One month later, John was drinking more than Harry ever did and was sleeping in Sherlock's room every night. He weighed over two stone lighter because he just didn't see the point in eating, not when Sherlock couldn't. He spent his phone bill by either dialling that rejected phone number or dialling his ringtone and listening to old messages from Sherlock.
"John, tell Lestrade to arrest his mother's brother's first son if he has a purple bucket."
"John, pick up some food from Angelo's. He knows what I like."
"John, thankyou. For saving my life today. I..."

Mycroft's men kept tabs on John for Sherlock. Eventually, it got too bad. He needed John to know, because he needed John to live.

[44 ERROR: This phone is no longer in working service, John, if you feel you have reached this message in error, please try your *text message* again.]

Sherlock regretted it as soon as he sent it. Dammit, he couldn't let his heart rule his head!

John saw the message and almost threw the phone against the wall. How dare someone from a phone company track his number and find his name. How dare they taunt him with false hope. How dare they find a way to break a man even when he has been broken into a million pieces. John walked over to the cabinets where the sleeping pills his therapist had given him were. He picked up the bottle, walked towards the kitchen like he did every night, poured himself a glass of water and walked back to Sherlock's room. This time, he swallowed all the remaining pills. He wanted to die inside Sherlock's room, with Sherlock's scarf, in Sherlock's bed. It was only a matter of time, until Dr John Watson was no more.

Sherlock sat forward, steepling his fingers, desperately hoping it would be enough. That if John knew, then he could hold on until it was time. John was smart. John would know.

The last thing John saw were the rare photos of Sherlock smiling, from the newspapers. John smiled back and let his eyes close.

John stretched out a hand, just to call that number one last time on the damned phone Mycroft got him. He didn't even need to open his eyes, he knew exactly which buttons to press, he knew exactly where the phone was. He called Sherlock, one last time. But Sherlock was making himself coffee. He missed the call. And Sherlock never checks his voicemail.

"Sherlock? It's me, John. I'll see you soon, mate."

I am afraid you are needed at home. Now. The plane is on its way. -MH

"And when I do, I can tell you everything."

Why? I cannot risk it. -SH

"Everything I've needed to tell you for so long."

John is about to be admitted to hospital. I have called for an ambulance. -MH

"I love you, Sherlock."

I will be there. -SH

Shit. Sherlock never cursed, not even in his head. But John. John, oh God, what had happened to his John. Did someone know that he had given him his new phone number? Did Moriarty's men get to him? It was his fault. This was all his fault. Goddammit, Sherlock! He told himself. You could've kept him safe but you had to go let your stupid, useless, terrible heart rule your head. You never think of anyone except yourself! But he knew that was wrong. For the past three or four months, he hadn't been able to think of anyone else except John.

Sherlock landed in Mycroft's private airport, merely three hours after he had received the call. Mycroft was standing there, with that infernal umbrella.
"Come Sherlock, we haven't much time." They rode to the hospital in a heavy silence. Upon arriving, Mycroft put his arm on Sherlock's
"Understand, brother, it isn't what you think." Sherlock glanced at his brother, and rushed out of the car. What did he think? He believed John to be attacked. If it isn't what he thinks... Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. John. He needed to get to John. He burst in the hospital doors, ran past reception, to IR unit. He looked around frantically. John...

John opened his eyes and saw the expected. He was in a hospital room, hooked up to an IV. Then he turned his head and saw the unexpected. Sherlock was holding his hand. Sherlock Holmes, the consulting dectective was holding his hand.
"No." John said quietly.

"NO!" He got out of bed, pulled the IV out of his body without even flinching. Sherlock doubted that he felt it at all. Is this what had happened to John? He had been so hurt that he couldn't even feel anything anymore? John ran up all the stairs with Sherlock in pursuit. He reached the roof of the hospital and he walked towards the edge.
"JOHN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Sherlock shouted after him.
"IT'S NOT FAIR! YOU'RE DEAD! AND I SHOULD BE TOO!" John moved closer to the edge and took a deep breath "Clearly, I didn't take enough pills, but this will work. It worked for you."
"John, I'm right here. Don't do this, John, please." John shook his head
"No. I saw you die! You are dead! And this...this is just cruel."

Sherlock choked back a scream. Suddenly and with extreme clarity he understood how John must have felt that day, seeing him up here.
"John, I am going to touch you, all right? I am going to touch your arm."

John just looked at Sherlock with eyes filled with despair. It hurt Sherlock to see John this way. Hurt him more than John would ever know. He wanted to protect him. Protect him forever. And in trying to do that, he had destroyed him. He stretched out his hand and gently pulled John back from the edge. John's eyes widened
"Sherlock?" Sherlock nodded and pulled John into a hug. John clung to Sherlock's shirt as tightly as he could and sobbed into his chest.
"It's you. It's really you. Christ, Sherlock! I thought you were dead!" Sherlock stroked John's hair and whispered
"I know. I know. I am sorry, I am so sorry. But everything is going to be fine, John. Trust me." Sherlock gently lead John back to his room, where John almost immediately passed out from shock and exhaustion.
"Don't leave me, Sherlock. God, don't you leave me again." John whispered
"I will be here when you wake up. I promise." Sherlock sobbed, finally letting himself feel all the emotions he had been trying so hard to repress over the last month.

He said it over and over again, "I'll be here, I'll be here. I promise, I'm sorry, I am so, so sorry, John. I'll be here."