Sherlock found himself on the roof of St Bart's again. So much was different from before, and yet, so many of the feelings were overlapping. He'd managed to bury them that day, he had to, but this time, there was no hole he could put them in that was deep enough.
He stood at the edge and watched the city pass by, John's words echoing through his head, just as they had ever single day, mocking him.
You behave, alright?
You behave, alright?
You behave, alright?
"I DID!" he screeched to the world, the words scratching at his throat and still not loud enough. "What about you?!"
He collapsed to his knees, precariously close to the edge of the building, and not caring. He wasn't sure if he had it in him to care any more.
He curled up into a ball. If he cried this time, it was silent.
I'll be fine.
I'll be fine.
I'll be fine.
Lies, all of it.