There he was. Sherlock, my Sherlock, about to die.
"Goodbye John." He whispered through the phone I held in my now numb hands. I watched in horror as Sherlock Holmes took the first step.
"Sherlock!" I cried as the man I thought I knew fell off the hospital roof. Time slowed, and all I could see was Sherlock's silhouette engulfed by his billowing black coat. That coat. Its color seemed to fill my vision until everything went dark.
"Sherlock!" I scream as I fall to the ground. I shout his name again and again until finally, I wake up. Gasping for air, I sit up in bed. Drenched in a cold sweat and trembling, just as I had woken up every morning since he…
He died
I feel hot tears begin to roll down my cheeks, and I hug my knees. I'm gripped with a sadness that I can't wake up from. My body shakes with silent sobs as I picture his face in my mind. After the tears subside, I find myself whispering a single phrase over and over. "Don't be dead."
…
Is this what my life has become now? Going through the motions, day to day. Life is boring without him. Feeling the wind on my face as I stand on the edge of this rooftop, these thoughts cross my mind. "Come on," I say to myself. "If he could do this, so can you. Be a brave little soldier."
I spread my arms out, just as Sherlock did. Like bird about to take flight. Suddenly, I hear the door to the rooftop burst open but I don't turn around. I already know who is going to try to save me. "John!" Shouts Inspector Lestrade.
"John what the hell are you doing? Get down from there right now!" I hear him come closer.
"Greg, stay away." My voice trembles.
"John please…"
"No!" I shout, cutting him off. "I don't want to go back to being John Watson, army doctor. I want to be John Watson, Sherlock's blogger, his partner, his friend! I want him back Greg," My voice continues to get louder and louder as the tears return to my cheeks. "I want Sherlock Holmes!" I yell as I begin to take another step.
"No, John stop!" Lestrade cries, dashing forward. "Please," He begs, "Just talk to me. I can help. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Microft, we can help you. Please just come down. He wouldn't have wanted this, you know he…"
"HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE WOULD HAVE WANTED?" I scream.
"Please John." He pleads. I stay silent, my feet planted firmly on the ground. Without a word, I turn, and step off of the ledge. Lestrade, without a moment's hesitation, hugs me. He leads me down through the building and into a cab. When we arrive at 221B Baker Street, he tells me that he's taking me to Mrs. Hudson. My sweet old neighbor answers her door right away and brings us inside. As I'm wrapped in a warm blanket and given a cup of tea I know I won't touch, Greg informs Mrs. Hudson of what I tried to do. Everything is background noise now. I faintly hear her start to cry, and feel her warm embrace as she wraps me in her arms. "I have to return to the station now, so I'm asking you to look after him," Says Greg. "I'll inform Molly and Microft, I'm sure they'll want to see him." After that, he leaves, but not before saying goodbye. I can see tears in both his and Mrs. Hudson's eyes. I'm soon put to bed in my flat where Mrs. Hudson will stay, watching over me. Over the next two weeks I got visits from my only friends, but when they came, they were only greeted with silence. On October 8th, two months after the incident, I talked. "Good morning Mrs. Hudson," I whisper as she brings in my morning tea. As the tea tray hit the floor, and her china set was smashed to bits, I made a promise to myself. I would try to live. Try to be John Watson again. And I did. I got better. I met Molly, fell in love. But I never forgot Sherlock. I always wished that he would come back, and one day,
He did.