.
"Call all your friends; tell them I'm never coming back.
'Cause this is the end; pretend that you want it...
Don't react.
The damage is done; the police are coming too slow now.
I would have died, I would have loved you all my life."
Sherlock ponders a lot of things while he's standing on the rooftop. It's not like he has anything else to do, because think and talk and throw himself off a building. So, he ponders a lot of things.
John, for example. He always ponders John. John is a mystery that Sherlock cannot quite figure out and there is nothing as intriguing as an unsolved case.
If Sherlock really thinks about it, he thinks that maybe it's... love. It's weird; he has never loved a thing in his life, but with John, he's just blissfully happy. He doesn't want anything else. Well, of course he always wants cases and murders and crimes, or good experiments or a nicotine patch or three, but John makes his life infinitely better.
It's probably not a good thing that he realises this right before he fakes his own death. Because he has no idea how long he'll be away, or even if he'll come back, and... love is a sort of thing that he thinks he needs to ponder about a bit more, especially this type of love that he feels towards John.
It's not... romantic, as far as he can tell. He's not particularly knowledgeable on what type of love is what, but he doesn't particularly feel like doing the things John does with his girlfriends to him. So, platonic then. Although Sherlock supposes it's possible to have a non-sexual relationship- not partnership, not friendship, but relationship... but then that seemingly defeats the purpose of a quote-unquote relationship.
He figures brotherly love next. Like family. Sherlock doesn't exactly know what this feels like, either. There was little lost love in his family throughout the years, so he didn't have the experience of knowing what it felt like. But it was a sort of... kindred feeling. A place to belong.
Sentiment made him want to vomit, copiously, onto the rooftop. Not literally, of course, because that would only make him feel worse, but metaphorically speaking, it was disgusting. He had told The Woman months ago that the chemistry behind love was extremely destructive... and look at him now. He had realised something, something about John, about Mrs Hudson, about Greg, and he was standing on a rooftop preparing to 'die'.
Love was corruptive. Love was dangerous, and love was deadly.
This was living proof.
It is... strange, Sherlock thinks. Love was strange, but love was strong and love was... protecting the one you care for the most.
No matter what the cost.
"Remember the day, 'cause this is what dreams should always be.
I just want to stay. I just want to keep this dream in me."
Song: Losing Your Memory by Ryan Star.
Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics or music involved.
(I'm still a platonic shipper. They're soulmates, to me, but not romantic. Sorry if you don't like that.)
I do not own Sherlock. 17 days until the PBS premiere!