I wrote this kind of quick. I hope it's ok.
Review if possible. Thanks. More to come. I do not own any of these characters. If I did, Mr. Freeman would be mine. But he is not.
"John? John, where the hell are you?" I can hear someone yelling. I realize that I am laying across my bed, cell in hand, sweating terribly. I must have blacked out. I look back at my cell and see the message there.
A bit not good John.
What the hell had happened? Am I finally crazy? Have I finally totally lost it?
"John? Answer me John, Where the hell are you?" I hear Greg yelling, I try to respond but no words come from my mouth. I feel stuck.
Greg climbs the stairs to my room. I can hear the panic in those steps, he is afraid at what he is going to walk into.
"John? What the fuck, John? What kind of message is that to send me?" He is screaming at me, I can only stare at him. He sees my gun on the bed, he walks over and takes it. There is alarm and confusion on his face.
"What did you do John? Did you take anything? Answer me." Greg begins pacing around the room, looking for anything I may have swallowed or taken. He sees the vomit on the floor and looks at me. He is convinced I have taken drugs or poison.
"No, I didn't." I finally breathe out." I didn't do it. I was stopped." Greg's eyes are burning into mine. He is at war with himself as to whether to trust my answer or not. He knows I am at the edge, have been. I can't blame him. I have a gun and planned on using it.
"I didn't take anything. I was going to use the gun." I admit to him.
Greg's face is turning pale and slightly green. He just takes in the scene. He is relieved that I am ok, but he knows it could and would have been a different scene had something not changed it.
"What do you mean you were stopped? What stopped you? Not that I am not thanking God right now that you did."
I just hand him my phone. I can't talk about it. I can't process what this means at all. Greg sees the screen and looks back at me. He is not grasping what it means, he doesn't understand. How am I going to explain?
"It's him Greg. It is somehow him.
" Greg drops his eyes to the floor. I know what is coming next, I see it in his eyes. The pity I see makes me angry. I know it's him. I feel it in my soul.
"John," he sighs," you know it isn't him. You know he is gone."
A loud ringing interrupts his speech about my sanity.
I look down at the phone and see Mycroft's number across the screen.
"What Mycroft? Now isn't a good time."
"Actually John, now is the best time. I should have intervened a long time ago. I knew you were not taking it well. I knew it was troubling."
"What the fuck Mycroft? Are you watching me? Did you send the message?"
"I sent nothing John. I merely observed you, and it concerned me. I did what was necessary to change the out come."
"What the fuck does that mean?" I knew I was falling apart. Did he have the message sent to stop me? How did he know what to send? How did he know those words would stop me?
"I have stood by and watched you fall apart little by little John. I should have put a stop to it long ago. I didn't realize it would effect you so deeply. I should have known better. I pride myself on knowing things and being right, but in this, I have failed."
I am a little lost as to what he is saying to me.
"You should have put a stop to it? What the hell does that even mean? You can't put a stop to my pain and loss? You can't change it. He jumped Mycroft, he left me. He left me alone here. How could you possibly change this? You just fucked my plan to change it. I was fixing it. I was ending it."
I could see Greg shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He fears Mycroft. Most people do. I am one of the few that he doesn't intimidate. I am also pretty sure my yelling about my interruption during a suicide attempt may be a little much for him to hear.
"Who did you have send it? I want to know who sent that to me. Who the fuck sent it Mycroft?" I was shaking. I could feel my stomach turning.
"Put the gun away John. Instead of destroying your brain, why don't you use it. You are out of practice and I know my brother taught you well." With those words he ended the call.
It took me over forty minutes to get Greg to leave the flat. I can't blame him for not wanting to leave a suicidal friend alone. He didn't even argue about the text message I received. He would let me think whatever kept me from putting a bullet in my mouth. I also knew he was going to look into the text himself. I saw him write down the number before I spoke to Mycroft. He made his own call, probably to Sally. He was going to see who sent it. He took my gun, of course. He wasn't taking any chances.
I drag myself downstairs to make a cuppa and try to wrap my brain around what was going on. I needed to know if Sherlock had sent that message, and if he did, it wasn't from the great beyond. What the hell was going on?
I sit down and sip my tea, phone in hand. I look over to his chair. I decide to return a message. It was how we caught the attention of our cabbie at the very beginning. The case that began it all and the case where I knew life would never be the same. He had changed my life in less than a full day and I had killed to save him without a second thought.
It is very rude to interrupt someone in the middle of a task. Mycroft's lackeys usually have better manners than that. -JW
I wait. I sip my tea and pray that he is out there. I pray the message will be answered.
BEEP
Blowing ones head off seems to be a task in need of interruption.
Who is this?-JW
I sat waiting. I need an answer. I was pissed at Mycroft. It was amazing that I had hit bottom, there was nothing left, things couldn't get worse. That was a joke. That damn message changed everything. Someone handed me a damn shovel, I could dig deeper and fall even lower, or I could slowly fill in this hole and rise up. I didn't know which to choose. If there was even a slight chance that Sherlock was out there, somewhere, then I couldn't give in, not yet.
Too much time had past, there was no return text. I have to get out of this God forsaken flat. I couldn't look at the fucking chair again today. The panic attack was coming. I need air. I grab my coat and take off down the stairs.
The air whips around me. The view from St. Bart's roof wasn't amazing, but then again I wasn't here to see the sites. I need to be up on this roof. Sometimes I had to look and stand right where he stood. I need to see exactly what he saw before he jumped.
Tonight I keep re playing the fall over and over. Could he have lived through that? I saw him, he was gone. They wouldn't let me stay with him, they dragged me away. What did I miss? Am I being crazy? No one can survive that fall. Not even the Great Sherlock Holmes.
I stand here and wonder if he knew I loved him. I hadn't even admitted it to myself at that time. I can admit it now. Hell I can shout it to the world. I never told him. Sherlock always knew everything. He probably knew I had fallen for him. He would never return those feelings. Sherlock was married to his work.
I laugh thinking about the conversation about having a girlfriend, he told me it wasn't his area. The whole conversation confused me about his sexuality. Irene made me think maybe he would be with her, but no. There was something there for sure, but not sexual. He was called "The Virgin". I think Sherlock may have been above all of it. Hell he never understood my need for companionship.
Here I am, standing on the roof where the only person I have ever loved, jumped. I am wondering about his love life. I think I may be losing it. I would give anything to have him again. I would make sure he knew I loved him. I wouldn't shy away or be afraid. I send a silent prayer to God to give me one more miracle. Please.
BEEP
I hear my phone. I am almost scared to look at it.
BEEP
It goes off again with another message. I dig into my pocket, open the phone.
Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.
I start to shake. I recognize these words.
If Inconvenient come anyway.
These exact words were the first text messages he ever sent me. I turn to run to the stairs, needing to get home.
BEEP
Could Be Dangerous.
I know at this exact moment that Sherlock Holmes is alive.