Since Sherlock's awakening, none of his questions had been answered. But more importantly, why did he delete him? It made the fact that he'd tried to kill himself make less sense. Although maybe there are different reasons for the two times…
His eyes begin to tear and he holds Sherlock's hand tighter than before.
"You… why…" is all he manages to say before feeling the moisture runs down his cheeks.
But the worst part is: It seems as though Sherlock honestly has no clue. He looks confused and… it isn't hurt but…
Sherlock… you machine!
No. He isn't that. John knows that his friend isn't that, and he knows that he shouldn't let those words from so long ago get to him, yet he does.
Sherlock… you machine!
He also just wants to hold onto his head but he doesn't want whatever is left of his best friend to watch him break down like that. Instead John concentrates on Sherlock's features:
Not much has changed, but he seems to be thinner than usual, and he has dark circles under his eyes. Everything about the man lying on the bed in front of him looks like Sherlock Holmes, but it's all like a puzzle piece forced into position with violence; nothing fits quite correctly
He seems to want to say something so badly, but only manages to let sighs out.
"What is it? What do you want to tell me?" …Even if you don't know who I am.
"S-sorry." Sherlock finally says.
"What for?" John asks, in hope that Sherlock does remember something of him. But he just shakes his head and stares at him with a glazed look.
"Sherlock…." John murmurs after a while. He looks up at him, it seems as though his name is the only thing he recognizes for whatever reason
"Why did you delete me?" he asks.
He glares at him for a couple seconds, then suddenly holds onto his temples, closes his eyes and violently shakes his head.
"No!" he yells.
"Why are you acting like this?" John asks, remembering that the last time he spoke while this happened, it had suddenly stopped. But this time it just seems to worsen. Sherlock begins to scream in pain, and as much as John tries to calm him down nothing happens.
"B-because… I'm… a machine." He says as if he's being threatened or forced to say this, but suddenly he seems to be completely relieved after having said it.
Oh. So this is John's fault.
"Coat." Is all Sherlock says.
John turns to the chair, on which the coat is neatly folded. He reaches for it, and searches through it, until he finds a crumpled piece of paper. He unfolds it and recognizes Sherlock's handwriting.
Dear John,
If you are reading this, either I am dead, or you have found the remainders of what used to be me.
You're probably shocked to see that I am/was alive, and I'm at the moment not capable to explain, so I'll do it now:
I needed to fake my suicide in order to keep you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade safe.
Now, I have to go off and kill the rest of the web off, so it's safe for you. But…
I know how much pain I'm causing you, and I can't bear the thought of it…
So I've decided to delete the memory of you, 221B, and pretty much everything else, because sometimes it's better to forget why you're doing something then to remember the pain it's causing you.
You called me a machine before I left. I've always thought I was one, and what I'm about to do is the ultimate proof.
I'm sorry, John.
-SH
John crumples the page together and feels the tears pouring down his face. So there's no going back to normal now.
He reaches for the gun that's also next to him and points it at his head, about to pull the trigger.
A/N: First of all, I am soooooo sorry I haven't updated in such a long time! I just completely forgot but here you go with chapter four then. Hope you enjoyed it! I know I brought in another cliffhanger and I apologize in advance! But you can probably guess what happens next. Or not. Whatever. See ya!