A/N: So I decided this would be a two chapter one-shot.I hope you guys like!

I could feel myself rising from the dark, but not into death, back into life. No this was wrong. I am dying. I killed myself.

I don't want to live! I screamed into my own mind, willing my body to let go. I'm ready, I know I am. I have done the deed, so why am I being brought back. I could hear voices around me but all muffled to the point the may as well have been white noise. I could feel hand on my bare flesh, cold against the fire that raged under my skin. Someone was pulling me from your chair, my last piece of you, and I couldn't even stop them. I wanted to yell at them, tell them to let me die in peace, tell them to let be go back to death as a friend instead of a foe, but I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, all I could do was let whatever was happening, happen. And despite my silent pleas, the kept on, doing what I knew they would. They were trying to save me.

To be truthful, if I was in their place, I would be doing the same. Doing everything I could to save the poor lost soul in front of me. But I was not to be pitied, I was to be envied. I was headed to your welcoming arms. I was finally at peace. Why couldn't they accept that?

The voices that floated above me started to become clearer, but not by much. Only allowing me snippets of what was going on.

"Help him!"

"Go call..."

"Oh god!" One of the voices said, it was familiar but it didn't sound right, it sounded muffled, like it was coming from underwater. "What have you done!?" The voice cried.

After that I was plunged back into the the abyss which was now, temporarily, my home. It was comfortable waiting. It wasn't rushed like a line up at a bank or frustrating like traffic, this was restful, like waiting for the sun to rise on a new day. Suddenly my surroundings changed, they were bright. Too bright, blindingly so, harsh on my eyes. Then there was more noise. Sounds I could recognize instantly, even in this state. The buzzing, beeping, rushing, shouting, crying. This was a hospital.

No! No! No! I bellowed to myself. I wanted to cry, I was so close to you, but with every step I took you moved further and further away.

That was it, then I was fed back to the blackness. In such a short time the darkness had become my friend, it was comforting. It was peace where my life had none, it was easy. No pain, no hurt, no thoughts. My body felt limp and light as if I weighed nothing at all, as if I was floating effortlessly. I heard rushed noises around me, moving past me, like a stream over river stones.

I waited and hoped for everything to disappear but it didn't. It just kept me here, hostage in the peaceful darknss, waiting for the end, waiting for you. This wasn't what I had expected, no this was different. But then what had I expected? I knew it was irrational to believe death was what everyone told me it was, because no one had ever really experienced it and lived to tell the tale. But their faint ideas about death and what came after at least gave me a picture of what came next, something I could wrap my head around, something that gave me hope I would see you again. So this is what I did. I waited for you, or at least some version of you to come and whisk me away with you. I didn't know if you would bring me to a fluffy cloud, a fiery hell, or to a island with rainbow colored unicorns, but I didn't really care. As long as you were with me, we could be underneath the sea and I would still cherish every moment I could spend with you, whether it be a single second or eternity.

I could hear humming. That was the first thing I noticed when the blackness faded away once more. Deep baritone humming. It had to be a dream lingering, you were dead, the constant reminder of which made me shudder. If I had learned anything from my suicide, it was that death was illusive and a cruel trick of fate. Everyone had made death seem so easy, so common place. And yet here I am actively trying to die and I am being pulled back to life at every turn. Why did my body want to stay when my soul was so ready to leave? What was holding me in this life?

"John?" A far away voice called to me. "John? Can you hear me?" The man called again.

"Of course I can hear you, I am dead not deaf." I called back as loudly as I could, which turned out to be inaudibly quiet and probably only in my own mind.

"John?" He called again. Why wouldn't they leave me alone? There was nothing left I could offer them. Even when I was alive I had nothing to give. I had been in the flat since you died, only leaving once or twice a month when I absolutely had to, but for the most part I could get on like that. Now I was done, I was lonely without you, so lonely it made my heart ache. I knew I would never find anyone else. You were it for me. The one. And the flat was an extension of you, your dark brooding nature, but it was home, and it made me feel like you would come bursting in the door at any moment, telling me about some idiot cabbie or about some new case you were working, even if you never would.

