A/N: I'm bad at this writing thing.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or its characters.
"I was so alone and I owe you so much."
He started to walk away. Anything was better than staring at the slab of rock that proved his worst nightmare. But there was still that nagging feeling. He couldn't be dead. It was simply not possible. He turned back around, half expecting him to be standing there with that smug look on his face as if John had overlooked a very small, very crucial piece of evidence telling him it that Sherlock wasn't dead.
"Please."
It was futile to try to hide the fact his voice shook. And no one was here to hear it, anyway. He almost wanted Sherlock to hear it. To hear the pain he had caused
"There's just one more thing, one more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock. Don't...be...dead. Would you? Just for me. Just stop it. Stop this."
The last line came out in a harsh whisper. And with that, he turned and left, for at that precise moment, he just couldn't hold in all the tears, all the sorrows, all the painful memories. He wondered if he could have stopped him from committing his own horrible death, if only he would have been a second sooner. Everybody always used to say solving the crimes wouldn't be enough for him one day. Well, they got their sick, cruel answer. But instead of physically killing others, he did it mentally.
He couldn't help the tears that slipped from his eyes. He shut his eyes tight in anger at the man who had done so much for him. The very man that hand given his life purpose again. All of it was gone. Sherlock. His purpose. His very being. He almost tripped on his way back to the car. He had forgotten to open his eyes.