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John woke the next morning and his stomach gave a lurch immediately. He leaned over the side of the bed both surprised and thankful to see a wastebasket strategically placed by his bed. He turned toward it is just in time to dump his entire stomach contents; when he laid back on the bed his stomach felt sore and painful but empty.
John stared at the ceiling and listened to the steady rain that was falling onto the roof. Normally the sound would be comforting but right now every raindrop that hit the roof sounded like a cymbal inside John's head. He closed his eyes but the room still spun.
He felt immediately guilt at having lost it last night. John admitted that he had been drinking much more than he needed to lately but he never completely got drunk like he did last night. And he wasn't even sure why he had done it; sure he was upset, mad, angry and resentful at Sherlock. But why had he gone over the edge? John didn't even know anymore. All he had wanted since that horrible day three years ago was to have Sherlock back. All he wanted was to have him back in his life, in person and not just in his nightmares. He'd wanted it so much that he really had thought that he was going crazy when he saw Sherlock that night. As pathetic as it made him feel he really hadn't thought of much else but Sherlock all that time. Missing him, wanting him back, wondering what life would be like if he hadn't left.
Coming back from Afghanistan had been hard; he hadn't been as depressed then as he was now but he was close. He'd been completely lost and with nowhere to go. And then within a matter of days he met Sherlock, moved into his flat and caught a killer with him. He'd felt so exhilarated during that first case. Sherlock surprised and awed him with what he was able to do and the fact that he was suddenly let in on to Sherlock's crazy life gave him a sense of purpose. But more than that Sherlock had given him a deep friendship and a reason to live.
When he had watched Sherlock jump and believed him to be dead all that was gone. Days melted from one to another in a mass of plain, boring lonely days. He'd lost his purpose, his job, his friend. Deep inside him he had always held to a hope that Sherlock could somehow still be alive. But he never really considered that it could actually be true.
He felt like he should be feeling something different. Like he should just be happy Sherlock was alive and welcome him back into his life with open arms. But that wasn't how he was feeling. He was mad at Sherlock and he wasn't sure how he wanted Sherlock in his life now. He didn't know if they could be flat mates and colleges again. He didn't know if they could be friends again.
As John lay on the bed pondering this he heard the sad tone of a violin begin to play. Even though it sounded so loud to John and made his head pound harder, it was actually comforting. The sound of Sherlock's violin was familiar; when John listened to it he could forget for a little while that things weren't as they should be. John didn't know how long he lay there listening to Sherlock play but by the time he finally got up from the bed his head didn't hurt as bad and the room didn't spin when he stood.
John wasn't sure that he had ever heard Sherlock play such a sad tune; it wasn't familiar but Sherlock often played his own creations. The tune was so sad it made John sad to listen to it. When John put his hand on the doorknob and begin to turn it, he heard Sherlock's tune immediately change to an upbeat one. That was strange….it was very unlike Sherlock to stop in the middle of a melody and play another, especially one so different.
John walked into the living room where Sherlock was facing the window playing his now peppy tune. He didn't turn around as John walked into the kitchen and made tea. When he returned to the living room with the tea Sherlock stopped his tune and turned around. He played his violin on the table and sat down on the couch opposite the chair where John was sitting. Sherlock looked so comical that John almost laughed; it was obvious that Sherlock was tired of wearing his dirty clothes. Since he didn't have any of his own anymore he had bowered some of John's. The jumper on Sherlock looked completely out of place and the trousers left considerable amount of skin exposed at the end. " We can go get some of your things today if you'd like" John said as he sipped his tea.
Sherlock's mouth twitched in an almost smile as he said, " You don't think these suit me?" he drank a little tea and added " You kept some of my things? Why didn't you throw them out?"
John didn't know what to say. It did sound ridiculous that he had saved all of Sherlock's things when he truly believed him to be dead. It sounded desperate; not that John wasn't slightly desperate but he didn't want to come off as desperate.
John coughed slightly " Um, yeah. I kept a few things" he said.
Sherlock gave John a slightly amused look as though he was surprised, but he didn't say anything.
John looked out the window and watched the rain as he sipped his tea. After a while, Sherlock broke the silence. " Are you feeling alright?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm fine" John lied. He didn't feel fine and he certainly didn't feel good when he woke up.
"Do you remember anything from last night" Sherlock asked.
John thought back on the night. He remembered drinking with Stamford but after that it got fuzzy. He knew Stamford had taken him home, but he had passed out after that. " No, not much" John said.
