Guardian chapter 5
John and his therapist sat across from one another.
"How have you been since last week?" she asked. "You were upset last week I recall."
John smiled at her. "I'm great. Much better."
His therapist seemed surprised. "Really?" her voice raised in pitch at the end of the word. "Well, that's good to hear. Do you know why you're feeling better?" She asked slowly.
John shook his head. "It's just as if a weight has been lifted from my chest."
John had lied. He had been lying to a lot of people recently. Some people believed him, many didn't. He cancelled his therapy after that session. It hadn't been making any difference and it cost a lot of money. When he came back from Afghanistan it had been paid for him, but after he had cancelled the appointments the first time round they began to charge him.
Greg had been checking up on him, asking if he wanted to go out for a pint occasionally or turning up at his flat to make sure he was okay. It was just getting stupid. John felt like a burden and didn't think it was fair on the ex-detective. Mrs. Hudson had also been in touch. She'd been to stay with her sister for a couple of weeks. It turns out England didn't fall if she left Baker Street. In John's mind it had already fallen, along with his best friend.
Mycroft had tried to contact him in the way Mycroft does. John was coming back from shopping for tea and apples when the door of a large black shiny car opened beside him. He just walked away. The driver followed him all the way to John's flat but not once did the ex-army doctor stop. The British government had also hacked into John's phone. He'd been lying to his sister about how well he was doing when he was cut off and Mycroft Holmes started talking at him. John Watson simply hung up the phone and dropped it out of his window. That way Mycroft couldn't contact him.
He wished people would leave him alone. All he wanted was some peace, but that was a wish that wouldn't easily come true. He also wished he could be with Sherlock, thinking that there must be peace wherever his friend was. That was a wish that he knew how to make happen.
John had been thinking about death a lot recently, obviously. He had started by thinking about the death of his friend, but gradually his memory of that tragic day had distorted, and he saw himself falling from ST. Bart's. Before he went to sleep each night he would run through his head what might have happened if their places had been switched. He tried to picture his friend standing on the street as he gazed down on everyone walking past.
'Everyone must have looked so tiny.'
For countless nights that was his final thought before sleep stole him away.
It was a Thursday that pushed him to the brink. John had been out buying the usual necessities. Bread, apples, tea. He bought some paracetamols for his leg pain. He knew he shouldn't really take them, that they weren't doing anything, but they made him think he felt better. As he rounded the corner onto the street where his flat was, he knew something was wrong. He could see people peeping through their curtains, and there was an eerie silence across the whole neighborhood. It was only when he got closer that he saw why. He fell to his knees. His 'injured' knee felt as if it was throbbing with pain, but John didn't care. On the front door of his flat were the words "If he hadn't have done it someone else would have done it for him. Underneath that was the word 'FAKE' spray-painted in block capitals.
By the time John was inside, he had planned what he was going to do. He was going to see Sherlock.
The next morning he went to St. Bart's hospital. He told the receptionist that he was going to meet Mike. He often did. They talked about when they were at the hospital together. After a while it got boring. This morning however, he didn't go to Mike's room. Instead he headed up the stairs.
He was high up. He could feel his knee aching. He knew he should have taken the lift. It wouldn't matter soon.
There was no more stairs. He pushed open the door. It was quite heavy. As he did, cool air hit him in the face and he heard the sound of a busy London morning. John counted his steps as he walked across the roof of ST. Bart's. Using his cane, he managed to pull himself up onto a ledge at the side of the building. He could see the whole street now. He could see busses and cars and taxis, and people going about their day to day business not even realizing he was there. They all looked so tiny. He reached into his pocket for his phone. Once he had found it he went onto voice recorder, and he pressed record.
"I'm doing this so I can be with him. It's not because I don't love my family, or my friends. I just need... I need to be with him. He saved me, and I never thanked him. He wasn't a fake. I want everyone to know that. Sherlock Holmes was not a fake. And when I see him, I'm going to tell him. I'm going to tell him that I... Well, I'll tell him when I'm with him. Goodbye."
He pressed stop, and dropped his phone onto the roof. Then John faced forward, and he held his head high, just as he did at Sherlock's grave side. He raised his arms as if he were about to fly, mirroring his friend's actions. John Watson let himself fall forwards.
AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! I've written the next chapter but that's all. I better get writing! Hope you enjoyed.