Summery: Jim Moriarty sat on a wall. Sherlock Holmes had a great fall. All the Mycroft's horses and all Lestrade's men, couldn't put Watson together again. Oneshot. Angst. Character Deaths. R&R.
-John's POV-
Three years. Three years today he'd been gone. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. My best friend.
They said it would get easier. The pain would lessen with time. All of them. But they don't know, do they?
They don't know that each day, every waken moment of my entire miserable life, is another moment I have to spend away from him. From Sherlock. Every step, every breath, every single time I speak, is another step, another breath, another word further away from the high-functioning sociopath I called my friend.
Every year, on the faithful day, I willed myself to travel to the very same rooftop. Stand on the edge. Willing myself to step off. To join him.
But I fill myself up with false hope. A small, quiet thought in the back of my mind. What if he's alive John? What if he comes back? Then I step back, back off the bloody rooftop, and go back to my same predictable life.
Today was like the last two time's I'd gone up. I was armed with a carton of milk, a silly tradition I carried out.
I stood on the edge of the rooftop.
Just take one step forward John. Then you'll see him again.
But what if he's alive? What if you go to 221B Baker Street, and he's sitting there with a cup of tea, only dressed in a robe?
What if he isn't?
But what if he is?
Tears dripped down my face. I wiped them away angrily. What would the others- Molly, Mrs Hudson, Sally, Greg, even Anderson- be thinking? Would they remember the events that happened this day, three years ago?
I took a deep breath.
Come on John. Do this.
I was so close to the edge. A gust of wind could blow me over.
I took a deep breath.
No.
I can't do this.
"John!" A voice called from behind me. I turned.
"Sherlock?"
A look of horror crossed his face as my foot got caught in the loose shoelaces. I tripped, and fell.
-Sherlock's POV-
I was coming back. But first, I had to visit the rooftop. I don't know why. I just had too. Sentiment? No. Relive the moment? No. I just had to go.
I saw John, standing at the edge, holding a carton of milk.
"John?" I called. He turned.
"Sherlock?"
His eyes widened in surprise as his foot got caught on his shoelace.
He tripped, and disappeared over the edge.
"JOHN!"
I ran down the stairs in a blind madness, onto the street.
A group of people had already gathered around him.
"LET ME THROUGH!" I cried, pushing them out the way. John laid there, a puddle of milk and blood around his head.
I fell down next to him, gently taking his head onto my lap.
"John, please, John, no," Useless words.
Suddenly, a voice, "Bloody 'ell, it's Sherlock Holmes," Sudden furious whispers spread throughout the group.
"Sherlock?" I looked up, and I could barely see the person who'd called my name. I wiped my eyes, but the tears kept coming.
"Lestrade," I said shortly, I shook my head, "No, he's not dead, he's not,"
"Sherlock," Greg knelt down, pulling at my arm, "It's too late,"
I swung my arm out, catching him on the side of his face.
"HE'S NOT DEAD," I screamed.
Greg looked startled. The paramedics came, and peeled me off of John, and put him on the stretcher. The group of people left. I didn't move from the side of the street. Greg sat next to me awkwardly.
"Sherlock, three years? I though you'd died,"
I couldn't stop the flow of tears crashing down my face.
"Do you know why I jumped?" I asked.
Greg shook his head.
"He said he'd kill my three only friends in the world. If I didn't jump off the rooftop, kill myself, he'd kill my three only friends I ever had. Get his hence-men to shoot them,"
"Jesus," Greg muttered.
"Do you know who they were?" I asked, wiping my face. Greg shook his head.
"John, Mrs Hudson and you,"
"Sherlock…"
I stood up, "John'll be at the morgue now, won't he?" Greg looked surprised.
"Uh, probably,"
I ran to the morgue, followed by Greg. Molly saw me. She didn't look surprised.
"Oh, hi, Sherlock," She said, not making eye contact. Greg raised an eyebrow.
"He's been gone for three years and you reply with, "Oh, hi, Sherlock"?" He said in disbelief.
"That's because he's been staying at my house," Molly whispered. Greg shook his head, and ran his hand through his hair, "Uh, I suppose you'll want to see John, I am so sorry by the way,"
I nodded. Molly directed me to where he was, and then left with Greg. I was grateful.
Seeing John on that table, the table he'd have stood next to while I deduce the body on it, felt like a kick in the gut.
I didn't know what to say. I rang my fingers down his arms, and dropped to the floor.
Half an hour later, I left the room. Greg was outside, Molly was nowhere to be seen.
"Sherlock, if you want-"
I walked off, I had made my decision. When I heard him follow, I began to run.
Up the to roof top.
I was fast enough to keep a good distance ahead of Greg.
I stood where I'd stood three years ago, were John had stood every year since then, and where he'd fallen to his death no even two hours ago.
I took out my phone, like I'd done three years ago.
I still had John's number.
I love you. I miss you. I'll see you in a few minutes. –SH
I hit send, and threw my phone behind me like I'd done three years ago.
This time, nobody was telling me to jump. Nobody's live was in danger.
Three years ago, I though Moriarty had won. Now I knew he hadn't.
I spread out my arms, and smiled. I even laughed. This was my choice. I was free. After all these years, I was free. And I would be with John again.
I took a step forward, just to hear Greg shout behind me, just like John had three years ago.
"SHERLOCK,"
I jumped.
A/N: Oh, the angst. But it was a happy ending. Wasn't it? Their finally together.
