Disclaimer: I do not own BBC!Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, etc.
Warning: Suicidal themes, profanity, etc - why am I still doing this on the second chapter?

A/N: So I know I said this was complete, and really it is. This chapter is NOT a confirmed bit of canon for this story, but rather a follow-up for those who'd like a bit of closure on the previous part. I'd been contemplating doing this, so when a couple people mentioned it or agreed that it would be a good idea, I decided to add it to my list of things "to do". I would do another, sadder version... but there isn't really much to say when John's gone. So I'll leave it at this.

Again, this is not necessarily the canon for the story. I like to write in multiverses - one cause can have multiple effects occurring simultaneously in endless universes. So while I may or may not have intended this to be the real ending for the story, I'll let you enjoy it under the pretense that it COULD be.

Aside from that, as per usual, this has not been beta'd, critiqued, edited, etc. Any reviews are welcome and encouraged, especially those with helpful criticism.

I honestly hope you enjoy this, and it would thrill me to hear from you.

Thanks,
-Sel

"John" Sherlock gasped the word out, a prayer as he held onto his friend's elbow for dear life "Don't you dare leave me here alone." Vehemence dripped off the detective's tongue as he struggled to drape his opposite arm over the side of Saint Bartholomew's to give himself a better grip on the falling soldier.

It had taken a moment for John to realize that Sherlock really was there and that he hadn't accomplished his suicide as planned, but once he had the man had struggled to clamber back up the building as much as possible. "Me leave you? What the bloody hell are you on about? You left me you inconsiderate git! I was trying to join you!"

"Oh, how very dashing of you, you magnificent moron." Watson couldn't see Sherlock's face very well, but he could tell from the tone of voice that his old flatmate was rolling his eyes.

"I'm the moron? You committed suicide! In front of your best friend, for crying out loud!" Sputtering, the doctor continued clawing at the building. His nails were slightly bloody from his efforts by this point, but that didn't stop him from grasping onto the stone before him and pulling himself up as much as possible with each go. Slowly, but surely, he was making his way back to the lip of the roof.

An aggravated sigh escaped the young sociopath's mouth and his nails bit into John's elbow as he shifted, pivoting his feet against the raised edge of the roof and pushing back. The position was awkward and left the majority of Sherlock's lanky form flailing about in the cold London winds, but it was the best he could do in his attempts to pull his companion upward while England was molested by a seemingly relentless tempest. "Obviously not."

"But I saw you. I took your pulse, you sick megalomaniac!" John was having trouble avoiding drowning as he ascended the building and eventually latched his fingers onto the roof, but that wasn't going to stop him from yelling at the sorry excuse for a friend in front of him. "What kind of melodramatic, insensitive bastard fakes his own suicide and leaves his friends thinking he's dead for three goddamn years?"

Sherlock huffed, moving his hands to grasp at the back of John's jumper and tug him up higher, scowling as he went. "Oh, now you're exaggerating."

"Exaggerating? You. Were. Dead." The doctor was panting now, tumbling over the edge of the roof and landing on his back with a pronounced THUD. Exhausted, he lay there, the back of one hand against his forehead and the other over his nose and mouth, blocking the relentless downpour from his air pipes.

"Again, you saw none of the important details." Shaking his head, Sherlock lowered himself to the cement beside his companion, ignoring the puddles forming all around them. "Sometimes, you really are a blithering idiot. I gave you all the information you needed, or the skills to see that information anyway. All you had to do was believe." Derisiveness was second-hand nature to the younger Holmes brother, but that didn't mean he was necessarily prepared for what came next.

In a blur of dirty blonde hair, lightly tanned skin, and cream jumper, Watson was on the taller man in an instant, fists grabbing the collar of his shirt and pounding the slender man's shoulders into the rooftop. Anger was blatant on the soldier's face, eyes flaming with a mix of pain and hatred, and the love on can only harbor for those friends, family members, or partners they couldn't live without. Blonde eyebrows furrowed, the lines between them only accentuating the look of complete anguish that had befallen the man. "How dare you? Did you think it was going to be easy? Did you think I would just be able to laugh it off and think 'Oh, that Sherlock, what a kidder'? Did you think for one moment that I'd be coherent enough in my thought processes to actually figure out what disgusting, twisted riddle you'd left behind for me to solve? You. Left. Me. Here. To. Die. Alone." Each word was punctuated by a violent thrust of the detective's shoulders against the building beneath him, and tears had begun forming in the ex-military man's eyes. "I needed you, and you left me. You put yourself in front of a man with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and you killed yourself. You're lucky I only decided to do this today, you insufferable arse." Watson had bent forward, his sopping wet hair brushing over Sherlock's chin, his forehead inches away from the man he'd thought dead for so long. "You were gone, and everyone else moved on, but I couldn't. How could I? How could I, possibly, Sherlock?" Eyes full of defeat raised to peer into those crystal-clear depths no one had seen in a long, long time "How could I move on; how could I live?"

