AN: Inspired by a Tumblr post and the line in Doctor Who's The Angels Take Manhattan. Apologies for the fact that I can't make words sound nice together, and that this has probably been done before. Angst and suicide. Sherlock belongs to the BBC.
John burst open the doors of the lab, only to see Sherlock was gone. Of course he had left. He probably knew that there was nothing wrong with Mrs. Hudson; he probably knew it would be a ploy to get John away from him for something.. probably for him to meet with Moriarty again. John gulped nervously at this thought. He ran out to the corridor again, trying to figure out where he should look for Sherlock.
Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot rang through the open windows. John's head flicked to the windows, then to the ceiling. The roof: the gunshot came from the roof. As John ran to the staircase he could only hope that Sherlock wasn't the one that was shot.
He ran out onto the roof, and the first thing he noticed was Jim Moriarty's lifeless body lying on the rooftop, a gun clenched in his hand and blood running from his head. John breathed a sigh of relief, and scanned the rest of the rooftop for Sherlock.
He found him.
Sherlock Holmes was standing on the edge of the roof, prepared to end his life. He had expected John's cab to arrive sooner than this, but it hadn't. He knew he needed to get it over with now. Perhaps it was too much to ask for a goodbye, he thought.
John's face melted into horror as he watched Sherlock opened his arms in preparation for his fall. "Sherlock, no!" He shouted as he ran to hold back his friend.
"John.." Sherlock mumbled, holding his arms in front of him as he felt himself shaking on the edge. He could hear his friend approaching him from behind. He hadn't wanted it to end like this, where John could better argue with what he was trying to do. Sherlock sighed as he stepped backwards onto the roof and let his hands fall to his side.
"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" John asked, stopping a few feet from his friend, who still wasn't looking at him.
"I'm ending it, John." Sherlock murmured. "I have to."
"What?" John circled his friend to look at him from the side. "No, no you don't have to end your life, Sherlock."
Sherlock continued to avoid John's gaze. He decided to go along with what he was originally planned to say, adjusting slightly for the circumstances. "I'm a fake, John."
"What?" John questioned, wishing Sherlock would look at him.
"I hired Moriarty for my own purposes. I.. wanted to look clever." Sherlock stepped onto the ledge again.
"What? No!" John grabbed his friend's arm in attempt to hold him back. "You can't tell me that after living with you for eighteen months everything was a lie."
"It is, John." Sherlock stated. "I had everything prepared… to impress you."
John shook his head in disbelief. "You knew about my sister."
"I researched you." Sherlock mumbled quickly, barely audible. "When I knew you were moving in I read up on you online." He wished he could just do the deed instead of going through all this.
John shook his head. "No, no you didn't." He argued. "Because you knew about Afghanistan. You had no idea that Mike would be bringing me in, yet you knew I had been at war, that I was looking for a flatmate, that my limp was psychosomatic."
Sherlock sighed, shaking his arm from John's grasp. "I'm sorry, John." He murmured, beginning to lean over the edge.
"No!" John shouted, his voice sounding more frightened than authoritative. He grabbed his friend's arm and yanked him back onto the roof, nearly knocking Sherlock off his feet.
"Sherlock, look at me." John demanded, anger now brimming in his voice. Sherlock slowly looked up at him, his face hard.
"Sherlock, why are you doing this?" John asked, his hand still tightly gripping Sherlock's arm out of fear he'd try something again.
Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "Goodness, John, why do you have to be like this?"
"I thought you were the genius." John muttered as tears started to sting in his eyes.
Sherlock studied John for a moment, before his face went expressionless. "They're going to kill you, John."
John's hand dropped to his side in surprise. "What?"
"And Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, if I don't jump." He gazed off into the London skyline. "Moriarty's snipers are prepared to kill you on sight if I don't, and the only person that can call them off isn't available at the moment." He motioned to Moriarty's body. "There's no other alternative."
John was speechless. This man.. this man that was so quick to say he had no friends, that was a self-declared sociopath, that could be so cold and inhuman at times.. this man was now prepared to die for his friends, the ultimate declaration of love.
"I'm really sorry it had to end this way, John." Sherlock said, stepping back onto the ledge. "But at least now you understand why."
Before Sherlock could utter a 'goodbye', he turned to see John stepping onto the ledge next to him.
Sherlock stared incredulously at John, who was looking straight ahead at London, his home. "You can't be serious, John." Sherlock said, shaking his head.
"You shouldn't have to do this alone." John mumbled, clenching his hand into a fist as he tried to avoid looking down.
"I'm doing this for you, John." Sherlock protested.
"I know." John turned to face his friend. "I think that's bloody amazing."
Sherlock stared at John, breathing short breaths and his face confused. "John, I'm doing this so youdon't have to die." He reiterated in a low, somewhat nervous voice.
John let out a tearful laugh. "I'll still die; it just won't be the snipers that kill me."
Sherlock's confused expression remained on his face until he realized what John meant. He looked down at the sidewalk and tried to prevent tears from filling his eyes as he further realized what he would be leaving behind. He shook his head and looked back at his friend. "I'm sorry, John; this is something I need to do by myself."
"No." John shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. "We do this together," he took Sherlock's hand, "or not at all."
The slight trembling Sherlock had been experiencing since he first stepped on the roof suddenly halted at John's touch. Tears started to form in his own eyes as he fully realized his love for the man he wished to die for. He brought John's hand up to his face and pressed his lips against it, closing his eyes momentarily. He realized he could no longer object, and was more than happy to spend his full stay in the afterlife with John.
He opened his eyes again. "Are you ready?" He whispered, staring into his friend's eyes.
John nodded. "Always."
As tears started to roll down his cheeks, Sherlock kept his gaze on John as they stepped into the air, and embarked on their final earthly adventure together.