Darkness. That's all John can see is black, never ending darkness. An empty abyss. It surrounds him. He can't see. He begins to panic. He can't move, he can only think.

"Oh god, where am I?! Sherlock! SHERLOCK! Where are you?! I can't see you! I can't see anything! Where am I?!"

"Open your eyes." A soft voice says, not coming from anywhere, but everywhere. The voice breaks John from the darkness. Letting go of him. Allowing him to move again. He's bloody terrified now.

John listens to the voice and hesitantly opens his eyes. He's standing in the flat, facing Sherlock's old chair. That's odd. What the hell is going on. He was just sitting in his chair- Reality hurtles back to John as he remembers what he was doing just moments prior. He turns slowly, not sure about what he is going to see. He braces himself.

Sitting in his chair before him is himself. John knows it's himself, but the John he sees is obviously dead with a gunshot wound to his temple. His body is hunched over haphazardly to the side, blood pooling steadily from his head. His hand lays open with the gun still in it. Blood, bone, and brain matter decorate the fireplace gruesomely.

John squats down in front of himself hardly believing what he is seeing. This is the most unbelievably terrifying thing he has ever seen. He doesn't even know what to think about seeing himself dead. It doesn't even feel real. It feels like a dream. A horribly, real feeling dream...

John is definitely surprised that he actually did it though. He almost expected himself to stop before he pulled the trigger. But no, he actually did it. He killed himself.

John looks closer at himself, finally seeing what he really looks like. What other people see. He looks horrible. His eyes are closed tight with the salty, wetness of tears still showing on his face. His face is wrinkled, aging him drastically even though he is still so young. He looks sad, even in death. John reaches out to touch his own hand, but stops when he hears a familiar voice.

"John." The voice chokes out.

He looks up to see Sherlock standing in the threshold of the door that enters into their flat. John's heart lifts at the sight of him. He can hardly believe that he's there. Beautiful, wonderful Sherlock stands a mere 3 meters away from him. John has never felt so happy. He thought he would never see him again.

"Sherlock." John whispers, standing up to run over to Sherlock at full force with a huge grin and happy tears streaming down his face.

"What have you done?"

John stops dead in his tracks. He's so close to Sherlock now, he can reach out and touch him, but he doesn't. Sherlock looks defeated and utterly devastated. He looks between John and his dead body.

Sherlock cries openly and completely silent. Tears fall rapidly down his magnificent, pale face. His cheeks and nose red. John feels his heart crumble. Ripping apart into millions of pieces till there is nothing left. He feels such overwhelming regret. What has he done. Oh, god. What has he done!

"Sherlock." John chokes. "I... I wanted to be with you... I missed you so much... I couldn't bear it any longer..." He says as he collapses into a heap on the ground. He feels like he's going to pass out. He finally gets to see Sherlock again. To be with him and Sherlock is... rejecting him.

"I should have been here. I could have stopped you. You weren't supposed to do this, John! I killed myself to protect you! To keep you alive. Now you... you... Jesus. John. Why? Why did you do this?!" He shouts.

John cringes at the force of Sherlock's shout, it slices through him like a knife. He feels like dying all over again. He feels stupid and childish. John sobs in a pathetic heap on the ground, not caring what he looks like. He's completely destroyed and pleads for Sherlock's forgiveness. Begging for understanding.

"I couldn't live without you, Sherlock. I couldn't. I love you. Living without you. It... it destroyed me. I couldn't do it anymore."

"John." Sherlock says simply. He's unable to remain angry at him. He knew it would have come to this eventually and if the roles were reversed, he wouldn't have lasted as long as John did.

Sherlock's still crying as he walks over to John. He closes the small distance between them and kneels down in front of John. John wouldn't look up, he remained staring at the floor, crying. Sherlock places his fingers gently underneath John's chin and pulls his face up. John resists for a moment before allowing Sherlock to drag his gaze up to Sherlock's. They stare at each other for only a moment before finally folding into each other's arms. Clinging on to each other tightly.

Sherlock is caught between emotions of happiness and overwhelming sorrow. He finally has his blogger back, but at such a terrible cost. John took his own life just to be with him. He had so much to live for and he threw it all away just for the chance of being reunited with Sherlock again. Oh, John. Sherlock's stupid, beautiful blogger. He risked so much. Sherlock hugs John tighter, rejoicing at the feeling of John's touch against his.

They sit on the floor of their old flat, clinging to each other. Sherlock gaze flicks up to the fireplace, seeing the bloody, gory mess that decorates it for the first time. His heart pangs against his chest painfully. Tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Did it hurt?" He says quietly as he stares at the fireplace.

"No. I didn't feel anything. Just blackness. I thought that it would be all I'd ever see. I thought that I'd spend the rest of my afterlife searching for you in the dark." John's sobs heavily, shaking them both at the terrifying memory of never seeing Sherlock again. Sherlock mumbles sweet, nonsense in John's ear as he runs his long, elegant fingers through his blond hair, comforting him.

"I'm... sorry, Sherlock. I'm so, so sorry." John says, barely coherent.

"Shhhh. It's alright. We're together now. I will never leave you again. We will be by each other's sides forever."

"Really?" John asks, sniffling and looking up at Sherlock with sad, blue eyes.

"Yes, really." Sherlock says, chuckling at how adorably childlike John looks right now. "Come on. Let's go."

"Wait. Where? Where are we going?" John asks tensley, suddenly feeling very afraid.

"Don't worry, my dear Watson. We are just going to take a short walk."

John doesn't move. He's scared. Terrified. He doen't want to move. He doesn't want to lose Sherlock. He's afraid that if he lets him go, he would slip back into the darkness.

"John." Sherlock says softly, affection full in his tone. He grabs John's face with his hands and presses his forehead against his. " I'm not going to leave you. Ever. I won't... I can't do that to you again."

Sherlock moves his face slightly, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to John's lips. "I love you, John." He says softly against his lips.

"I know." John says simply against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock pulls away against his own will and grasps John's hand. "Let's go to the cemetery."

"Why are we going there?"

"I want to show you something."

"Right. Okay." John says thoroughly confused and a slightly nervous. He trusts Sherlock however, so he stands with him and let's Sherlock lead the way to the cemetery.

To be continued…