Yes, I know these fics are a dime a dozen right now, but I thought I'd try my hand at it. I guess this would technically be considered one sided Johnlock, since we don't get anything from John's point of view. Hope you guys enjoy!
Disclaimer: Short version, not mine.
It didn't really hit him until he saw the car pull up. He watched John climb out of the back seat and was startled by what felt like a sharp blow to his abdomen.
Every possibility had been allowed for, of course, when he made the decision to shoot Magnussen. Hell, he could've died right then, if one of the many armed men that surrounded them had opened fire. In some ways, he thought, maybe that would've been easier.
This was the last time he would ever see John, and God if that didn't just tear his heart to pieces.
Caring is not an advantage, brother always said. Redbeard had been a good lesson. Caring only led to heart break. After he'd lost his first best friend he worked hard to follow his older brother's advice. He would never feel like that ever again. Going through it once was bad enough.
It was a philosophy that worked well for him. He was cold and abrasive anyway, another thing he picked up from his brother, thought he was loathe to admit it. People didn't like him, they never spent anymore time with him than necessary. Sure many found him attractive, but the novelty soon wore off after he opened his mouth. It was easy not to care when no one cared about him either. He had his intellect and his drugs. What else did he need?
Then along came John, thoroughly fucking with that philosophy.
John wasn't the first, he supposed, not if he really thought about it. Mycroft managed a small, rather insignificant part of his younger brother's heart, despite the behavior to the contrary. Mrs. Hudson had wormed her way in as well, with her kind, loving nature. Even Gary Lestrade seemed to induce some sort of affection from him. So, no, John wasn't the first. But he was by far the most important.
Not that he'd realized all this at the beginning. No, he attributed his…whatever it was he felt for John as a simple need to have his ego stroked on a regular basis. And John was exemplary in that field. Everything he did seemed worthy of some high remark or praise form John. Well, except the drugs, but he hadn't used once since John came into his life, excluding when he was trying to catch Magnussen. It was easy to convince himself that he only liked having John around because he was slightly more interesting than his skull. But only slightly, mind you. It wasn't as if he cared for the man or anything.
Then Moriarty wrapped John up in Semtex and that all went to shit.
So, he cared a bit. That wasn't necessarily a problem. He wasn't going to want to stop living if John were to move on without him. He filtered his brother's warnings not to get involved because there was no need for them. He didn't get involved, not at all. Not since Redbeard. He was beyond that now.
Which is why he thought tumbling off that roof would be easy. John would grieve, he was sure, but that was just the way it had to be. That was the disadvantage of caring too much, and John would have to pay the price. But none of John's suffering, or anything else about the man, would hinder him from his attempt to dismantle Moriarty's network. Leaving John for however long that would take would not be hardship. He absolutely did not do sentiment.
He made it two weeks before seriously considering taking a hit of cocaine in the hopes of not seeing John's grief stricken face every damn time he closed his eyes.
When he came back, he decided he was never leaving John again, even if John had…moved on. He even declared it publicly, giving John a glimpse of how much he truly cared.
Caring is not an advantage. Didn't he fucking know it.
Mary got out of the car as well, moving to stand by her husband. A silent comfort. He tampered the usual stab of jealousy at the sight of her. Not long ago he was the one at John's side, the one offering an exciting life with new adventures. That was Mary's job now. God, he hated her.
Except he didn't. Wasn't hatred supposed to hand in hand with jealousy? That had always been his experience, the frequent motivation behind many of the cases he was called to solve. After all, one doesn't kill someone they like. But there was something about Mary that made him like her. Even despite the shooting scenario.
He had deduced there was something off about her, of course he had. But he hadn't pursued that deduction, leaving it alone, because she was John's fiancee. She was the one John chose and he wasn't going to stand in their way. In hindsight he probably should've looked into her more. Damn sentiment.
He didn't want to spend his last moments with John surrounded by his brother, Mary, and a few other government men. If he happened to make a fool of himself, he preferred it to be as private as possible. John never teased him about his lack of social skills, not when it mattered. And, this mattered.
Recalling John's own jealous outburst over Irene, he rattled off his full name. "If you were looking for baby names," he said, reveling in John's smile.
"No, we've had a scan, we're pretty sure it's a girl."
"Oh." John would be great with a little girl. He wasn't found of children, but could already see a blond toddler running around 221B, smiling and laughing and he was struck with an overwhelming wave of emotion. He forced himself to focus on the conversation.
They chatted for a bit, making small talk until John asked where he was headed. He considered telling John the truth, but quickly dismissed it. Keeping things light, he brushed it off. "Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe."
"For how long?"
"Six months, my brother estimates. He's never wrong." About any damn thing.
"And then what?"
The urge to tell John the truth appeared again. For just a moment, he'd managed to forget what actually lay ahead of him. The utter sadness that filled him as he thought of being dead in six months convinced him to keep that information to himself. It was better for John to believe he'd still be out there, slaying dragons, being a pain in his brother's side. John needn't know he'd actually be dead.
Caught up in sentiment, damn feelings, he almost revealed his deepest secret, one he barely let himself think about. It was true he cared for John, but cared was such a inadequate word for the strength of his feelings for John they almost didn't deserve to be in the same sentence. The truth of the matter was, he was in love with John Watson, and he'd realized it too late to do anything about it.
He could've said it then. It was the last time they would ever see one another, and it would be so easy to let the feelings he'd kept locked up so tight finally see the light of day. But, in the end, he just couldn't do it. Not so much from fear of rejection, but more to spare John's own feelings. Even if they were in a perfect world and John did return his love, John was still married with a child, and he was about to embark on a suicide mission. Telling John would do more harm that good, and he wanted their last moments to be happy.
"Sherlock is actually a girls name," he opted for instead.
And John laughed and, for just a moment, everything was perfect.