So here's Chapter 5. Finally John and Sherlock reunite! As always reviews are always appreciated!

Falling, falling...it couldn't be.

Sherlock couldn't have really just thrown himself from that building. John's heart beat so quickly in his chest it felt like it would burst. He ran across the street; his eyes had to be deceiving him. This couldn't be happening...

With his heart beating outside his chest, everything around him faded away. Sounds seemed to fade, his vision was closing in as if the only thing that mattered was the scene directly in front of him. He pushed his legs as fast as he could go, but in only moments it seemed he was thrown to the ground as a biker crashed into him. He fell to the pavement with a hard hit to the head.

His vision went black for a second and his ears began to ring. He knew the signs, clearly a concussion. His head began to feel fuzzy and unclear. He tried to think but it was so hard. He wanted nothing more than to lay there though the pain, but he couldn't do that. Why?

Sherlock!

Sherlock needed him, he was in danger. John had to get up. He had to...

With great difficulty John pulled himself into a standing position. His legs were shaky and he didn't seem to move very fast no matter how hard he tried. Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock...it was the only thing keeping him moving. The pain in his head was a million times worse standing up, but he couldn't stop...

A group of people was gathered around a body on the sidewalk. That couldn't be Sherlock, it just couldn't...

John pushed through the people that were gathering around, but it wasn't easy. It seemed like they were trying to hold him back but he couldn't understand why...

Then he saw. Enough people had moved so that now Sherlock's form was visible on the ground. John's stomach twisted and turned, it was all that he could do to not to be sick. Blood ran across the pavement, Sherlock's blood... so much blood.

John reached for Sherlock's hand. It was limp in his own, lifeless. People were pulling John off on Sherlock; they wouldn't listen no matter how much be insisted that he was a doctor. Why wouldn't they listen? John was really trying to pull himself out of the deep fog that was clouding his thoughts when someone in the crowd turned Sherlock over. John stopped in his tracks. He could hear nothing, see nothing but his dear friend...

There was no question that Sherlock was dead. His face was pale and lifeless, his eyes open and staring nowhere. Blood covered his face, his head, his hair, everything.

John's legs gave out under him as his world closed in around him. Everything went black as he fell to the ground...

...

John jerked suddenly awake from the nightmare that often plagued him. Despite the fact that he had relived this scene hundreds and hundreds of times, it didn't make it any easier. It was always terrifying, always horrible. He always woke shaking, cold, sweating and sick to his stomach. There was little chance of going back to sleep tonight so John pulled himself up on the couch, swung his legs over the side and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. When his eyes focused and he saw `what lay in front of him, he'd never been so confused.

Sitting in front of him was the tall dark figure of his best friend, or at least the person that had been his best friend. But Sherlock was dead...John looked at the man that sat in front of him and studied him. Same pale skin, same wavy black hair, dressed in his long coat with the collar pulled up. It was Sherlock.

Well obviously he was dreaming. His normal nightmare had changed into a dream in which he could see Sherlock. John pinched his skin. It hurt. He was awake...but that didn't make sense. How could he be awake and seeing Sherlock? Unless...

He looked at what appeared to be his late friend. He was surveying John with a perplexing and cautious look. He seemed to be holding his tongue but after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. " John, are you alright?"

John surprised Sherlock by bursting out into laughter. "Well, no. No, I am not alright. I mean...I'm obviously insane aren't I?" He continued to laugh very much like he was a madman

"You're not insane, John" said Sherlock, slow and cautiously, not sure how John would act.

"But aren't I?" John asked with a chuckle "This is just great...three years I live in torment of thinking of Sherlock, reliving that awful day, putting on some great show for everyone like I'm okay when I am clearly NOT okay...drinking every night, the crushing loneliness. But no, no one could see that. I made sure of that"

John was on his feet now, pacing the length of carpet in front of the couch. A small table separated where John and Sherlock stood. Sherlock just watched as John continued to make a scene.

" Oh, yes I've gotten real good at making everyone think I was okay" John rambled on " go to work, smile, make conversation. They'll be SO surprised when they hear that John Watson has been carted off to the crazy house!"

