September 26th 2013
It's been 9 months since Sherlock's suicide. And I've decided the world would be better off without me too. This is my note, because that's what people do, isn't it Sherlock?
This downward spiral I've been on, that's been pulling me and those around me apart. It could only end one of two ways. I couldn't find Moriarty, so that leaves only one option for me. There's nothing left for me in this life, and I'm nothing of any worth left in me.
I'm just a sponger, living off my army pension. I was doing something of value back then, in the war. But one bullet in my shoulder and I left it behind. Others died out there, but me, I just came home. I've thought a lot about the death and destruction I saw out there. Wondering if it had been better if I had died there.
But if I had died there then I would never have met Sherlock. I don't know if I ever made much of a difference on the cases, but I like to think I made a difference to his life. I will never regret that time with him, only that it ended.
I know there will be those who will mourn for me too, like they mourned for Sherlock. And to them I am sorry. I hope Harry can recover from the mess I've dragged her into. I know it might make her worse at first, but sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better. But there is no getting better for me. I'm an empty husk of the man I once was, already dead inside.
That's why I've come back here, to Barts. I thought a lot about how I would do it, but I knew it had to be this. Because this is where I already died 6 months ago. I'm just finishing the process.
So goodbye, I guess.
John placed the diary down, somewhere it would be seen, but was safe from the elements. He stood, straight and tall, as the soldier in him was trained to. Taking a deep breath he marched over to the edge, stepping up in almost the exact place Sherlock had stood. He looked down, then over to where his taxi had pulled up six months ago. He closed his eyes, replaying it in his head.
Turn around and walk back the way you came, now. Stop there. Okay look up, I'm on the rooftop.
I can't come down so I guess we'll have to do it this way.
I'm a fake… Tell anyone that will listen that I invented Moriarty for my own purposes.
The first time we met, you knew all about my sister.
Nobody could be that clever.
Keep your eyes fixed on me.
This phone call. It's my note.
Goodbye John.
John took a deep breath, preparing to fall, until he felt a hand grabbing the back of his jacket. He had guessed something like this would happen, that someone would try to stop him. But what he could not anticipate was the familiar, deep, and eloquent voice that came with it. A voice that could only possibly and impossibly belong to one person.
"Steady now John. Just step back off the ledge, please. Easy does it."