Gosh I just want to thank all of you so much for taking the time to leave me such kind reviews. It really does mean a lot. So I kept going back and rewriting the chapter because it was never turning out quite how I wanted it (arggh) but here it is nonetheless I hope you guys enjoy it. Maybe let me know what you think? Thanks again, enjoy.

….

John felt frozen. Had he finally fallen? Had time really shattered; was he dead, could he be happy now? Or was this some sick twisted game his mind was playing on him. John felt as if he had walked into another universe at a different time and was now suspended in the fine muddled strings separating hope and reality. He couldn't move; there was an unbearable influx in the gravitational pull and he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and couldn't think. He could only feel, the strange inexplicable and haunting feeling one gets when they've wanted something with every inch of their being but cannot comprehend the possibility of it coming true. No, he couldn't move and he wasn't so sure he wanted too; he feared that if it really were just a hallucination a figment, a clever play of the lighting it would vanish. If he had just stepped into another dimension the glass would shatter, the closet door would open and the curtain fall. He would be gone. Again. And there was no way John could live through loosing that man twice.

"John" Sherlock began hesitantly, his voice horse and thick. It was still the voice that could only belong to Sherlock. Then it broke, and snapped, and ricocheted off the walls…the last few pieces of John's control. He began to hyperventilate and pace madly on his side of the room. Sherlock was a level headed man and although he had been put through the hardest situation he had ever faced he was still Sherlock; a master at hiding the little fear he possessed. But now he could honestly say he was frightened, seeing his friend unravel out of control and fall apart like pulling on a rouge string and undoing a blanket. And the part that burned the most was it was all his fault.

"John" He tried again as level and calm as he possibly could.

"Jesus Christ! Oh shit! Oh shit oh shit!" John was full on panicking now, he had seen some horrible things in his life, things that would make weaker men shut down but this…this was enough to break anyone, this couldn't be real, and it wasn't fair.

"John It's ok." Sherlock tried to comfort but to his momentary shock, it had very much the opposite effect. I'm really not on my game today. John looked at him with those piercing eyes, they were not the ones he were used to though, no these were hard and cold, and John never used that look with him. Frustration, anger, hell flat out pissed, but never hatred. And suddenly falling from a building seemed preferable. John lunged himself at the other man and despite the height difference he knocked him to the ground with ease. Sherlock tried to remain as contained and logical as one could me with an irate ex-military man on top of them. John lifted his arm and brought down his fist as hard as he could on Sherlock's cheek.

"John" He tried again, he had sustained much worse injury's from criminals before but this was different. If there wasn't a possibility of John hurting himself in his frenzied state and rage against him, he would simple let the man attack him as much as he needed to get it out of his system. This wasn't the case, so Sherlock tried to look him in the eye; he focused his foggy pools of blue on John, telling him what he could never have the ability to say through words. I'm here.

John at this point was holding very tightly to the collar of Sherlock's wrinkled and muddied shirt. He went to shake him a few times, but with a weakness that couldn't have been fuelled with anger.

"How" The words caught in his throat and he was suddenly aware of the tears he felt sliding down his face unashamed. "How do you know its ok?"

"Because I will do everything in my power to make it that way." Sherlock said without wavering, the way he said things he was certain of and knew he couldn't be wrong.

"It is you" John half laughed and sobbed in relief. "Sherlock, it's you." He said sounding out the name after it had lied dormant on his tongue wanting to spring free for far too long.

"Yes."

"I knew…I knew you couldn't have died. Sherlock Holmes would never just step off a building and die." He laughed the feeling vibrating through his chest and filling him with a strange sense of happiness. But Sherlock's face was much more sullen as he looked down at the carpet to the side of John.

"I would" It was so quite John wasn't even sure if he really heard it.

"Excuse me?"

"I would have if there was no other way."

"What are you talking about Sherlock?" The taller man gently sat up and grabbed Johns hands helping him slide off from on top of him. They sat there on the floor staring at each other, Sherlock had yet to let go of John's hands studying them intently.

"If there was no way to fake it, I would have jumped from that building without a second thought."

"Sherlock, I don't understand what are you talking about?" Sherlock sighed and untangled his hand from John to rub at his exhausted blood shot eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I must have underestimated the effect this would have on you."

John could see his vision turn red again, "You think Sherlock! Gee I wonder what gave you that idea! Do you have any idea how this has affected all of us! Affected me!"

"It is preferable to having you dead" Sherlock explained trying not to be defensive.

"What?" John stopped mid rant, and swallowed the lump of dread that had been rising in his throat.

"He was going to…he was going to…kill…all of you. Unless I killed myself of course. Miss Hudson, Lestrade…you"

"That's why you didn't fly" John whispered to himself, feeling the heavy burden of the question lift.

