of himself engulfed John,
'- it's strange though, he insisted that he didn't want any further investigation into whom the attacker was, didn't want the police involved at all' Mary shrugged.
John said nothing, Mycroft should have told them, told them that John had attacked him, maybe then he would have been locked up, sent away, and sent away so he could no longer hurt anyone else. Everything, all of it! It was his fault!
John ran his fingers through his own hair, tears falling from his eyes, deciding whether to run away, just run away and never come back.
'If I run away, I'll just hurt someone else, I'll do it again, my fault, this is my entire fault' he muttered to himself,
'I'm going to the bathroom' he whispered to Mary suddenly, who looked as though she was ready to tackle him to the ground if he tried to run for the elevator.
The bathroom was empty; John leant over the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He hadn't looked at himself in so long; his hair was greying, his face looked older and worn, his eyes red and puffy and black rings surround them. He looked at himself for a moment,
'I hate you,' he whispered at his reflection, 'I hate you so much'
'You are sick, you are mad! ABSOLUTLEY CRAZY!' he began to yell,
'GO AWAY! JUST GO, ALL YOU DO IS HURT PEOPLE! JUST DIE, GO AWAY AND DIE!' John smashed his fist into his faces reflection, the mirror shattered all over the floor and sliced open his hand. He was bleeding excessively, but he didn't care, the more pain he felt the better, he deserved to be punished.
'This is what you do,' John looked down at his bleeding hand, '-you cause pain, even to yourself'
John realised all the mess he had made, and quickly locked himself in a cubical before anyone came in. He put down the lid of the toilet and sat on top of it, pulling his knees to his face and began to cry.
'What have I become, why do I keep doing this' he muttered to himself, 'I have gone mad, I keep talking to myself, I hurt people, I hurt myself' the pain in John's hand was excruciating; he wrapped his hand in the bottom of his jumper,
'All of this just because I miss Sherlock, why is this happening, why did he have to go,' John wiped his face on his sleeve,
'I understand why he did it though, why he jumped' his voice caught in his throat 'he jumped because the pain is just too much!'
'I can't do this anymore, I just can't'
Suddenly a thought hit him, 'Sherlock was all I had, and I'm going to be with him,'
There he stood the wind thrashing and his tears freezing to his face, looking out at the horizon, the sun beginning to set.
'Well this is it!' John laughed, 'this is what you did, this is what it felt like'
John looked down at the street below, everyday people heading home from work, or a day out shopping,
'Not one of them bothered to look up and stop you, tell you not to jump' John walked away from the ledge and back to the middle of the roof space,
'This is how much I miss you Sherlock, this is how much it hurts and I just can't be away from you anymore' John laughed nervously, tears still pouring down his face,
'I keep hurting people, hurting myself, its ridiculous isn't it Sherlock? That I keep doing these things because I couldn't stop you from jumping, stop you from killing yourself,' John walked nervously back to the edge of the building, 'I couldn't keep you with me, so now I'm coming to you' he placed one foot up on the ledge,
'I-I'm coming to you Sherlock,' John swallowed hard '-this is the only choice, I'm going to be with you, maybe then it'll stop hurting' John placed his other foot on the ledge, he shut his eyes tightly, not daring to look down; he heard the screams of people down below,
'He's going to jump!' Someone stop him!' 'Someone help him!'
'Listen to them Sherlock,' John laughed, 'Someone help him, someone do something, none of them brave enough to help me themselves'
John breathed in heavily, then out again slowly,
'No one can help me, not unless you were here, no one but you could stop me'
John's feet shuffled on the ledge, his toes handing over the edge,
'But you're dead Sherlock, you can't help me'
Suddenly John's phone began to ring inside his pocket, the sudden movement startled him and one foot slipped back onto the roof. John pulled his phone out of his pocket; it was Molly.
'M-Molly..'
'John, John p-please get down, come down the stairs don't do this John, PLEASE!'
John looked over the ledge and saw Molly looking up at him, her hand out stretched as though this was holding him back,
'I-I have to do this Molly, I keep hurting people! I KEEP HURTING PEOPLE! I can't, I have to be with Sherlock! I HAVE TO BE WITH HIM AGAIN!' John clenched his teeth, trying to hold onto the tears,
'I'm sorry Molly, b-but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hurt you, if I hurt Mrs. Hudson, I already hurt Mycroft, and myself, I-I need Sherlock, I need t-to be with him now'
'JOHN! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU CAN'T DO THIS, PLEASE JOHN PLEASE!' John could hear Molly's voice getting caught in her throat,
'Molly, I'm sorry, but he is all I've got left, I have to be with him'
'NO! JOHN, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, JOHN! OH I CAN'T KEEP IT A SECRET ANYMORE, JOHN SHERLOCK IS AL-'
'Goodbye Molly' John hung up the phone and threw it aside,
John placed both feet on the ledge once more, he closed his eyes opened his arms wide, but refused to look down.
