Two ways. It could have gone two ways. He could have lived. Or he could have died. I guess we'll find out.
John was sitting alone. The flat's silence was driving him insane. He needed to escape he needed to leave. Ever since Sherlock had…had…fallen nothing was the same. Nothing at tall. John missed the morning routine. He missed the constant whining of being bored. He missed the violin concerts at 4 in the morning. He missed every thing.
It had been three years. Three torturous years. Each filled with pain and grieving. He just couldn't do it anymore. So John had a plan.
OOoOoOoO
Sherlock was sitting restlessly on the plane. He had just destroyed the final person in Moriarty's web. Time to come home. The plane journey felt like the longest it had ever been. In reality it was only 2 hours but to Sherlock it felt like an eternity. 2 Hours later he was grabbing his bag and dashing of the plane. Mycroft had sent a car. As Sherlock sat in the airport after getting his bags and a coffee he started thinking to himself.
Would John forgive him? Would he understand? Sherlock only did it for his safety. Sherlock was willing to die for John. Everyday he would die or be tortured just so John could live. And in a sense that is what happened.
Sherlock felt like the whole time he was apart from John a knife had been stuck in his chest. Blood slowly pouring out. Well that was over. He saw the black car drive up. Time to go home.
OoOoOoOo
John was walking up the stairs. Because his limp had returned it proved to be very difficult. After a while he got to the top. The top of St. Barts. He was going to do it. He had to. John couldn't take it any longer. The crying himself to sleep every night. The numbness in the morning. The terrible, terrible silence. It was too much. Far too much.
John through his cane down and walked one step closer to the edge. He looked down. Look at all those people. Going through their everyday errands. Planning and shopping and laughing. He wanted to live like that. But now Sherlock was gone he never could again.
OOoOoOoO
Sherlock had finally arrived at the Flat. He ran inside "John! John?" Sherlock shouted in frustration. He wasn't here. John was nowhere to be found. So where could he have… Oh god. Oh god no! The realisation hit him like a bullet to the heart. John was going to kill himself. Sherlock ran outside St. Barts. And there he saw it.
He saw a black figure. Arms spread out wide. Ready to fall…
OOoOoOoO
This was it. He was going to do it. He spread his arms out. Closed his eyes and stepped of the edge. The last thing he heard. The very last thing he heard was a desperate "JOHN!". John realised his mistake. But now… It was too late.
OOoOoOoO
Lets find out how it could have gone, shall we?
Sherlock didn't wait. He ran up the stairs praying John hadn't done it. He got up the top and saw him. Arms spread out wide. Eyes closed. Sherlock ran forward and grabbed Johns coat pulling him back and causing them both to fall over.
"John! What the bloody hell were you thinking! You idiot!" Sherlock shouted his eyes filling with tears.
"Sherlock? How are you… Why did you… I don't…" John stuttered. He was feeling so faint. This must be a dream. But it felt so real. He grabbed Sherlock's coat collar, and pulled him close. There faces were literally millimetres from each over. John pressed his lips on Sherlocks. It was soft and sweet. In that moment John forgot everything. He just focused on now. Just him and Sherlock. Forever…
You liked the last option didn't you? Well I'm afraid it didn't happen that way. Because that was actually a dream. It was a dream that Sherlock had. A dream of him saving John. But no. John did it. He killed himself. Leaving Sherlock once again, alone.
A/N Oh my god what have I done…. I feel so bad. I just had a lot of angst in me and I had to let it all out. So I apologize if I made anyone upset. By the way I recommend (if you want/can) re reading it but listening to Christina Perri's "A Thousand Years" Because It fits very well with the song. Reviews are very welcome! -Thatnerdygirl (: x