Chapter Eight Re-Edit

•••

When Sherlock hung up, John was suddenly unable to see or think of anything but his best friend standing on the roof.

Again, his mind hurled at him so many images he didn't want to see.

Sherlock falling through the air, his arms out beside him and regret filling his eyes until the moment he hit the pavement.

The street around him becoming a sickening red, and a crowd gathering around his broken body.

His fractured skull and twisted limbs, suit torn and face nearly unrecognizable, bruises surrounding eyes that would never open again.

John tried to push the very idea out of his head, but despite his best efforts the fear only got stronger.

Tears filled his eyes as he slowly lowered himself to the ground, overcome with emotion.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, more or less unnoticed by the busy Londoners that passed him by, before he became vaguely aware of someone stopping and crouching down beside him.

Two thin arms wrapped around him.

•••

Upon seeing John collapse, Sherlock had immediately changed his mind. He might not have wanted this life anymore, but he could tell John had meant what he'd said; he couldn't let John die because of him.

He'd stepped backwards, off the ledge and back onto the roof, and scrambled to get down to the ground floor and go to John.

•••

Breathing in the familiar smell, John opened his eyes to stare into Sherlock's. The two of them slowly stood, and John, still crying, threw his arms around Sherlock's neck and buried his face into his chest.

"John, I'm sorry." Sherlock whispered as tears began to roll down his own cheeks.

"No, I'm sorry." John sobbed, "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me, to keep this from going so far. I'm sorry I put that stupid job that I don't even care about before you. I shouldn't have left.

And I'm sorry about Erin."

Sherlock looked down at him. "That wasn't your fault."

"I'm still sorry. Nothing like that will ever happen again." He said still not releasing Sherlock from his grasp.

"John, it's not as though you were cheating. You didn't mean for that to happen. It's okay." Sherlock said sternly.

His voice softened as he continued speaking. "I'm sorry I frightened you like that. I just..." He shook his head. "I should have told you when this all started."

Sherlock's lips brushed the top of John's head. "I-"

•••

But the ending of that sentence was drowned out as a small throng of people, the majority of them seeming to be reporters, moved from their previous spot beneath the hospital towards Sherlock and John.

Several exclamations of simple things like, 'Sherlock Holmes!' were mixed in with mentions of the rumors about rehab and questions:

'Was this an attempt at suicide?'

'Is it true you've attempted suicide before?'

And even:

'What's the nature of the relationship between you two?'

Sherlock and John simply smiled at each other and and began to leave.

"Don't you people have lives?" Sherlock shouted a they walked away, more for his own amusement than anything else.

John chuckled, wiping the tears from his face. "Of course not. They just sit around waiting for you to do something interesting."

Sherlock took his hand, and they went, as quickly as possible, home to 221B.

•••

To stay on the safe side, they decided to remain indoors for a while. John now had no job to go to, and since Sherlock had cases he could work on from the flat, it wouldn't be a problem for them to spend the majority of the next few days inside, enjoying each other's company.

Unfortunately, the day after the incident at St. Bart's, John came across another article about Sherlock online.

"Sherlock..." John called to the man conducting some ridiculous experiment in the kitchen.

"Not now." He said absently, not even glancing up.

"Looks like my boss got to those reporters. My old boss."

Sherlock silently set down his work, stepped out into the other room, and leaned over John's shoulder to read the article.

'Erin Wood, former employer of Sherlock Holmes's companion John Watson, has stated that Holmes did indeed attempt suicide yesterday evening. According to Wood-'

John suddenly realized that Sherlock had taken a few steps back and was typing something into his phone.

"What are you doing?" John asked quickly.

Sherlock didn't reply. Instead, he pressed a button and held out his mobile, which began to play a recording.

•••

"You say you know something about what happened here?" A woman's voice inquired.

"I most certainly do." That was clearly Erin.

It was the recording of a reporter's interview with her.

"How did you-" John began. Sherlock simply showed him a card which had Mycroft's name followed by about a dozen different security codes. "Right."

They listened to the remarkably lengthy interview- Erin did like to talk- and learned quite a few interesting 'facts' about themselves.

For one, apparently it was John who had been coming onto her, not the other way around, and she had played along a bit because he was a friend and 'rather cute'.

'That is true. He is rather cute.' Noted Sherlock after hearing what Erin had said about John.

Also, it seemed that Sherlock had 'desperately tried to end his life' because he was hopelessly in love with John, who'd never expressed any of the same feelings.

John laughed upon hearing that rubbish.

And, she knew for a fact that this was not the first attempt Sherlock had made.

'Technically', Sherlock thought. 'It really isn't though.'

But even John had only recently learned that. She obviously had no idea what she was talking about.

Erin then went on to list reasons for John's disinterest in Sherlock which included: Sherlock being such a show off, his massive ego, the fact that his intellectual drive made him boring company, and how he was incredibly sensitive to the littlest of things and always sought attention.

It wasn't difficult to understand what she was getting at with the last one.

That was not okay.

"Sherlock-" John turned to his flatmate, who was unexpectedly smirking at his mobile. "What's so funny?" He had almost been expecting tears again.

"Do you suppose she realized how incredibly desperate she sounded in that?" Sherlock held back a laugh.

John began smiling, too, partly because he thought about it and realized Sherlock was right, but mainly because this, something which would have been a trigger not too long ago, was making him laugh.

Sherlock really was recovering.

•••

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