When they told me you were dead, I couldn't believe it. I had watched you fall and yet I still couldn't believe it. It wasn't shock, it was that I didn't believe death could catch you, the Great Sherlock Holmes. It was impossible for you to die, you had cheated death a thousand times, why would this time be any different? For weeks I thought you would come back. I waited in the flat, expecting you to come home. I would tell myself, any day now, he will be back. I even made two cups of tea, because I never knew when you would stroll back into the flat. After three months, I stopped making you tea. After six months I stopped talking about you like you were coming home. And after ten months, I stopped believing you were alive, that was when I started to hate you.

The brightness flashed over me again, making me see stars. It was too harsh, as if I had been looking at the sun for too long. The brightness faded and left your image in front of me. Your dark curls, too long, falling in front of your eyes. Too skinny as usual, your pale skin seeming to fall from your bones. You looked tired, not that you ever slept much, but the bags under your eyes seemed to say you were sleeping less than usual. You looked worn, as if time had aged you, but that's not how it worked, you didn't age in death.

"Sherlock?" I said, trying to get my mouth to work. It seemed sluggish, making my speech slurred, ruining the beauty of your name.

"I'm here, John." You said, your voice ringing around me.

My head felt fuzzy as if it was clouded with static. My thoughts were being broken into pieces and then crushed into dust. I couldn't think. I couldn't feel. The static moved under my skin, bubbling as it moved down my arms and legs. It wasn't painful, it was awakening. It was like the moments after sleep but before waking, when nothing was clear and everything was foggy. I moved my hand trying to touch you, but I could barely get it to twitch. You lifted my hand, kissing my fingers. Your touch felt so real. But this wasn't you, this was my imagination, holding onto you with whatever I could.

"Stay." I mumbled, gripping you with all my strength.

"I will." You said.

When I open my eyes, I am in a white room. There are yellow flowers sitting in the far corner. I lay still, covered by two thin blankets, even then I am still cold. Though the room was quite, I can hear buzzing and beeping outside. I recognized this place, it was busier, busier than it should be. This was Bart's, my hospital.

Disappointment fogged my mind as I realized I had failed and what this would mean. It would mean therapists, antidepressants, suicide watches, maybe a psych ward or two. It would mean I would have to wait before trying again. I didn't want to wait, I had waited long enough. I was done waiting. I was sick of pretending and imagining you were here. I was sick of having conversations with a wall. I was sick of being without you.

I could hear someone open the door to my room, shutting it quietly as if not to wake me. I rolled so they would greet my back. I didn't want to see anyone, I didn't want anyone telling me I was wrong.

"John?" He said. It was Greg. After you died, he was there for me, he brought me things when I asked. He supported me. But I didn't need supporting, I was delusional, I needed a rude awakening. Someone to shake me until I believed you were gone. But no one knew I held out hope, they thought I was coping, becoming a recluse but coping. It was all just a front though, all a mask he put on so they would leave me alone.

"John? They told me you were awake." Greg says, moving to put his hand on my back. I flinch at his touch, so unused to human contact, really contact of any type.

"Leave me alone." I spit.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you." He says, his voice cracked.

"I don't need help!" I say forcefully as I sat up. The sudden movement making the room spin.

He looks at me, sadness in his eyes. "Yes, you do."

"No. I am fine, I know what I am doing!" I yell.

"So you know you almost died then!?" He yells back.

"That was the point!" I scream, and even I can hear the sorrow in my voice.

He rubs his forehead as he takes a deep breath. "He is gone John. Sherlock is dead. But if he were here, do you know what he would say?"

"He would understand. Of all people he would understand." I say. He killed himself, so why can't I do the same?

"No, he would call you an idiot." He says. I know he is right. Sherlock was a hypocritical arse most of the time.

Tears are rolling down my cheeks, even at the thought of you. What would you think of me? Trying to follow your steps to the end? Would you think me ridiculous for trying?

"I'm not here to upset you. I came here to be with you. Molly and Mrs. Hudson are outside. We all came to...help." He pauses as if there was more to be said, but then he has let the silence linger too long. "We don't want you to be alone, John."

A/N: Please leave a review and let me know what you think!