He person rattled the door handle. It was locked. John had locked it earlier that day to make sure no one walked in to see him wearing Sherlock's dressing gown and scarf and pretending to play Sherlock's violin. It was one of the few nice things that reminded him of Sherlock. He had always worn that blue scarf, even in the summer, but John had never bothered to ask how he got it. He was starting to wish he had. It was one of the few things that Sherlock liked, without exception, and he thought he would understand his friend more if he knew how he had got it.

He heard the door rattle again. He smiled. No one was coming in to disturb his troubled thoughts with endless chitchat about all things not Sherlock. He waited for the person to give up and go away, but they didn't. He heard the door handle rattle a few more times, before someone called his name.

The voice was muffled by the door, and a bit out of shape, like the owner of the voice had a cold, but it was distinct and familiar. He knew this voice, but he hadn't heard it in a long time. And he didn't have a clue who it was.

He heard the man call his name again. It was defiantly a man, the voice was low and strong, but also strained. The voice sounded in pain almost, it was like a loud man had been strangled and was trying to talk. He remembered when that had happened to Sherlock, but he had acted like there was nothing wrong. Of course, John figured it out, and had a great deal of fun teasing Sherlock about it. He heard the voice again, the voice outside his door.

"John, let me in."

"No. Go away and leave me alone."

"John, you have to let me in."

"NO I DON'T!"

John was annoyed now, how dare someone tell him what to do! He wasn't some sort of servant, getting paid to fetch and carry and take messages. He only took orders from Sherlock, and Sherlock had been away for a very long time. He looked back at his laptop and decided he would ignore the person outside until they left him alone. He decided to check Sherlock's website, The Science of Deduction, while he was waiting, in case someone had sent him a case or given some speech about how wonderful Sherlock was. He was just typing it into the search bar, when he heard something. The person outside was trying to unlock the door!

He stared at the door, and saw the lock moving about. The person on the other side was using some sort of device to try and cheat the lock. He heard grunts and the sound of metal on metal, and he looked with horror as the lock turned, and the person pulled the door handle and opened the door, just a fraction. He could only see a crack of darkness beyond the door, so he was utterly blind, unable to deduce the person or appear in control. They could be pointing a gun at him, for all he knew! He decided to just stand next to his chair, being out of all other options. And then he heard that gloriously familiar voice.

"John, I'm sorry for what I did. You have to understand that I did this in your best interest, and you have to understand that you had to be kept in the dark. I didn't want to do this to you, but I had no other choice. I know you…"

The words caught in his throat, the emotion too unbearable.

"…probably don't want to see me again, but…"

John did a double take. That ...sounded an awful lot like Sherlock. But it couldn't be. Sherlock wasn't here anymore, he… he was….

"Sherlock?"

The man's last words came out in a whisper,

"John, I need you."

"What?"

That was defiantly Sherlock, there was no doubt about it. But how? He had seen everything with his own eyes, had seen the jump, the fall, and had heard the bone-crunching thwack as Sherlock hit the pavement. But that impossible man was here, and there was no way that…

John was so confused, he was filled with questions, with curiosity, with joy, relief, and seething anger. But he forgot all about these when the door opened and Sherlock collapsed on the carped. He was thin and angular, his eyes glazed over and unfocused, his skin a deathly pale hue, and his lips blue.