John's phone went off as the cab pulled up at St. Bart's. Sherlock's number came up on the caller ID. He answered as he left the cab; sprinting, phone to his ear, towards the hospital doors.
"Hello?"
"John." There was that flat tone again. It sounded tired. He quickened his pace.
"Sherlock, are you ok?" Please don't be hurt, please don't be hurt, please don't be hurt
"Turn around and walk back the way you came." Sherlock's voice trembled and cracked. John slowed but kept moving. This was bad.
"What? No… I'm coming in."
"Just… do as I ask!" A frantic, desperate edge laced his voice. "Please…"
John did it, though he didn't understand why. Sherlock never said please. Not unless he either wanted to humiliate someone by proving them wrong… or- well he doubted Sherlock was teasing him now.
"Sherlock…" He looked around. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, but he could clearly see John.
"Ok, look up. I'm on the rooftop." John's eyes scanned up, spotting a tall thin figure standing precariously on the roof ledge of the hospital. Sherlock sounded tired and afraid. John's heart sank.
"Oh god…" He stared, confused. Sherlock wouldn't-
"I- I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this." Sherlock was still talking, his voice shaking audibly. John struggled to remember how to breathe.
"What's going on?"
"An apology." He paused for a long time. John didn't dare say anything for fear Sherlock would do something crazy. He'd never seen him act quite like this before. "It's all true."
John's heart hammered hard in his chest, eyes still on the rooftop. Sherlock had only grown more and more worrying the longer they stood here. He claimed to have faked everything. All the deductions, everything he'd known about John. He seemed to have been trying –and failing- to avoid crying. John could hear the tell-tale hitch in his voice. The concealed sniffle here and there.
John knew it was garbage. Sherlock had a lot of faults, but he was no fake. There was no way he could've known even half the things he'd known about John just from looking him up. No way for him even to have known John was coming until he was already there.
John couldn't stand it any longer. He started towards the doors again.
"NO, stay exactly where you are!" Sherlock's voice pulled him up short. He retreated again. The other man's voice had started to shake violently again. He seemed to be just barely keeping himself together and talking. "Don't move. Keep your eyes fixed on me." He saw Sherlock's hand reach out and extended his own without thinking. Every particle of his being wanted to be on that rooftop, leading Sherlock back down to safety. He had the sick feeling he knew exactly what Sherlock was building up to, and he couldn't think of any way to stop him.
John stared up at the roof, not knowing what to do.
"Please… will you do this for me?"
"… Do what?" John dreaded the answer.
"This phone call… it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"
No. No, please don't-
"Leave a note…when?"
"Goodbye John."
"No… Don't…" He had to keep him talking. Had to find a way to pull him back from the ledge. He needed more time.
He didn't have it.
Sherlock tossed the phone behind him onto the roof, took one last look down, and then jumped.
John barely even remembered screaming, although he heard later that he'd done a lot of it at the time. All he remembered was the blood and the lifeless grey eyes, staring up, unseeing into the sky. He remembered them every time he closed his eyes.
