Prologue
Nothing else exists. Stay calm, even breathing. Good. Now close your eyes. Keep them closed. Very good. Now hold your breath. And jump.
John awoke in a cold sweat, the impact shocking him awake as it always does. These dreams, these goddamn dreams. Every night, he has hardly rested since that day; every night has been plagued by the dreams. Always the same, always… the… same….
Everyone remembers that day, even those who had no interest in him before, they were interested now. Like starving dogs, waiting for even the smallest scrap, even the smallest thing to satisfy the never-ending hunger. The hunger for gossip, for news, for another freak show to gape at. John didn't know then, not that day, but he knows now, now he knows exactly what happened, exactly how trapped he must have felt, exactly how exposed and naked he felt, exactly what drove him over the edge, exactly why the infamous Sherlock Holmes, killed himself.
Chapter 1
Ever since John Watson had seen Sherlock Holmes pitch himself off of that building, he has been plagued by dreams, horrible, horrible dreams. Disturbing, grotesque, revolting, and everything else that Sherlock's mind was. It was the same every single night.
He was standing on the edge of the building, Sherlock beside him, but he wasn't scared, he knew what they were about to do, but still, nothing could faze him. Sherlock would grab Watson's hand in his own and look down at him and say, "Just remember, nothing else exists. Stay calm, even breathing. Good. Now close your eyes. Keep them closed. Very good. Now hold your breath. And jump." And John would listen; he would jump off of the building, not a single ounce of doubt in his heart that Sherlock was coming with him. Then, as he was falling he would look up and see Sherlock, see him walking away, as John plummets to his death. And just before the impact would shock him awake, a single tear fell from his eye.
And he would wake up, the single tear rolling down his face, in the dream and reality. It would still be night, usually around 3 AM or so, but John couldn't sleep, not after what his mind forced him to see. So he would, shower, get dressed, make some tea, sit in Sherlock's old chair, and look. Not at anything in particular just look, see everything in his little flat, his very empty little flat. He would look at the dusty old violin that Sherlock used to play, the skull Sherlock cherished so much, his own computer, that Sherlock had used so many times. Then, only when the tears rolling down his face threatened to turn into full fledged sobs, would he get up go outside and walk, just around not even looking where he was going, sometimes he would walk all day, realize it was dark and hail a cab home only to realize he had no money to pay the cabby with. Usually the cabby would take pity on John, seeing how obviously broken he is. Then he would walk up to his flat lock the door behind him, testing it three times, sit back down in Sherlock's old chair once again, and just rest. Not sleeping, just letting his mind go blank, the only solace he got anymore, it would be around midnight usually when he would decide to go to bed, knowing that the dreams will be there.
This was John's life now, every day the same, no job, no friends, no contact with any other people besides Mrs. Hudson and the people he bumped into on the street during his walks. No one cared anymore. Nobody thought he cared anymore, he had lost men before when he was a soldier, but this was different, he would never recover from this. People had come by the first few weeks, offering their condolences, seeing how John was, but mostly it was the press. Banging on his door at every god forsaken hour of the night, never waking him up, only causing the tears to flow down his face faster, because he knew what they wanted to talk about, he knew that they wanted him to relive Sherlock falling from that building. It didn't matter if they caused it or not, somehow, each and everyday, Sherlock would come into John's mind, and John couldn't help it. He didn't even try to stop the feelings anymore, when he though of the day now, he would simply sit down and let the tears come, welcoming them, like and old friend.
Chapter 2
The first few weeks after the day, John would find himself at the top of a tall building. Sometimes just to think, but on more than one occasion the police had to persuade him not to jump, and then he would be back in the hospital, just another bill he couldn't pay.