John sat on the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, watching the traffic go by below him. It seemed only a short time ago that his friend had jumped…John sighed and shook his head. It was Easter, he should be happy for the free candy and the pastel decorations hung everywhere in the hospital. But the thought of Easter, the thought of someone raising themselves from the dead…it didn't help.
John twiddled his thumbs as he looked down. He thought of jumping, just to see what it would be like, but wrote it off as being to depressing to everyone he knew. So he kept his emotions bottled up. He had fired his psychiatrist, something he should have done a while ago (she never did help him that much, did she?)
John sat there for a few moments more, before a thought hit him. He shook his head. It was a stupid idea, to text….but he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone anyways. Who could it hurt, for him to text his friend? John would simply wish Sherlock a happy Easter and that would be that. However much he wanted his friend not to be dead, there would be no text back.
But would he really just leave it at one text? He had addictive personalities in his family (his sister, for instance). Would he really be able to just text this small thing, or would he never be able to stop with this small text?
He looked down at his hands where his phone sat. To anyone looking (which no one was, of course) it would appear that he was contemplating jumping or had just heard news of a relative's death and was mulling it all over. To John Watson, he knew neither was the case. He sighed loudly, and began the text.
Hello Sherlock, Happy Easter
-JW
He quickly deleted the message. It was too simple. What could he write? He sighed, sat back a bit, and thought. The wind picked up a bit, and he suddenly had his inspiration. He opened his phone again and began rapidly texting.
Sherlock, today a man rose from the dead, if you do that…well, I don't really know how to handle a zombie consulting detective, especially you…either way, Happy Easter, wherever you are.
-JW
John hit the send button quickly before he could change his mind. He took a deep breath, wiping away at the slight moisture that managed to escape his eyes, and smiled a bit. For once, it was sunny in London, a rare feat, especially in April. He began to close his phone, before stopping and softly typing out one more message.
I miss you. I hope you know that. Wherever you are, know that I miss you.
-JW
He once again wiped at the tears that wouldn't stop. He shivered slightly as the wind picked up again. He sighed a bit, wrapping his coat further around himself. Then, he carefully stood up, and began walking inside.
As the door on the roof began to close, John didn't see the man five thousand miles away with newly cut and dyed hair.
He never saw the man with newly cut and dyed hair look at the battered looking phone, wondering why he even kept the thing.
Then, he never got to see the man read the texts, and smile a real, non-forced, smile. "John, you watch far too many movies." The man murmured as he pocketed the old, battered phone. Everything would be okay. Because his friend still believed in him. That made it all worth it.