John did rather act like he was crazy but Sherlock chose not to point this out. Instead he said, " John, you aren't crazy. You're not going to be put away"

"Well of course I am!" John practically screamed, balling up his fists. " I am clearly seeing someone that has been dead for three years AND hearing him talk to me. That can't be even nearly be defined as normal." John looked at the floor, unclenching his fists. Visions of padded rooms and strait jackets came into his head. It sounded horrible, but if he could see and talk to Sherlock….

His angry outburst seemed to melt away and when he spoke again his voice was sad "really, maybe its better this way. Life is so meaningless, unbearable as it is now. Even if I am crazy...I'd rather be crazy with you than alone."

Sherlock crossed the small distance between him and John. He put his hand on John's shoulder and shook him forcibly. " John, seriously, snap out of it. You're not imagining things, I'm really here. I can explain"

Now John was really confused. Yes, he saw Sherlock and Sherlock was dead so that had to mean he was picturing the whole thing in his head. But if it was all in his head, then how had Sherlock touched him. He couldn't touch him unless he was really alive...

Sherlock watched John's face twist into confusion a second before John crumbled to the ground unconscious.

Things felt fuzzy, almost as if his head was filled with water or jelly making it hard for his thoughts to swim through to where they needed to go. John lay for a second with his eyes closed, taking in the weird sensation. Why did he feel so funny at waking? Despite the fact that he had visited Sherlock's grave he hadn't had too much to drink that night, or rather more than usual. He knew he had a nightmare and had awakened…..had he fallen asleep again? He knew that he was forgetting something and dearly wished this fog would clear and he could make meaning out of his thoughts. Let's see, he had a nightmare, nothing unusual….he had gotten up…..

Wait…

John jumped off the couch where he was laying in record speed. His feet hit the floor quickly and his head swam. John looked around the room and his eyes finally came to rest on Sherlock sitting in an arm chair opposite him. John stared at Sherlock open mouthed, speechless so Sherlock broke the silence. "John," he spoke softly and slowly "I know that this obviously comes as a shock to you, but….."

But John had found his voice "Sherlock…..what-the-HELL?" he shouted at Sherlock. John's head was swimming and his heart was beating a million miles an hour. He was beginning to sweat profusely and he couldn't stand still. He began to pace, though never taking his eyes off Sherlock "Seriously, what the hell!?" John was boiling inside. For three years he had fallen deeper and deeper into depression, wishing with some vain hope that Sherlock could really be alive and yet with him standing here in front of him all he was feeling was anger. No, not just anger, he was furious.

"John, please. Sit down and we can talk about this" Sherlock said, motioning for John to sit down. This only served to make John more livid; how dare Sherlock just sit there like that? His voice was calm, cool and even; he showed next to no emotion on his face and he didn't even move from his chair. How could he possibly be so calm after all this time? How could he not feel ANY thing when John's whole world was upside down?

"Um…..no" John said, still pacing and continuing to sweat bullets " I think I'll stand if that's alright with you? I'll stand and you will give me some answers as to why in the world you are here…..why you jumped off that building and let me believe for three years that you were dead when you obviously are fine" John felt shaky, jittery, as if every cell in his body was moving. His bad leg was especially feeling weak but he was not about to sit, even if was just because he was being petty and trying to do the opposite of what Sherlock wanted.

"Well, obviously I will explain, did I not say that? But John you really need to calm down. Sit, please, you make me nervous just by watching you" Sherlock said in that still calm and cool voice. John could almost not stand it. The past three years flashed through his mind; the nightmares, drunken nights, the heart crushing loneliness; John's whole world had been shattered when Sherlock had disappeared and it was obvious to John that Sherlock had not been so affected.

