[John]

Everything ends. I'd resigned myself to the fact long ago, but even so I still had trouble with endings. It didn't make a difference as to whether they were good or bad ones- endings meant a cease, a stop, for both happy times and sad ones, and there's no way to stop an end when it's crept up on you. They have a nasty habit of doing so when you least want them. Time continues, sweeps past you, and if you close your eyes for even a second it's gone. You run behind, gasping for breath and your legs are on fire from the unexpected sprint but you're too far behind to catch up. There's no way to get it back, you just have to continue until you can't possibly cope any more, and time leaves you behind forever. It had taken me until that moment where Sherlock and I sat huddled on that stage to realise that I'd been left behind three years ago, and I was never going to catch up. I'd thought Time had lost him forever, but while we cried together that day it suddenly became painfully obvious that it was I who had been left in Time's wake. Sherlock was still running, moving forward but I had stayed in the past, consumed by vengeance and hatred from the moment I'd closed my eyes.

They were closed now as I sat beside him, and I could feel Time leave us behind since we did not make an effort to move. Moving meant asking questions we didn't really want the answers to, and having to give answers we didn't really want to share. However, it seemed Time was not ready to leave us behind just yet.

"Sir," someone said, and I opened my eyes to see one of my lackeys (I couldn't remember his name, it might possibly have been Mark, but I couldn't be certain) standing over me, his brows creased in concern. I waved him off, but he persisted.

"We need to leave, Sir. The car is ready when you are." I nodded. It was all I could do. I turned to Sherlock, but he was in his familiar thinking position, seemingly unaware of the exchange that had just taken place not three feet away.

It was then that I finally realised that I hadn't really been listening to myself while I ranted on in my head about Time and being left behind. This was all the opportunity I needed to continue forward, and I was being given a choice. Two pathways, one with Sherlock, the other allowing me to continue this new life I'd made for myself while he'd been gone.

The decision should have been easy.

I should have returned to the life I had loved with the man I had been so ready to follow, even into death. But Time changes people, and I was no exception. Returning with Sherlock would mean facing the consequences of what I'd done. It would mean he'd never be able to look me in the eye again. It would mean I'd go to prison. To counselling. To a mental hospital, possibly.

Then, there were the other things I needed to consider. The things the old John would have been ashamed to admit.

I enjoyed this new rush from the criminal business. It was more exciting even than solving cases with the detective himself.

I didn't want to leave my new criminal empire behind. It had taken me years to set up.

And, probably most importantly, I was not the same John he'd left behind. I never would be, not really. I was a broken man. A shell of my former self. And I knew he would not really accept me back. There were limits to even what he was capable of. Maybe I could make it work, but my heart told me it just wasn't possible. John Hamish Watson died along with Sherlock Holmes that day on St Barts. His soul shattered. I didn't have one. We were different people.

I knew deep down that I was making a mistake. But when that black car pulled up, I didn't hesitate. I ran. Even Time couldn't keep up with me. I could feel Sherlock watching me as I climbed in, but I didn't meet his eyes. He made no move to stop me, and I made no move to stop. I turned around for one last glimpse, and I almost wished I hadn't. Because then I realised something else.

I cared too much for Sherlock Holmes. He had hurt me so much that I had succumbed into insanity, but I still needed him in a sick, twisted way. I was leaving him because I didn't want to care for him. He'd just get hurt again, and I didn't think I could take another blow like that. Not again. I didn't have a soul left, and I really didn't want to find out what would break next.

As we moved further and further away from each other I resided myself to the fact that I could never know him again. I would lead my life, and he would continue down his with no distractions such as myself. It was the only way I could think of to keep him safe, away from the little games of madness and deceit that I still played. He couldn't get hurt that way. I couldn't get hurt.

I chose to ignore the fact that this was probably the first time in the last three painful years that I had sounded halfway sane.

Thanks so much for the continually rising number of followers I have! And a special well done to vampiregirl1700 for getting the subtle Dr Who reference in the last chapter! I did think of the Master when I was writing John, and wanted something to make him sound a little bit more criminally insane, but for those of you who don't watch DW, don't worry it's not a big part of the plot and probably won't feature again.