"Pardon" The detective quirked a dark eyebrow.

"Nothing. So you…you did this so save us? To save me?"

"Of course" Sherlock looked at him as if it were the most obvious answer, much like he often did.

"I know it's not really my field of expertise but isn't that what friends do, for each other?"

"You mean try to trick an evil mastermind, jump off a roof plummet to almost certain death, and then when they don't die go through an elaborate scheme of faking their own death and running away?"

"Not exactly, but more or less." Sherlock just stared at him with those wide expectant eyes, clearly not seeing the intended sarcasm.

"Sure. Well that's at least what you do. " John smiled at his best friend and he couldn't help but flash him a brilliant smile back. John gave his friend a thorough look for the first time sense he found him in the flat; he now saw the purple a blue bruises that painted his cheeks painfully against the thinner and paler than usual alabaster canvas. His suite was torn, soiled, and rumbled, his hair a mess and his eyes (when he wasn't paying attention) betrayed sleepless nights. Yet he still held a sense of dignity and grace about him.

"What happened to you" John reached out his fingers hovering above the bruises as he examined them until a guilty feeling sunk into the pit of his stomach.

"Oh John don't look at me like that, it's not the first time you've hit me" He smiles no accusation in his voice, "Besides some of them were there before you got a shot at it."

"Jesus Sherlock, what…" he began again but stopped when the detective looked away, a dark look set in his features.

"Living is hard when you're dead." There wasn't anything entirely sentimental about the statement and yet it very much was. John nodded his head, understanding.

"Come on then, let's get you cleaned up" Sherlock looked as if he were going to put up a fight when John threw him a warning glare getting him to comply. John turned away getting his medical bag a smug grin on his face.

"So how…how did you do it? I mean you were in my arms…and you…" What had originally been intended as an innocent question made them both cringe with the memory.

"It, it's tedious to explain John" Sherlock sighed rubbing his hand over his eyes. John was tempted to snap at him and demand the explanation that he deserves, but relented, knowing that with Sherlock he'll come around in his own time and explain when he wants too. Sherlock's stare was distant but calculating, the eyes were blank but John could see the cogs twisting in the complicated maze of machinery that was the man's brain.

"You believed me…Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"You believed me when no one else did. They all thought I was a fraud, and happy to do so. It was so easy for them all to doubt me, that's what happens when you present lies wrapped in truths. But what if there were more truths than lies, what if it was so believable because it simply was the truth. What if I'm not what you think I am John Watson? What if I'm not all I thought I was?" He whispered the last part, not daring to meet John's eyes for deep shame and hatred for the moisture growing in his own. The few people he dared to trust betrayed him, but not John. His world was falling apart, and people turned on him on the instinct of self-preservation, but never John.

"I'm so sorry." His voice trembled, and oh how he despised it for doing so. John acted on instinct and did something he would normally be more than apprehensive to do with his friend. He wrapped his arms awkwardly around the shoulders of the man, who was thankfully siting instead of towering over him.

"John?" Sherlock asked sounding equal parts perplexed and amused.

"Shut up Sherlock." The detective quirked a grin and leaned in slightly to his arms.

"You're not what everyone thought you were, you're not what you thought you were." John whispered into the finally circulating air of the flat after weeks of it being un-breathable. Sherlock stiffened in his arms at this but John just continued.

"Your. So. much. More."

Sherlock swallowed his walls temporarily down, the gate door down and allowing access across the mote.

"I have missed you John, your also a lot quicker than I remember" They shared a laugh, John's a light giggle and Sherlock's his throaty chuckle.

"And you're slower"

"Oh really, how so?" The genius challenged crossing his arms.

"Well you were wrong about something else as well; let's see how many times is that now…" John said smugly pretending to calculate the number in his head.

"I really need to stop making a habit of that" he huffed disgruntled "What is it exactly that I'm wrong about this time."

"There are heroes." Sherlock let the words settle for a moment before smiling at john and with all honesty said

"Oh I know John Watson, I know." John's eyes widened at the implication, quite touched and honored.

The soft lazy light that petered through the window had shifted to shine just above Sherlock's head, like a divine light, and his arms on either side of him casted large shadows against the wall behind him.

John knew he wouldn't always be this inexplicably happy, that such things never lasted long, but none of it mattered, because Sherlock was here. He had performed yet another miracle.

He flew, against all odds and all the weight he flew

Sherlock had given him the miracle he wanted more than anything else.

And knowing Sherlock it wouldn't be his last either.

…

Annnd I think that's all for this fic. guys, I hope you liked it. Maybe I will write a sequel where Sherlock confronts his brother or something I'm not sure. But if you're interested I am currently working on another Sherlock fic right now and the first chapter is posted. Thanks again