"Well, good!" John said in a rather shrill voice " I'm glad that you can feel something at least , good to know that you're not a statue"

Sherlock got up from the chair that he was sitting in and crossed the room so that he was standing in front of John. "John, surely you don't think that I wanted to fake my death and distance myself from all the people I know, go away from my whole life here?" Sherlock asked. John hated it; the tone that Sherlock used could have very well have been used to ask what John wanted for dinner. " John, I had to do it. You, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, you were all in danger. Moriarty was going to have you killed if I didn't jump. That's the basics of it. I'll explain the rest maybe tomorrow when you are not so emotional"

That was it, the last straw. Of course John was emotional, how could he not be? He'd don't nothing for the past three years but he be emotional. How was one supposed to feel when their friend that they thought they had saw kill himself comes back? He didn't know what to think or feel but all he knew was you were supposed to feel SOMETHING. Sherlock stood there as if he had never left and they were just have a normal conversation. But until this point he could take it. But not after this condescending remark, as if he was somehow better than John because he didn't feel strongly about anything and John was obviously feeling as one should be, bothered.

Before Sherlock could even sense it coming, John punched Sherlock as hard as he could muster with his shaky hands. Sherlock was taken back, stumbling back before regaining his footing and putting his hand to his face. John's hand hurt where he had punched Sherlock but it felt good. Maybe he could make Sherlock experience a small portion of the pain he'd been feeling all this time. Sherlock looked back at John and John expected him to say something. But he didn't; he didn't even seem angry now. He was still standing there looking at John as if nothing at all had happened. It infuriated John.

John went for another punch but Sherlock blocked this one. He grabbed John's arm before it made contact with his face and held it back. He pushed John slightly back off him and John stared at Sherlock for a moment, looking for what? Emotion, still? He didn't know but it didn't matter. John lunged at Sherlock once more but again Sherlock blocked him. He held John's arm away from him; John swung with his other arm but Sherlock blocked that too. The more John tried to move the stronger that Sherlock seemed to be against him. John kept pushing but with his shaking hands he could not overpower Sherlock. John pulled back, as if giving in, and starred at Sherlock. Sherlock held his hands up as if he was prepared to hold John back again at a moment's notice.

"John, really? Is this necessary?" Sherlock asked. " If you would just sit down I will explain it all. Please"

John didn't respond but instead took the opportunity to run at Sherlock, pushing him back into the wall. Sherlock was knocked off his feet and John took this opportunity to punch Sherlock forcefully again. Sherlock picked himself off the floor , rubbing his new wound and looked at John with a flash of something in his eye. Anger? Good, John thought, I hope he is angry.

Sherlock walked over to where John stood, utterly a mess. His bad leg was shaking and hurting to the point he was about to collapse on it, his hands were still shaking with fury and damaged slightly from punching Sherlock. He was wet with sweat and yet he shivered. John looked up at Sherlock as he walked closer to him. He tried to read the strange look in Sherlock's eyes but he couldn't. He was still looking in Sherlock's eyes when Sherlock reached up and punched John square in the face.

John fell back and didn't even try to stop himself. He fell back onto the floor hard on his backside. He put his hand to his face and looked down at the ground. He didn't even want to look at Sherlock, to see what might be displayed in his face now. He hung his head. He hurt; not physically, other than the place on his cheek, but his heart hurt so deeply in a way he couldn't even describe to himself that he just didn't even want to get up. John was still staring at the rug when Sherlock spoke.

"I am sorry John. I didn't want to do that" Sherlock said evenly, though I little softer than he had been speaking " But really, you are being unreasonable. Sit on the couch, I'll make some tea and we can talk about this"

But John didn't want to talk. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was talk. He knew that he should probably do as Sherlock was suggesting but he just couldn't. He was weary of his feelings and didn't want to have to keep it up any longer. He was upset, mad, hurt, embarrassed confused; he could manage all that if he thought that Sherlock cared at least even a little bit, if he could just see some of his pain mirrored in Sherlock's face.

"John, please, get up" Sherlock said. John could see out of the corner of his eye Sherlock reaching a hand out to help John up but he didn't take it. Instead he got up quickly, pushing past Sherlock and running for his bedroom. He had just gotten into the room and locked the door before the tears came spilling from his eyes.