"Stamford seemed rather worried about you" Sherlock said, " Seemed to think you were quite upset about something"
John's stomach gave another lurch and was glad he didn't have anything left in his belly. John wondered what Stamford had told Sherlock; he hoped that Stamford hadn't told Sherlock how desperate he was. Stamford was the only person that John had even remotely let in on to the fact that he was drowning in his grief.
"Oh Stamford, he's just a worrier" John said, " I had a few too many drinks and that was all. A little out of character but no, I was not upset, he just seemed to think I was. I just had a stressful day and needed to unwind" John had never made it a habit to lie to Sherlock; in fact he couldn't remember ever lying to him about anything. But that's the way that Sherlock was going to be with him now that's what he was going to do too.
Sherlock gazed at John with one of his calculating looks, one that told John that Sherlock didn't believe what he said. " Needed to unwind?" Sherlock asked. " John, I've never heard you use that expression. You're not a heavy drinker; hopefully you're not taking up after Harry"
John could tell that Sherlock didn't buy his excuse and the tone Sherlock used made John feel like a scolded child. John could feel his ears turn red. " Sherlock, it's not really any of your business is it?" he asked. " I don't need you to look after me. I am totally capable of taking care of myself"
Sherlock tilted his head as he surveyed John. " Of course you are" he said.
A long uncomfortable silence passed between the two men. The rain continued to fall heavily as they sipped their tea. John was trying to avoid eye contact with Sherlock and it seemed he was doing the same. After a long time, when John couldn't take it anymore, he spoke up and said, " So, you ready to share some information with me? Let me in on your secret as to how you threw yourself off a building and managed to survive? Oh, and what you've been doing these past three years that you couldn't let me in on" He tried to hide his anger and distain but it didn't work so well. Bitterness dropped from his words like rain on a window ceil.
Sherlock leaned back on the couch and looked at John. " I told you the other night, it was necessary to your survival that I make it known I was dead" he said, " I certainly did not want to do it."
"Yes, I understand that" John said, " But I'm unclear on several of the details. Such as everything that happened after you sent me away that night. You know, when you had someone call me and claim that Mrs. Hudson had been shot so that I wouldn't know what you were doing"
"I told you, I had to do that" Sherlock said, " I knew that Moriarty wouldn't be satisfied until I was dead. My being dead wasn't enough either; he would want me to die a disgrace. What better way than suicide? And a public suicide at that."
"But you could have let me in on some of this" John said, " You could have let me know that you were going to have to go away, couldn't you? I didn't have to be with you but you could have at least let me know that you weren't dead. And how did you do it? The autopsy, your funeral? How could all of this happened without anyone knowing"
Sherlock seemed reluctant to share this information. " Molly was a great help in this for me" he said.
John's eyes widened. " Molly knew?" he asked " All this time she knew? You let her in on this and didn't feel that you could share it with me?" he could feel himself getting angry though he was trying to hold it in. He was angry, and hurt, that Sherlock had kept him in the dark.
" I couldn't let anybody know that didn't have to know" Sherlock said, " The only reason that Molly knew was because she was instrumental in me faking my death. Her, and my homeless network, they were the only ones that knew because I needed them to make my death happen."
"Well, let's hear it, how did they do it?" John asked. " I'm confused because I know I saw you on the pavement, dead. It was definitely you and you were definitely dead"
"You'll remember also John that you were very disoriented in those moments" Sherlock said, " The concussion; you can't really be sure what you saw."
John felt anger welling up inside. " Wait a second," he said, " That guy on the bike, the one that threw me down…he was one of yours wasn't he? You did that on purpose!"
Sherlock remained calm. " I had to John" he said, " I know you John and you know me better than anyone else. If anyone could have seen through my facade, it would be you. I had to make sure you didn't have all your senses about you or you would have seen I wasn't dead. You would have questioned the doctors that showed up to take me away; you, as a medical doctor yourself would have seen that they weren't real doctors. I had to get rid of you for the few precious moments that I needed to escape."
John thought back to that day. When he thought back on it, he was always sure of what he had seen. But now he wasn't so sure. He had hit his head so hard when he had fallen his vision and hearing were fuzzy and he was disoriented. But he had still been sure that he knew what he saw. After he had collapsed on the pavement upon seeing Sherlock's body and realizing that he was dead, they had taken him into the hospital. He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep, but when he awoke they had told him that he had had a concussion. Molly had been the one to come to his room and confirm Sherlock's death. That, combined with Sherlock's closed casket, made sense. It was coming together now, but John didn't like it.