Frustration seemed to take a hold of the doctor once more, as his right fist came flying forward and into contact with Sherlock's face. Strings of cursing in the most creative ways followed. The soldier moved off his friend and set about examining his knuckles, noting wryly that smacking those cheekbones could, in fact, cut open a hand. Miniscule cuts scattered over the tops of his knuckles, where bone had struck bone, and were glistening with moisture aside from the falling rain. "Goddamn bloody buggering bugger it. I was expecting to kill myself today, not to end up bruised and cut up and having to live through it all." Scowling, John caressed his hand, making a mental note to wrap it tight when he got home. The Captain left his eyes focused on the ground in front of him after a moment, refusing to look his partner in the eye.

"John…" Sherlock straightened himself and sat up, propping his torso up with his hands, scanning the man in front of him for clues and signals, uncertain as to where their interlude may lead. "John, I need a flatmate."

Shocked and irritated beyond all sane levels of aggravation, Watson's eyes flicked up to Sherlock's in an instant "No."

"But John— " the childish whine in the detective's voice left Watson rolling his eyes, looking at the elegant man pointedly and frowning.

"You owe me an explanation. So no."

"Moriarty was going to kill you if I didn't, so I did." The words came out pointed and simple, crisp with the annoyance Sherlock was no doubt feeling himself.

"Moriarty was going to kill me…" Watson eyed his companion for a moment "Unless you killed yourself?"

A nod. "You, Mrs. Hudson, the Detective-Inspector. You would all have died, if I had not, as I was at that point in time." Sherlock's eyes bore into Watson's, fierce and unrelenting, "Now. I need a flatmate. Please."

Sighing, Watson straightened, flicking water off of his hair and jumper as he did. Neither of them had noticed as the spring storm finished and came to an abrupt end, the rain steadily tapering off and then disappearing altogether. Only puddles and their sorry appearances remained as testimonies to mother nature's attack on the British population. "No."

"What— "

Watson held up a hand, silencing the man beside him. "Not until we've seen the others and straightened this whole mess out. Then you need to explain how you did this and why you did this thoroughly. Then, and only then, after monumental groveling will I possibly say yes."

Glee filled Sherlock's eyes, peaceful and soft as it usually was in the moments where the doctor did something he found particularly endearing. Smiling softly, the detective wrapped his arms around his best friend and pulled him close, pressing his lips to the other man's forehead in a gesture meant to express the happiness he could not find a way to express vocally. A slight movement of his head and their brows touched, both men smiling in contentment for the first time in three years. Laughter, raucous and deep bubbled up from both of their chests, and followed them as they stood. The home they had both been missing had been found again. And, as they left the roof, they did so hand-in-hand, a smile on both their faces.

A/N: So yes... there we are. No, the kiss is not necessarily intended to be romantic. In this sense, I'm trying to address the deep relationship Sherlock and Watson have without delving into the realm of romantic. While the two love one another and in fact NEED one another to survive, those are the emotions I'm trying to emulate. I know I've had friends who've been like sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, or potential partners, and I've been comfortable kissing their cheeks or foreheads, etc. It's just one of those desperate gestures that shows just how deeply you care about the person you're with.

On the other hand, I won't say that the romance isn't a possibility. It's possible to romantically love someone without there being physical attraction, and it's possible to have both while still retaining a more familial affection all the same. In this case, they really do come across as two halves of one whole... but it's a delicate and confusing relationship that I don't think there are actually any words to describe as of yet. Which takes talent, IMO.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the piece, and I hope I'll hear from you in the reviews.

Thanks Again,
-Selvine