Hello all! Finally I have written Johnlock! This story is based on what happens when Sherlock returns after 3 years...and do not hold me responsible for any feels you may experience after this story.
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone in this story, but this story itself belongs to me!
John stared at the bottle of pills. Three years. Three unbearable years. Mycroft was on a business trip, so now was the chance. He choked down a large handful of capsules and chugged the remainder of the liquor. He pinched his eyes shut, remembering it like it was yesterday. The jump, the fall, the blood, the body. The first attempt on his own life was about a month after it happened. John downed an entire bottle of tylenol, but Mycroft found him and the hospital pumped his stomach just in time. The second time he tried to hang himself, but again Mycroft found him. That's when Mycroft started keeping tabs on John at all times. He hated it; he just wanted to leave. He wanted to stop feeling the pain, and to be reunited with the only person he ever truly loved.
At the off-chance he survived the pills and the two bottles of liquor, John stood up, wobbling. He managed to find his way outside and stumbled down the street. It was foggy, and the cold air was stinging his teary eyes. He had to find a bridge; that was what he needed. After about half an hour of walking, he managed to find one. It was a large bridge, and there was a dried up reservoir far below. "This will do," he said to himself. As he teetered on the edge, his life flashed before his eyes. Sherlock and his first meeting, with the woman in pink. That first dinner together when the server kept thinking they were on a date. He wished they were on a date. He just wished he could've told Sherlock how he felt. All the smiles, the crazy experiments, the laughs, the cases. He swore he could hear the detective playing the violin in the howling wind swirling around him.
He gently closed his eyes, feeling the effects of the pills. "John!" he heard a small voice against the wind, but he ignored it. "John stop!" he heard again. It was deep and familiar, and in that moment he swore it was Sherlock's. Maybe it was Sherlock calling to him from beyond, ready to be reunited once more. "JOHN!" he heard the voice scream. It was a terrified voice, but again he did not turn around. He held out one foot and was ready to feel the plunge. What he felt, however, were two long arms wrap around his waist and yank him away from the ledge.
"S-s-stop..." he mumbled, trying to fight the stranger off. He flung his arms around, not able to see anything. His vision was clouding, but not before he saw two bright blue eyes inches away from his face.
"John, why?!" Sherlock screamed, causing the two of them to collapse on the pavement.
John's half-closed eyes shot open when he realized who was speaking. "S-Sherlock?" he gasped before coughing violently.
"John, it's me," he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around John even tighter.
"Sherlock...how..."
"I faked it all, John. I had to stay in hiding and...John?" Sherlock explained before noticing his friend's eyes starting to close.
"Sherlock...it's so cold..."
"John please! Please stay with me. Wake up John," Sherlock shouted, leaning down to place a desperate kiss on John's lips. "John..." he trailed off, pinching his eyes shut.
"Sherlock...I'm sorry..." he mumbled.
"No! John don't say that...you'll be okay...you will be okay you will John...you'll be okay..." he kept repeating, using his free hand to lift John's face to his and kissed him several more times, just wanting his eyes to open. Just to see them one last time.
"I...love..." John stuttered before his voice cracked. He was choking on a mixture of blood and alcohol. "I love you, Sherlock...I'm so sorry..." he managed to cough out. He saw a bright light and it felt peaceful. He could no longer feel the icy wind stinging his cheeks; or Sherlock's tears dripping down onto his skin. He could no longer see Sherlock's face, or the ambulance that was approaching rapidly. His eyes felt heavy and his body felt light; almost as if it didn't exist anymore. John smiled, finally feeling at peace for the first time in three years. It was finally over, and he was finally in silence.
"John no..." Sherlock's voice broke as he held his lifeless friend. This man, the only man he ever loved or cared about; he was gone. John Watson was gone and it was his fault. He should've been there. He should've come back sooner. A paramedic tried to pull him away, but he shrugged him off, leaning in to hug John once more. John Watson was dead...and he would never know how Sherlock felt. But what Sherlock didn't know is that John did know. He died knowing exactly how Sherlock felt...and as Sherlock looked to the sky which was now dropping tiny snowflakes on his face, he knew...he knew John was miserable all those years and now he could finally be at peace. He was finally happy, and a tiny smile on Sherlock's face formed through the tears.