Chapter 4

"To be honest, I'm not even sure what I believe, anymore."

"I am."

Sally raised her head slowly, and found herself looking into the compassionate blue eyes of a man who had never doubted his friend. Of a man who'd silently endured the taunts, insinuations, and outright disdain of a hostile populace for months without breaking. Of a man whose steadfast loyalty would not, could not, be shaken.

"John," she murmured, overwhelmed by the rush of conflicting emotions that overtook her.

"I believe in Sherlock," John said softly. "Look, I know it's only my word against 'Richard Brook's' right now. But I mean to make others believe, too, eventually. I may have to be patient, but I will find a way to clear his name, Sally. Somehow."

Suddenly, she had no doubt that he would.

"John, if you're right…if you've been right all along, then…"she drew a shaky breath. "Then it really is my fault. I led the first charge; I set off a chain reaction, just like you said. If not for me-"

"No," he interrupted with a firm shake of his head. "Don't start that again. You are not to blame for his death, Sally. You know that," he repeated.

Listening to John's reassurances with a kind of desperate hope, Sally realized that John had been right, earlier. She really had come here seeking absolution. Forgiveness. She needed John to tell her that Freak's suicide wasn't her fault.

"But, if not for me, then maybe he wouldn't have-" she stopped short, unable to finish the thought aloud.

"What?" John prompted. "Do you think if you hadn't spoken up, then maybe Sherlock wouldn't have ended up on that roof?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"No. You know it's not that simple. It wasn't the public's opinion that he cared about. And with Moriarty's involvement, those robberies and that whole kidnapping set-up…no," he said, shaking his head. "There was more to it than that."

"What are you saying, John?"

"I don't pretend to understand all of what was going through Sherlock's head that last day. But it wasn't just that you didn't trust him, or that Lestrade had questions. There was something else, something more, that made him take that last step…something I missed..." he mumbled that last part half to himself and frowned.

"But…" Sally started to argue.

"No. Listen," John continued firmly, "If you hadn't been the first person to express your doubts about him, then it would've been someone else. It was inevitable."

"Do you honestly believe that?" A pleading note had crept into her voice.

"I do, yes. Sherlock once told Lestrade that you can't kill an idea, not once it's found a home in your mind. Moriarty took care to plant the seeds, and Sherlock's own bloody attitude helped them grow. The fact that you were one of the first people to suspect him still doesn't make you responsible for what he chose to do afterwards."

"Even if my suspecting him, and convincing others to suspect him, made him think he didn't have a choice? Made him wretched enough to consider suicide?"

"He still had a choice. We always have a choice. It...it kills me that he made the choice he did," John's voice suddenly sounded a bit thick, and Sally noticed that his fists were tightly clenched. "But, still-regardless of how I feel about the choice he ultimately made, the only one accountable for Sherlock's actions is Sherlock."

"I really thought I was doing the right thing, at the time," she said, earnestly. "By speaking up. I never, ever thought that it would end like that. For God's sake, I never wished him dead."

"I know you didn't," he acknowledged. "But you're only human. You let your emotions color your judgment sometimes, just like everyone else. A part of you wanted payback for all the petty insults and criticisms you'd endured over the years."

"Maybe that's true. But I honestly thought my motives were pure, John."

"I know it," he answered gently. "You know, you're being awfully hard on yourself, Sally."

"It's funny," she said with a soft humorless laugh. "Don't we have this backwards? Shouldn't you be accusing while I defend?" John smiled.

"I've been over and over it in my head, so many times," he replied. "But I was never able to convince myself that it was your fault. It was no more yours than mine, or Lestrade's, or anyone else's. There was more to his choice than a few harsh words or doubtful looks. He dealt with far worse all through school." He didn't say so again, but Sally heard John's unspoken words: There is something I missed. There is more to Sherlock's suicide than meets the eye.

"Still. I shouldn't have gone at him so…eagerly," she said, shame and self-loathing stopping up her throat.

"Well, no. But he was such a self-righteous little git sometimes, it's hard to blame you for that," John replied, with another sad little lopsided smile. "Come on, Sally. I lived with him. I know exactly what an arrogant, self-absorbed, childish prick he could be when the mood struck. And he certainly sniped at you every chance he got. He knew exactly what buttons to push to antagonize you, and he did so quite enthusiastically."

"It wasn't always like that, you know," Sally admitted, in a small voice. "We got along just fine, in the beginning. And then, one day—I was just another person to ridicule while he sailed around the crime scene spouting off deductions and acting like he owned the place. I don't even know what I did that changed things," Sally confessed, her words surprising even herself. Had that been bothering her all this time?

John just looked thoughtful.

"I think I do."

"What, honestly?" she said, eyes widening in surprise.

"Mmhm. Hang on a tic," he said, standing. "I think it's time we switched to something stronger than tea."

A.N. Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts and follows! A special thank you to my Guest reviewers, whom I am unable to thank individually. Your encouragement is deeply appreciated!

xoxo Janie