A Failed Attempt
Author's Notes: I do not own Sherlock or any of its contents blah blah blah, you guys know the drill!
Enjoy!
John Hamish Watson absorbed thei- his flat one last time, truly taking in each detail. Since the day his best friend had taken his life, John had never felt the same. He had grown recluse, losing contact with each of his friends, not wanting to keep up the habits of an ordinary life. It made it a bit easier, just dropping the façade and allowing the depression to take over him…at least this way he wouldn't have to fake a smile. Every day had become an endless cycle of work, sleep, and therapy. During the first several months John had been expecting Sherlock to show up, but as the dust began to collect along the furniture and no sign of the familiar brunette appeared, he lost hope. He slowly accepted that the one person he had truly loved would never return.
John had never really expected Sherlock to return his affections while he was alive, but it least he was around; at least he was there to use his clever brain, there to compose hauntingly beautiful melodies across his violin, there to commence his absurd experiments, there to go on crazy adventures to solve cases, there to bring excitement into John's dull life, and even there just to be a pain in the arse. The unfamiliar sensation of a smile almost managed to creep up John's face at the thought of his flat mate, but quickly faded.
Today marked the year anniversary of the fall, and this weighed heavily on the young doctor. Throughout this past year, John had attempted to end his pain on several occasions, but he could never quiet follow through. The gun in his hands would always seem to feel heavy, symbolizing the weight of his decision, always causing him to lose his nerve. But there was something about today that seemed to cement his decision. All though he doubted Sherlock would ever agree with what he was about to do, it seemed like the only answer. Sherlock would probably want him to move on, leave Baker Street, find someone, build a family, and try to be happy. But that was impossible, because a blogger without his consulting detective was nothing.
He walked toward the door of 221B and slowly turned the knob, as he walked down the stairs he grasped the paper in his hands a little tighter. He had prepared his words carefully, this wasn't the first note he had written, but it would be the last. He placed the paper in between the door of 221A and thought of Mrs. Hudson. He knew this would be tough on her, and he highly regretted that. Losing both of her boys would be something that was hard to deal with, but she was tough, so he said a silent prayer asking for her forgiveness.
Outside a cab waited for him, he got in and instructed the cabbie to take him to a restaurant, he didn't want to throw off any warning signs by asking to go directly to a bridge. He figured, if Sherlock fell than he should too. He had followed Sherlock in everything else, so why not follow him in this? This final ride to his impending demise felt long and antagonizing slow, John was ready for everything to be over. He thought about his decision the whole ride, but nothing in this world could change his mind other than the one thing that caused the choice in the first place. He tried to come up with something that could make him stay, but eventually his thoughts would always drift back to Sherlock so by the end of the ride he was nearly in tears.
The cabbie pulled up to John's destination and he nearly threw the toll at the man; he was rushing at this point. In fear that he might change his mind he was practically running to the bridge. He knew he was drawing attention, but he would only need a moment to complete the task at hand. He used the hand bar in front of him for support as he put one leg, and then the other on the opposite side. He balanced himself and let out a deep breath.
He touched the soft blue scarf that used to belong to Sherlock that he had wrapped around his neck before leaving the flat and thought of Sherlock one last time, simply thinking "I'm on my way, love." Just as he let one foot dangle out, he could swear he heard Sherlock shout from behind him, yelling for him to not do this. As a doctor who knew the mind was capable of amazing things, and he was glad this his brain conjured up this last delusion in his final instants. He could die happy hearing his love with clarity in this last moment. Right as he propelled his body forward, he could almost feel those long slender fingers attempt to wrap around his arm. Then he was falling, plummeting towards his death and looking forward to seeing Sherlock once again.
