JOHN POV
John can't stand being in the hospital anymore. He decides to take the key to the bank and see if it fits. Apparently it does. With shaky hands he opens the box in front of him. He honestly has no idea what to expect, not when he doesn't fully know who Mary is. There's a neatly folded piece of paper inside, that's it. Taking it out he heads back to the hospital because he can't stand being at home, the empty home. He sits down in Sherlock's hospital room and checks on the crib that has Rosie in it. She's fast asleep. With shaky fingers he opens the paper and realizes it's a letter. From Mary.
Dearest John,
If you are reading this it means I have left you because my past caught up to me. You must hate me and it isn't unwarranted. After I left the 'business' I never expected to fall in love. But I did. I desperately wanted to tell you about me but I couldn't. Partly because I was afraid that you would run away from me and partly because you were so broken after Sherlock's death that I couldn't do that to you. I know you're probably thinking, what does this have to do with Sherlock. But John, with you, everything has to do with Sherlock. And I came to accept that. I had written a letter previously but then I found out that Sherlock was alive so I re-wrote it. I admit, I was jealous that he was alive. I know that's selfish. But if indeed you are reading this I am glad he is because you are hurting and someone has to be there for you. You mean more to him than you think. He won't say it but in his own unique way he shows it but I don't think you see that. Make up with him. You're going to need him. And he needs you, whether he knows it or not. He's as broken as you are. Take care of our beautiful daughter and tell her I love her.
I will never stop loving you John,
Mary "Rosamund" Morstan soon-to-be Watson
By the end of the letter John is crying fully. He can't stop the tears and he isn't sure he wants to. It gives him something to do. He gets up and kicks a nearby table. It gives him momentary relief but not for long.
There's a groan from the bed.
"John?" croaks Sherlock his eyes barely open.
John closes his eyes. Sherlock made it. Mary didn't. Sherlock made it. Mary didn't. Sherlock made it. Mary didn't. He doesn't know how to feel and is too afraid to look at his friend.
Instead of confronting Sherlock John turns to the door and leaves. It's cowardly but his heart is beating too fast and there's only so much he can take.
It's been a week and John knows Sherlock has been released. He knows he can't hide from Sherlock forever so he heads over to Baker Street.
Entering into his old flat he isn't prepared for the sight. He thought he would be prepared to see anything when it came to Sherlock but he isn't prepared for this.
Sherlock is sitting in his usual chair with a variety of objects on the small table beside him, ranging from: a handgun to syringes to knives to pills. All of which make bells go off in John's head and his breathing starts because Sherlock isn't moving, not even when John walked in.
"What are you doing?!" John asks his voice taking on a high pitch. Sherlock slowly looks up and sees his friend but doesn't answer.
John walks forward and takes all the objects off the table putting them in a nearby bag that he plans on taking far away from Baker Street.
"Do you think you could do that to me?" John asks trying to keep the anger from his voice but he fails.
"It's better that way. That way I won't hurt you anymore." Sherlock says.
"Did you even think that going through with it would hurt me?!" John asks but shakes his head because he knows the answer to that one. It never crossed Sherlock's mind.
"It's my fault she's gone. It's my fault you're in pain." Sherlock says.
"It's not your fault that she's gone Sherlock. But I won't deny the second part. Because you did hurt me." John says the anger going out of him.
"No you don't understand John! Every time I close my eyes the same images pass through my mind! My gun is pointed at Mary, I shoot, you scream, take the gun and point it at my skull. You say you've been wanting to do it for so long. I deserve to die John. I do. You shoot me in the stomach. And then I wake up and it repeats. Sometimes I shoot you and there's nothing I can do. Nothing. Nothing John. I can't bring her back John. I can't bring her back. If I could trade places with her I would. But I can't!" Sherlock yells the last bit tears falling down. John's eyes are wide and he doesn't know how to react. He doesn't know how to feel. Sherlock, the man without feelings, blames himself for Mary's death.
Sherlock stands up and the bathrobe slips a little bit revealing a part of his left shoulder blade. John frowns.
"Stop. Wait." John says and Sherlock does but doesn't look at him.
John gently pushes the bathrobe lower and which reveals scars. His breathing gets faster. He pulls the whole bathrobe down. Sherlock's back is filled with so many long and short but deep scars as well as old bullet-holes. Sherlock doesn't move. John realizes his friend froze on the spot. He reaches out to gently trace one of the small scars but Sherlock flinches pulling the robe back on.
"I won't do anything. Not until you want me to." Sherlock vaguely waves over to the now-empty table.
"I will never want you to kill yourself Sherlock!" John yells.
John watches as Sherlock goes to his room and closes the door.
His mind is reeling from the gun, syringes, pills, and knives as well as the scars on Sherlock's back. He feels like he's suffocating from the pain of losing Mary and from the pain Sherlock is going through. He walks through the flat and searches for other potential damaging objects before he runs out of the flat. He runs as fast as he can to his house and lets the tears fall.
It's all too overwhelming.