Chapter 2

"Kneel."

John cast his eyes down to the blanket of snow that stretched out underneath him. It was so cold, yet so inviting. Like it wanted to wrap him up and warm his heart; heal his soul; block out all memories of sorrow with its white touch. He sank to his knees, feeling the snow immediately soak into the material at his knees. He didn't care about the chill that crept over his body then. He was thankful to finally be numb.

He could hear the crunch of boots over the snow behind him. Closing his eyes so as not to greet his demise with open eyes, John allowed his mind to wander back through his memories. He had heard several times while working as a medical doctor that before one died that they experienced a sudden flash of memories; a quick slideshow of their lives as one dying patient in his ward had claimed. John wondered what his life slideshow would be riddled with. No doubt Sherlock would be scattered throughout it. He was a big part of his life after all.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes!"

John could tell that Sherlock was smirking from his perch at the window, even without having him turn around.

"What is it, John? Why do you sound so agitated?"

"Oh, you know why. You're a genius after all, or at least you claim to be."

Sherlock turned sideways slightly then, looking over his shoulder at a fuming John behind him.

"She dumped your date, didn't she?"

"Yes. I shouldn't be shocked that you know. She said that you told her I canceled."

"Of course I did. Why is that unreasonable?"

"Because I never did cancel, Sherlock!"

"Well, you would have anyway on your own time. I was merely helping you out."

"Oh, right. I would have on my own...listen to you...Why would I have?"

Sherlock turned around fully then; his shadow being cast against the parts of the curtains as the sun shone against his back.

"Because I need you for a case. It has just surfaced and requires both of our immediate presences."

"Why didn't you just tell me then?"

"As I said, to help out."

"Right. Help out."

"You may be annoyed right now, John, but just admit it to yourself. You'd miss me if I weren't around anymore."

"Doubtful…" scowled John as he looked down at his mobile once more. "It'd probably be a breath of fresh air…"

John took a deep breath of the icy cold air then; the cold air hurting his lungs on its way down. He placed his shaking hands down into the snow beneath him, coating them with white to disguise the red nature of his skin. The snow performed its magic as soon as he emerged his shaky fingers under their surface. Soon the numbing effect began to take place once more. He only wished the numbing could happen to his emotional pain. He had been so wrong when he said he doubted that he'd miss Sherlock if he were gone someday. It was because Sherlock had killed himself that he was where he was today.

"Put your forehead on the ground," barked the man behind him; his voice masked slightly by the mask he no doubt had on to combat the fierce winter's cold.

John did as the man commanded him to do, pressing his forehead firmly into the snow beneath him. A shiver began to take over his weakened body then. He wondered if he'd end up dying by the hand of nature in the form of hypothermia or by the hand of the man behind him. If he was honest with himself, he honestly didn't care at this point. He just wanted it to finally be over with. He wanted this nightmare to be over…

"Sherlock…"

John was slumped against the wall outside the morgue, looking completely disheveled by what had just occurred. He couldn't believe that his best friend had just flung himself off the top of a building. Yet, at the same time, he could believe it. Every time he closed his eyes even for a fraction of a second, the whole episode replayed itself in his mind once more, paining him.

The doors of the morgue swung open then and out walked Molly. John immediately rushed over to her, causing her to jump a bit.

"Molly, may I see Sherlock's body? Please?"

Molly stood in front of John in her full work attire, watching him through tired eyes. It appeared as if she had been hard at work all day, and no doubt she had been with what had been going on. John looked as if he had fared worse though. His blonde hair was currently askew on the top of his head; his eyes rimmed red part from exhaustion and part from crying. Shortly after Sherlock's body had been hauled away on the gurney, John had retreated to a lavatory stall and sat on the loo while he cried his eyes out for a few moments. He didn't care if anyone else in the lavatory heard him. He just wanted to be able to release the pain that was coursing through him.

"John, I can't."

"Why not?" asked John then; his sadness slowly morphing into anger. "I'm his best friend!"

"You'll have to talk to Mycroft first before you see Sherlock's body…"

"No. I don't need his permission. I was the one who lived with Sherlock for the last two bloody years. I deserve to be able to say my goodbyes to him without having to go through his brother who, instead of being with Sherlock in person, was there with him in spirit through the use of his CTVs that were practically bloody everywhere…"

"John, I think you need to go home and try to get some rest. You've had a long day just like the rest of us…"

"Don't you understand, Molly? I just want a few minutes to say goodbye! I can't go home and rest without doing that. He'll just keep haunting me."

Molly gave him a small sympathetic smile as she reached out a hand to lay gently on his arm. Placing her grip around his arm gently, she slowly started to lead him towards the door, trying to distract him from his obvious grief with her off topic banter.

John allowed her to lead him out, but he couldn't help himself from fleetingly looking behind him at the closed morgue door.

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

As Molly led him out the doors, John knew that the good times he had had with Sherlock were over forever.

John's forehead got pressed down further in the snow as the guard pushed the barrel of his gun harder into the back of his head. John kept his eyes shut as he commanded himself mentally to relax. He had to keep reminding himself that as soon as he died, he would be reunited with Sherlock. He had to think positive thoughts while he still could; while he was still alive.

He could hear the small 'click' as the guard pulled back on the trigger. This was it. His final moments had come. John took another breath of the cold air, relishing the leaden taste that came upon his tongue then. Sharp tweaks of pain riddled his tongue as his body once more convulsed with violent shivers. He had no idea how long he had been kneeling in the snow outside, waiting to die, but at least now it would soon be over. He could be free.

An 'oof' sounded behind John, who had no strength to move from his position to see what was going on behind him. Suddenly a hand went underneath his arm and quickly tugged him to his feet. The hand grabbing his arm was different than his own. This hand was steady and sure. John leaned heavily against this person like a cane as he was quickly led towards a humming noise nearby. Bringing his heavy head up slightly, he saw that the landscape about him was dotted with bright multi colors and that everything seemed to be on a steep seesaw like slope. Dizzy from the effort of lifting his head, he stumbled forward into the snow a bit. The hand never let go of him though. It held tight to him even when his whole world went black.