"Steady now John. Just step back off the ledge, please. Easy does it."
John's eyes snapped open at the sound of Sherlock's voice. For a second he was frozen in disbelief, and all he could hear was his own breathing, getting heavier to keep up with his now pounding heart.
"I said, step back John" The voice repeated, now with a slight edge to it, afraid he would not comply.
Slowly and unsteadily John forced his body to move. He couldn't turn to face him yet, afraid the mirage would fade, but he stepped back and down. Another hand touched his shoulder to steady him, then both fell away when he was safely off the ledge.
John took a steading breath, waiting for the voice to speak again, but there was only a charged silence. Again it took great effort but John forced himself to move, turning stiffly to face his rescuer. At first he feared he had been mistaken, as Sherlock looked very different with his hair cropped to only slightly longer than Johns, but when their eyes locked he knew without a doubt his friend was back.
The two men stared at each other. Sherlock's eyes flicked briefly over John, and John knew what he would be deducing. The deeper lines on his face would tell of his worrying, the bags under his eyes would tell of his sleepless nights and nightmares and the redness would betray his drinking. He had shaved this morning and put on clean clothes, but Sherlock would know that it was only for the occasion, as his weight loss would give away that he'd not been taking care of himself.
Sherlock also knew what John was about to do a split second before he did it. He effortlessly caught John's fist before it hit his face.
"I'm not saying I don't deserve it, but I have just spent 6 months recovering from a rather nasty fall. Not sure if my body is ready to take any more abuse" he explained, the corner of his mouth pulling up for a second in an apologetic smile.
"Recovered from a nasty fall? You were dead. I saw you, I took your pulse, and you were dead!" John half shouted.
"Come now, you're a doctor. You must know how the pulse in the wrist can be stopped with the right pressure in the right place." Sherlock calmly replied. John jerked his fist free from Sherlock's grip, going for the face again. This time Sherlock didn't stop him.
John paced in a small circle, shaking out his fist as Sherlock straightened, testing his jaw and holding his injured cheek. The bruise bloomed under his hand. John stopped and stared at him, too angry to be sorry.
"Explain. Now. Why did you do it? Moriarty was dead, the police told me he killed himself before you jumped. What could he possibly have said to you to make you go through with it? And why didn't you tell me you were still alive? How could you even have survived anyway?" He demanded.
"A little knowledge of collision statistics, a little padding and a lot of luck is how I survived, John. I knew it was what Moriarty wanted and did what I could to prepare myself but there wasn't much else I could do, not if I was going to convince the assassins I really had killed myself"
"Assassins?" John asked, his brow furrowing.
"Yes. Three of them, one for you, one for Mrs Hudson and one for Lestrade. Instructed to kill you all if I didn't kill myself. Moriarty was the only one who could call them off, he killed himself so I would have no choice but to jump to save your lives. Well, he pretended to kill himself" Sherlock added, his eyebrow raised.
John was shocked. This was Sherlock, Sherlock who thought caring was a disadvantage, that it wouldn't help save anyone. Yet he cared enough for John, Mrs Hudson and even Lestrade to risk his life to save them. He looked up at Sherlock's still raised eyebrow and asked the question he knew Sherlock was waiting for "You knew then, that Moriarty wasn't really dead?"
"Saw him leaving the morgue. Couldn't do anything about it, I was supposed to be dead. I should have checked up on the rooftop, it was stupid of me not to."
John nodded, though he was still having trouble digesting it all. "So… is that where you've been all this time? The morgue?"
"Goodness, No!" Sherlock laughed "After Molly patched me up I moved in with her, her spare bedroom."
"Wh…With Molly? You mean she knew all along?" John asked, shocked that she would have lied to him.
"Of course. I needed her help, seeing as she works at the morgue. And I knew Moriarty would overlook her. Don't be too mad at her for not telling you, I asked her not to, it was too dangerous. Besides, who do you think told me you were up here? I shouldn't even be here, it's far too risky, me approaching you, but she insisted I was probably the only one who could stop you. Was she wrong?"
John looked away at the edge where he'd been about to jump, then back to Sherlock.
"No." He said firmly "But I don't understand, why is it still not safe, why couldn't you have told us somehow? Surely after the assassins saw you jump they would have left?"
"The assassins may have left, they may not but Moriarty still has people watching you. That's why I've had to stay away. I did…" Sherlock paused for a second, looking away. John knew under his cool exterior Sherlock was getting emotional. "I did try to let you know I wasn't really dead. My phone call. Telling you I was a fake wasn't part of Moriarty's plan, it was mine. I knew you wouldn't believe it. I just hoped if I can't plant that idea, then your mind might make the connection between my death and fake. I know at least part of you got it, what you said at my gravestone, asking me to 'Stop it'" Again he smiled apologetically, "but it never made it through to your conscious mind did it?"
"No" John agreed, surprised to hear it come out as almost a sob. It was all beginning to catch up with him now, the fact he had nearly killed himself, that Sherlock had stopped him, that Sherlock was alive. And most shockingly the fact that Sherlock had cared, so much, about him. Sherlock had jumped off a building to save his life. The jumble of emotions crashed over him and John felt the lump rising in his throat, tears filling his eyes. He brushed them away with shaking hands and fought to regain control.
"It's okay" Sherlock said in a soft voice, that John had only heard him use a couple of times before, in extremely delicate situations. "You've had a rough time of it, I know. I'm sorry, if I could have done things another way I would."
John nodded but couldn't seem to get any words out past the lump in his throat. He felt his breaths becoming fast and shallow and tried desperately tried to calm himself but the more he tried the harder it became. Then his medical training kicked in and he realised what was wrong. "I think I'm going into shock" He gasped
"I think you are." Sherlock agreed, noting the sheen of sweat developing. He helped John lower himself to the ground, punching a speed dial button on his phone. "Molly? Yeah, I've got John, we're on roof still. I'm afraid it's all been a bit much for him, he's in shock. The thirst should kick in in a minute, we'll need water, bring a couple of bottles. Thanks"
Shivering, John closed his eyes, fighting the feeling of nausea. He felt a heavy coat settle around his shoulders and immediately felt a lot better, knowing now Sherlock was back everything would be alright.