Sherlock reviewed what he was going to say to John when he entered the room. As he walked up the stairs he immediately noticed the note taped on the door. In shaky letters were the words:
Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. It's not your fault. I'm sorry to leave you and I'm sorry you're finding out this way. Goodbye.
Sherlock forgot everything he had just rehearsed. None of that mattered he needed to know was that John was safe. That he was not too late. He burst through the door to find a gun pointed at his head. "Oh thank god" He breathed with a sigh of relief.
For a second, nobody moved. Then with an unexpected burst of speed John leaped up and hurtled toward him. "Oh no he's furious" was the only thought in Sherlock's usually busy mind as he prepared himself for the punch.
Upon hearing the door open, John's reflexes kicked in and he turned his gun to the door, and nearly fell off his bed. Standing in the doorway was... It was him! But... But it couldn't be. The image of Sherlock lying dead on the pavement flashed through his head. Suddenly John ran up and threw his arms around Sherlock, desperate to have some assurance that he was real, that he wasn't going to disappear.
Sherlock expected to be pummelled, but instead found himself being hugged. They hugged for what could have been minuets or possibly days, it was hard to tell. Finally when Sherlock felt as though the life was being squeezed out of him, John let go and stumbled back to his bed.
"Well that was easier than expected." said Sherlock, and then noticing the unhappy expression on John's face he added "Shall I go make some tea?"
"NO!" "You are staying right there and explain... explain how you could think for a second that it was okay to... to.." John trailed off starting to choke up.
Maybe Sherlock wasn't in the clear after all. "I had to" said Sherlock quietly.
"YOU JUMPED OFF THE BLOODY ROOF!" John exploded. "How could you not know what this would do to me!?" "I was right. you are a machine." John said icily, with a hint of pain in his voice.
Sherlock walked over and sat down next to John. "They were going to kill you if I didn't jump." began Sherlock, looking down at his hands. "Well too bad. I was going to do that anyway." John interjected coldly.
"John listen to me." Said Sherlock looking up at John. "Moriarty's men were going to kill you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade if they didn't see me jump. I don't think I could live with that, knowing that I could save your life." After that John was less tense and his expression softened.
"Why now? Why a year?" Said John. Sherlock noted signs of depression, anxiety and paranoia. "Moriarty's men were still out there. I had to make sure you were safe before I came home." Sherlock said hesitantly. If John had another breakdown, his mental health might not be easily salvageable.
Apparently Sherlock had said the right thing, because John looked at him and smiled. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Out of nowhere John groaned and laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock put a hand on John's forehead and said, "You have an approximate fever of 38 degrees. You need rest." John laughed and said, "I'm a doctor. You think I hadn't noticed?"
At the sight of John laughing, Sherlock released breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Still" said Sherlock. "You need to sleep."
A/N: Sorry for the wait. Homework and stuff. Next chapter will be up in two to three weeks. Special thanks to Sonia for helping out.
