The rhythmic beat of Sherlock's own heart pounded in his ears.

Thump, thump, thump.

A quiet breeze brushed his curled hair and tickled his pale nose.

Sherlock looked at the large, bright city in front of him from the rooftop where he 'died'.

He wasn't really sure where else to go. He couldn't go to his flat, no, John was far too angry at him for leaving yet another head in the fridge. He had been scolded for at least a good 30 minutes. Sherlock considered going to Lestrade's place, but he was in no mood to talk to other people. Besides, St. Bart's rooftop was silent and peaceful, perfect for thinking about the new (and frustrating) case he was on.

Apparently, a young woman had gone missing. Nothing new, but there were strange things about it. Maybe it was a kidnapping. Or maybe she had ran away from her life, but that seemed less likely as she appeared to be very happy with her life.

Before Sherlock could ponder more about the puzzling case, he was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. He reached inside his pocket and flipped the phone open. He knew who it was even before they started talking.

"John. You know I prefer texting. Phone calls are boring and less entertaining." He stated.

"Yeah, I know, I know, I was just wondering where you were. I went to the flat and you weren't there. Is everything alright? I'm not mad about the head anymore, if you were wondering." John replied.

"Yes, John, everything is fine" He huffed. " I'm on the hospital roof to-" Before Sherlock could finish, there was a sharp intake of breath from John and the line went dead.

How rude. He thought. Instead of calling back, Sherlock decided it was best to continue where he left off. It would be a waste to come on the rooftop for nothing.

He shuffled over to the edge and sat down, resting his back against it. Another breeze swept across the open area. Sherlock placed his hands together and rested them below his chin. He took a deep breath in, and his eyes closed.

In his mind palace, he had everything organized nicely. He was looking for something specific though. Something about a woman he had heard about a week ago. Her name was Macy Hills, she had short,brown hair and brown eyes. He had deduced that she was a doctor, happily married with 3 children, a 7-year old boy, a 5 year old girl, and a 10 year old boy. She was last seen riding the tube in which she disappeared in. Sherlock decided to make a mental file about everything he knows about her.

Macy Hills, 36.

Doctor.

Happily married to her wife, Forest Jones.

3 Children-

- Isaiah, 7

- Jade, 5

- Jeremiah, 10

Relatives-

Unknown.

Enemies

Unknown.

Nothing was unusual about her. Just an average doctor. It made no sense. There were two main questions and Sherlock wasn't close to answering one of them. How, and Why.

The silence that had wrapped around Sherlock was broken. The man could hear the sounds of footsteps, and they were getting louder in each second. He opened his blue eyes and sat up quickly, careful not to lean backwards and tumble to his death.

The pale door leading to the roof was burst open with a loud thump.

"John? What are you doing here, I thou-"

"Sherlock."

The single word was choked out, and it was obvious Sherlock's flatmate was close to tears. John's face was pale and he looked dazed, as if he were sleep walking.

"Please- Please don't jump." John stretched out his trembling hands, but he didn't step closer.

"Please Sherlock. Don't do this to me again." His words were dry and his sentence had cracked halfway through. John fell to his knees and covered his eyes with his palms and sobbed. It took a few seconds for Sherlock to realize what was happening. It broke Sherlock's heart to see his only friend look so broken. It tore him apart to know that it was his fault John was like that.

"I- John, I'm not going to jump. I promise, I just came to think. Everything is fine." Sherlock walked over to the weeping man and knelt next to him. Sherlock stretched out his long arms and wrapped John in a tight hug as he silently wept. The shorter man removed his wet hands from his tear-streamed face and buried his blond head in Sherlock's shoulder, bringing him in closer. John's breathing was shallow and he was hiccuping slightly.

"Everything's going to be John, I won't leave you again. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

They sat like that for a while. Only sounds of muffled sobs and the gentle breeze raided the air for the next 30 minutes. The blond man's crying had slowed,tears were still streaming down his face, but he was breathing in small gasps and was continuing to hiccup and whimper. Sherlock rubbed John's back in small, reassuring circles.

"John, it's ok. Everything is ok now. I'm still here." Sherlock knew John would pass out soon if he didn't slow his breathing, but he didn't want to make it worse. It seemed all he could do was give his flat-mate comforting words and hope for the best.

"Let's go back to the flat." Sherlock unwrapped his arms and used them to help John stand up. John leaned against him for support as they shuffled to the door together.

John had stumbled a lot while they were walking to the flat. Eventually, his body gave in and he went limp in Sherlock's arms. Despite his attempts to wake him, he only groaned and turned in protest, so Sherlock decided to let him rest. After taking off his coat, he managed to carry the smaller man up to the couch and lay him there, too exhausted to drag him any further. Sherlock sat on the floor beside him. He ran his fingers through John's soft hair, and sighed.

A/N: Disclaimer, I don't own Sherlock.

I'm not sure if I'll leave it at that or make more chapters...

Please Review! This is only my 4th fanfic so I would really appreciate it!