"But why Sherlock?!" John asked his voice rising, " Why couldn't Molly come and tell me the truth? Why couldn't she tell me you were alive but that I had to not see you or speak to you? Why…." His voice caught with emotion and he refused to give in to it, "why did you tell me you were a fake? You wanted me to not only believe that you were dead but also discredit our entire relationship? What was the purpose of that?"
Sherlock looked off to the side. As he began to speak again he wouldn't look at John and John almost thought that Sherlock looked sad. " Moriarty had snipers trained on you, Mrs. Hudson and Lesrade at the time we were on the roof. They were ordered to shoot if I didn't jump. When Moriarty shot himself it eliminated every possibility of me getting out of jumping. I had to do it; I knew that this was a possibility and was prepared for it. My people were watching around the vicinity and had their orders what to do in the event that they saw me jump. I knew that you would accept that I was dead….I had taken previously mentioned precautions so that you would be sure of this. But telling you I was a fake….that was for you, not me"
"What?!" John burst out angrily, " What do you mean that that was for me? What good do you think that could have possibly done?"
Sherlock finally moved his eyes so that they were meeting John's. " I wanted to make a clean break. I was going to have to hunt down Moriarty's men before I could return here. There was no way of knowing how long that would take or even if I would be successful. I wasn't sure at the time that I would be able to return here. I didn't want you hold on to my memory for too long. I wanted you to move on."
Again John was glad that he had already gotten sick, or else he might have now. His stomach turned and his and chest felt tight. He had suffered for years and it wasn't even necessary. Sherlock could have told him; there was no reason he had to be in the dark. He could have kept it secret. But it wasn't even that that bothered him so much, if he admitted it to himself. What really bothered him was Sherlock; the way he spoke was so emotionless and calculating as if John was a problem that had to be taken care of.
John stood " Did you really think I'd believe that?" he asked Sherlock " Do you really think I would believe you were a fake, that our entire relationship was fake? That you made Moriarty up? Really, Sherlock, you think I'm that stupid?"
"No, John" Sherlock said " I do not think you are stupid. Far from it. I knew you might not take it as truth but I hoped that might, to make it easier on you"
John nodded "Yes, Sherlock. Easy….right" he said. " Because I would certainly describe the past 3 years as easy." He began to pace. He paced for a few minutes and when he stopped he looked Sherlock square in the face "I didn't believe it for a second Sherlock. I meant what I said that night you were arrested. I know you for real; I believed in what you do and knew without a doubt that you were real and so was Moriarty. You didn't take me for a fool, not even for a second."
John took his keys out of his pocket and took a small key off the chain and tossed it to Sherlock. It hit him on the chest and fell into his lap. Sherlock picked it up and stared at it. " That's where you'll find your things" John said " I'm sure that you're clever enough to figure out where the key came from"
John turned and began to walk for the door. Sherlock realized that John was set on leaving now and got up from the couch. He walked over to John and grabbed his arm. John stopped and turned around. He pushed Sherlock's hand off him and said, " What? What do you want?"
"John, where are you going?" Sherlock asked. " We were talking"
"I'm done talking" John said, " Oh, and by the way Sherlock, when you get your things, I think it would really be best if you could just go somewhere"
A rare look of confusion passed over Sherlock's face "Go where?"
"I don't care" John said, " Somewhere, anywhere. Stay with Mycroft, or your new best friend Molly. I don't care. Just don't come back here"
"But John, why?" Sherlock asked. " I thought-"
"Oh I know, you thought you would just come back and everything would be the same. That I would be the same, we could just move back into 221B and solve crimes together again? Right? Am I right? Well, sorry to ruin your plans but that isn't going to happen. I can't take all this right now. It's too much"
"John I can give you some space" Sherlock said urgently, " Whatever you need. Just tell me. I am trying"
John looked at Sherlock and felt his resolve waning. Sherlock actually looked sad. It was the first sign of real emotion that John had seen him have since his return. Maybe Sherlock was really trying and this was the best that he could do. But John held strong. " Leave Sherlock, that's what I need" he said.
Sherlock drew back. Pain flashed over his face. " But John, I have no where to go" he said.
John wanted to hit him, to say that he didn't care, to order him to leave. But he couldn't. Sherlock looked so sad, so distraught as if the idea of leaving actually would bother him. John wanted to be cruel, wanted to yell at him, make him feel the pain that he had felt for years. But when Sherlock looked at him like that, he couldn't. The sudden impulse to embrace his friend pulled at him. Lest he give in John turned toward the door. "Well, stay here then. But I'm going out. I don't know when I'll be back" and with that he opened the door and stepped out into the storm.