Title: Just One More Miracle
Fandom: BBC TV Series Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson
Prompt: 003 - Ends
Word Count: 1,684
Rating: Teen and upwards
Summary: Post-The Reichenbach Fall. John is finding hard to come to terms with the death of the man he loved.
Author's Notes: Contains major character death and suicidal thoughts.
"Hello?"
"John."
"Hey, Sherlock, you ok?"
"Turn around and walk back the way you came now."
"No, I'm coming in."
"Just do as I ask! Please!"
Sherlock's voice had been frantic. It had made John stop in his tracks.
"Where?"
John had done as he was asked. He'd turned and made his way back to where the taxi had dropped him off, looking around bewilderedly. How he wished now that he had carried on into St Barts.
"Stop there."
"Sherlock?"
"Ok, look up. I'm on the rooftop."
"Oh God."
John had looked up to see Sherlock, his Sherlock, standing on the edge of the roof. His stomach had dropped and his mouth had gone dry.
"I…I…I can't come down, so we'll…we'll just have to do it like this."
No, No, No
"What's going on?"
"An apology. It's all true."
John hadn't believed it for one second. He'd have known.
"Wh-what?"
"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."
Sherlock had briefly looked behind him. Waiting for a push? Or waiting for someone to pull him back?
"Why are you saying this?"
"I'm a fake"
Not true. Not at all. John knew Sherlock. Sherlock was his best friend, his lover, the man he had planned to spend the rest of his life with. There was no one that could read Sherlock like John, he'd have known.
"Sherlock…"
"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly ... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."
John had been disarmed by Sherlock's now tearful voice.
"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"
"Nobody could be that clever."
"You could."
Despite his panic, John had felt immense admiration and pride in his partner.
"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick."
Not true again. Sherlock wasn't capable of lying to John. Not if he loved him the way he said he did.
"No. All right, stop it now."
John had started to walk back towards the hospital.
"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."
"All right."
John had held his hand up in surrender, stopping in his tracks again.
"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"
John's eyes already were fixed on Sherlock, his heart hammering by now.
"Do what?"
"This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?"
No!
"Leave a note when?"
No! No!
"Goodbye, John."
No! Oh God No!
"No. Don't."
Time had slowed down. This was the bit that stuck in John's mind the most. The moment when they had just gazed at each other, John still holding his phone to his ear. He had thought, hoped, that this was just a bad joke. That it was for the benefit of people watching, one of Sherlock's little tricks to make the real person that had framed him come forward.
But nobody moved.
In slow motion, he had watched as, almost gracefully, his detective has fallen forward, arms out to the side like a diver, not even flailing. No hint of a second thought.
"SHERLOCK!"
The shout that had rent the air, ripped from John's throat as he lurched forwards, still rang in his head, even now, a month on.
That damn cyclist! John knew that even if he hadn't been knocked to the ground, hadn't bashed his head, hadn't gone blank for a minute, he would never have been able to do anything to save the detective as he fell. But he needed someone to blame. Someone instead of himself, and the fact that he hadn't ignored Sherlock's plea and carried on into St Barts, instead of walking away from it.
"You were doing what the man you loved asked you to do" his therapist had said to him.
"Do you honestly think he wouldn't have jumped just because you were on the roof instead? You know how wilful he was"
"I could have done SOMETHING instead of just standing there!" he had yelled back.
He hadn't gone to see his therapist since.
"John, you need to get out"
Lestrade had appeared in the flat at some point. John had glared at him. He half-blamed Lestrade. He had been the one who had believed that fool Anderson and arrested the detective.
"Go back to work! Do something instead of wallowing. We're all worried about you!"
"Worried about me! WORRIED! You weren't worried enough to realise how STUPID you were being!" he had lost his temper again, jumping up and grabbing a vase. It crashed into the wall above Lestrade's head, maybe it was a good thing it hadn't actually hit the DI.
Greg hadn't repeated his single visit.
Baby brother would not have wanted you to behave like this – MH
How would you have known – JW
Believe it or not, I knew more about my brother than either he, or you, think – MH
You don't know the half of it – JW
I know he loved you. I know you loved him. I know that he loved you enough to die rather than have you doubt him – MH
Fat lot of good it did. I don't want to be alive any more – JW
That is a very selfish thing to say. He gave you a life. You need to live it – MH
Fuck off Mycroft – JW
Even Molly had tried. And so far, she had been the only one close to bringing John out of this haze of misery. Almost.
"John. I know you loved him. God knows if anyone knows what it's like to love Sherlock Holmes then it's me"
John had winced at Molly's unexpected use of Sherlock's name.
"But John, he's gone. And we're all still here. Me, Sarah, Lestrade, hell even Mycroft. Despite appearances he loved his brother and I think he'd take care of you for Sherlock, because he knew how much you meant to him"
"Thanks Molly"
After Molly's visit, John had started working back at the surgery. Sarah and the rest of his colleagues had welcomed him back and tried to make life as normal as possible for him.
He appreciated it.
"John, drinks after work. You in?" asked Sarah, poking her head around the door of John's consulting room.
It may have been three months, but he still wasn't ready for…normality. He shook his head.
"No thanks Sarah" his voice was monotonous, had no life. Had been that way for three months. He wasn't John any more.
"You need to talk to someone John" she had said, coming fully into the room.
I only need to talk to one person. And he no longer speaks.
John didn't reply. Sarah sighed and left him.
After he'd finished his shift he had taken the familiar route to the cemetery. It had become a ritual to him, work, visit, home, sleep, work, visit, home, sleep…
He had never spoken before when visiting his lover's grave. But today he felt he needed to.
"Sherlock…God I don't know what to say to you…I guess just…do you know how selfish you were! How could you do this to me! Anything would have been better than this! I thought you loved me! If you really loved me, you wouldn't have made me watch as you jumped from that roof! You never loved me! I was just an experiment to you! I was a little brother to you wasn't I! Amusing to have around but annoying to take care of!"
John didn't know where that came from. He hadn't wanted to berate the memory of his lover, but three months of hurt and anger welled up in him.
He stood for a minute more. Then turned and made the journey home. It was an automatic journey for him now.
He opened the door of 221B and walked in, ignoring Mrs Hudson as usual.
He didn't know what he was doing as he walked down the corridor. He knew he would be torturing himself but he had to…just one last time…then maybe he could move on.
His hand was on the doorknob of Sherlock's room. He hadn't entered it in three months.
It looked exactly the same. How could it look exactly the same? Sherlock's unwashed shirts were still on the floor in a pile, the bed was still turned down, still unmade from the last time they had made love and slept in each others arms. Sherlock's pillow still had the indentation from the detectives head on it.
Without realising it, John had started to cry. Tear were pouring silently down his cheeks and he did nothing to stop them. It was the first time he had cried over Sherlock and he knew his mind needed it.
He walked across the room as if in a dream. He laid himself down on the bed and buried his head into that pillow. There was still a faint smell of Sherlock on it. John inhaled deeply and sobbed bitterly, that day flooding over him once again, that last conversation that he couldn't get out of his mind, that last, heart wrenching cry!
SHERLOCK!
"Please Sherlock…please…"
He sobbed into the pillow.
"There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There."
He didn't even know why he was saying this into his lovers pillow.
"I was so alone, and I owe you so much."
His breath caught as he sobbed.
"Just one more thing, love, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't ... be... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it. Stop this."
SHERLOCK!
It echoed in his mind again, and again…and again…