The [Reichenbach] Fall of the Violet Heart

(AN- title was one letter too long which really annoyed me)


John was shocked to see Sherlock on the roof, shocked in a way most people would have dismissed as denial, but this was John Watson, Sherlock's flatmate and blogger and personal doctor as well as the man who could see into his soul and there were absolutely none of those heartbreaking blue patches he'd seen before in so many people, even in himself, that indicated someone was close to doing that. To ending it. No sign of that pain, that sorrow, that unwillingness to go on any longer.

But perhaps those people were right. Perhaps John was just in denial, refusing to face what was right in front of him, not wanting to see the horrible, aching, gut wrenching truth. That Sherlock Holmes, the brilliantly coloured and brilliantly minded man that John cared so much for just jumped off a building in front of him.

Of course John was in denial, but that didn't mean that he had to be wrong, did it?

There was only one other thing that bothered John, that when he was stumbling over to Sherlock, aching to touch him, to feel a pulse, and falling into some well meaning woman's arms, Sherlock's colours were still bright, still dancing, and almost seemed to be reaching out to John. Caressing him. Soothing him. John had seen many dying people before, and their auras looked nothing like this, they were fading and seemed to melt back into their body before disappearing completely.

John wrote it off by saying he was concussed and in shock. Both of which were true. But he always wondered.

Wondered if there was still a brilliant violet man out there anywhere. Because if there was, John knew he would recognize him.

After all, he still had that bit of violet that clung to his heart.