John took one final breath in,
'I love you Sherlock, I never got to say, but I do, I love you so much' his feet shuffled until his heels were all that was left on the building, he closed his eyes and began too fall forwards.
And that's when John Watson fell, fell backwards as someone grabbed him by the waist, and pulled him backwards on top of them.
John stared up at the sky, his entire body shaking, his breathing loud and heavy, his life had flashed before him and he thought he'd fallen to the sidewalk, but no he was still here, still alive and well. He was in shock, and he dared not to move until the feeling in his body came back, his blood began to pump again; he felt someones chest rising and falling underneath him, their hands still held tightly around his waist.
Then they sat up, still not letting go of his waist, and then the rage and the pain filled inside John's stomach once more, this idiot had saved him, when he didn't want to be saved,
'WHY! WHY WOULD- I WANTED TO DIE! I WANTED-' John finally turned so he was face to face with his saviour,
'Sh-Sher-' was all John managed to blurt out before he dragged himself away from Sherlock.
Sherlock stood up shakily, but he didn't remove his piercing gaze from John,
'WHAT THE HELL JOHN!? WHY!? WHY!?' Sherlock yelled angrily at him, running his fingers through his black curly hair, as John stared bewildered up at him,
'YOU WERE GOING TO JUMP! YOU WOULD HAVE DIED JOHN, YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU WERE ABOUT TO DO!?' Sherlock turned his back on John,
'You're not-you're alive' John continued to stare up at Sherlock, he could not believe what he was seeing,
Sherlock turned back to John, who had tears running down his face and looked as though he had seen ghost, which to John, was what this all seemed to feel like.
'How-how, no, you were dead, you can't be here-'
Sherlock got to his knees in front of John, who backed a little way further from him. Sherlock grabbed John's hand, and held it to his face,
'This is me John, I'm still alive, I did this to protect you, I had to protect you' a tear fell from the corner of Sherlocks eye and ran down John's still bleeding hand; the tear stung the wound and he pulled it away quickly.
Both men sat in silence refusing to look at each other. John was in shock complete and utter shock, how could this be real? How was Sherlock still alive!? WHY DID HE PRETEND TO BE DEAD!? He just couldn't believe this, everything he had been through, everything that had happened; all of this was because Sherlock was 'dead.' John was about to slam his fist into the side of Sherlock's face, when he looked up and saw that Sherlocks face was in his knees; crying.
John placed his hand on Sherlock's arm; Sherlock looked up at him, the tears glittering in his soft grey eyes,
'I'm so sorry John, I-I'm so sorry, I'll explain I promise, I just-'
John placed his hand on Sherlocks cold cheek; it was him it was really him, he was alive. He used his thumb to wipe away the tears, before he finally whispered back,
'I don't care Sherlock, you're alive, you're alive and that's all I care about'
Both men wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace, not daring to let go ever again.
John laughed happily into Sherlock's shoulder; Sherlock could feel the tears soaking through his shirt.
'I never stopped believing in you, never, not once' John mumbled into his shoulder.
Sherlock pushed John forward, and looked him deep in the eyes, before placing his hand in his pocket and reviling a single white rose,
'I know' Sherlock smiled,
John couldn't stop himself, he'd let Sherlock go once and he was never going to let him go again, he grabbed Sherlock's face and kissed him. Kissed him like it would be the last chance he ever had. Sherlock pulled John in closer and held him against him tightly.
They pulled away for a moment to breathe, their foreheads pressed against each other,
'You didn't happen to hear what I said just before I was about to, well you know-' John panted,
'I love you too John' Sherlock smirked before he pulled John in for one last passionate kiss.
John could not believe this, he was holding Sherlock Holmes in his arms once more, he forgot about everything as Sherlock's lips glided against his, tasting every last inch of his mouth that he could. Then suddenly John remembered, he pushed Sherlock's lips away, grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the stairs,
'John, what are you doing!?' Sherlock said trying not to trip over his own feet as John pulled him along,
'Greg! I have to see if Greg made it! He was shot Sherlock; they said he was going to die!'
'What!?'
Suddenly John's phone began to ring; it was still where John had thrown it moments earlier. Sherlock ran to pick it up and answered it,
'Yes? You're sure? That's fucking fantastic! Ok, bye'
'That was Molly,' said Sherlock smiling ecstatically, John stared at Sherlock his eyes wide open, Sherlock was suppose to be dead and he casually just answered his phone,
'What?-' said Sherlock quizzically '-oh! No, Molly knows I'm alive, I'll explain later, but right now we have to go see Lestrade! He's alive John! They saved him!'
John breathed a sigh of relief; Sherlock pulled John toward him and hugged him tightly.
They pulled away from each other but refused to let go of the others hand as they made their way downstairs,
'How are we going to explain to everyone that you are still alive?' John asked suddenly,
'Simple. I'll just-I'll-'
John laughed, for the first time Sherlock Holmes was lost for words.
'Seems we have a problem on our hands my dear Watson' Sherlock laughed.