Hooray I'm updating from San Francisco! Just a warning for a bit of naughty language from Sherlock in the middle of this chapter. Oh, and don't forget your pillow. It'll muffle the screaming and crying.

[John]

Now that I was up here, it seemed like an awfully long way to the ground. Not that another option was available, and at least this way would be quick if I aimed myself correctly. I had to remind myself that this was all to keep Sherlock safe, otherwise I never would have been able to climb onto the ledge at all. I wished so much that I could see him one last time, but knew it was probably for the best he didn't know. After all, I was mostly certain he'd only try to talk me down, although that completely depended on whether he was still pissed off with me from three days ago. I still didn't quite know why he had acted as he did, what reason he held, but it certainly hadn't helped the situation. The question held- would I have shot Lestrade if I was still at Mycroft's house with Sherlock? The answer, unfortunately, was probably not.

I didn't feel like having a montage of images and memories of my life, as the only interesting ones contained Sherlock, and I didn't know if I'd be able to face him, even as a figment of my imagination. Therefore, I stepped closer to the edge, preparing to jump, to just get it over with, no second thoughts. But I couldn't do it. Sherlock's disappointed face flashed across my mind, and I broke concentration for only a second. However, a second was enough, and I felt myself verge on a panic attack from what I was about to do. I had no choice but to take a step back. Fully shaking now, and with tears rolling down my face, I moaned in frustration and grief. How could I have let it go on for so long? Why hadn't I let go when I wasn't so close to Sherlock, back before I'd returned to him? It would have been so much simpler, for everyone. The answer, of course, was that I'd been scared of death, of no longer existing, and had held on to the hope that I would get better with Sherlock's guidance and support. It had been a stupid hope, one that was doomed to fail before it even began.

Really, I should have ended my life with the gun as soon as it had become clear I'd hurt Lestrade, but, again, I had been scared, confused, and I obviously hadn't been thinking clearly. Instead, I had taken a taxi to St Bart's, and had sneaked up to the roof. Now, on the ledge, I wasn't exactly having second thoughts, but I wasn't so eager to end my life. I knew it was the right thing to do, and I would eventually come round to the idea, but in that moment I was just trying to savour every little detail of being alive.

Dammit, I thought, suddenly realising that my procrastination was putting countless lives in danger. Lestrade could already have woken, and worked out where I'd gone. The police would be here soon, and if I wasn't dead by then, I would continue to be a danger to everyone, even Sherlock, and I never wanted to be a danger to him.

With that in mind, I shut out every thought except the image of Sherlock, which I kept firmly in my vision to memorise. I wanted to see his face, so that I would continue to convince myself what I was doing was right, even as gravity pulled me to the ground far below. I pictured him with one of his rare smiles, one he had saved especially for me. I smiled back in return, and returned to the very edge of the building, closing my eyes in a sense of finality. I would have loved to have had a moment with Sherlock, to tell him how much he meant to me, and how I had appreciated everything he'd done for me, all the adventures we'd shared.

Most importantly, I would tell him that, even knowing what the consequences would be, I would do it all over again, exactly the same.

That thought gave me the strength to pitch my weight forward, and I spread my arms in surrender of my fate. However, just as I began to fall, I heard a voice, calling me from behind. Screaming at me to stop.

"Please, John! Stop! Just stop! Please..."

On some unconscious level, I recognised that it was Sherlock and thrust a foot forward to stop my descent, before the rest of me had even processed what was being said. I stood still, unsure what to do. If I turned, all would be lost, of that I was certain. Sherlock would convince me to get off the roof and return with him, where he would undoubtedly suffer a similar fate to either Lestrade, or even Mrs Hudson. But I couldn't just jump now. I had to make him understand, to realise that I wasn't doing this for any other reason than to protect him. I was being given a chance to say goodbye, and I wasn't going to waste it.

"Stay there, Sherlock." I said, my voice catching slightly on his name. Why were goodbyes always so hard?

"You dont have to do this. Please, don't do this."

I sighed, and finally turned to see him. "Yes, yes I do. You know that."

"Please, just listen! There's something-"

I interrupted him, as I didn't really want to hear one of his famous arguments, not now. "I can't cope anymore. I'm ashamed of what I did. I can't even look myself in the eye, let alone you. And I need to keep you safe from the same fate."

"You're making a mistake!" Sherlock sounded really desperate right then, and I realised in that moment that whatever I chose would hurt him, whether it was physically or mentally.

"Another one? Well, I do seem to have had some rather poor ideas in the past... Well, I have time to make one more. I haven't figured out if this is a mistake yet. You'll get hurt either way, and for that I'm sorry." Tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them back.

"John! Just wait for one fucking second!" He was collapsing before my very eyes, and I knew I needed to make this much quicker.

"Do you believe in an afterlife?" That stopped him in his tracks, and he looked at me in confusion. "I haven't really thought about it much before now, but, standing here, it makes me hope that there's a heaven and hell, so I know at least Mrs Hudson could be happy in heaven and I would be able to pay for my sins in hell. Does that sound like a fair deal?"

He stared at me, and I could almost see the cogs turning in his brain, trying to come up with something to get me off the ledge. Finally, he replied.

"Don't make me follow you off that ledge. I've done it once, and you know I'll do it again." The bastard.

"Don't you dare! Don't you bloody dare Sherlock Holmes! You are an amazing, spectacular wonderful person and I won't let you throw your life away for me. You can be so much more." I was breathing heavily now, and I wanted so much to get him away from any thoughts like that. I wouldn't jump until I was certain he wouldn't follow me.

"Would you just shut the fuck up and listen to me for one bloody minute John Hamish Watson?!" I had never heard him sound so desperate and furious at the same time, and the power in his voice shut me up immediately, and I gave him my full attention.

"Thank you," he sounded exhausted, but pleased and relieved that I'd listened to him. "Moriarty has been drugging you this whole time. Ever since the funeral, he had been putting untraceable drugs in your tea. The same one he gave me three days ago. It was never you, John. He's playing you, trying to make you kill yourself so that he can finally break me, so he can tell everyone that he burned the heart out of me. That was his plan all along, and you were my weakness. So, please, just get off the ledge, and come over here."

I could barely believe what he was saying. Part of me didn't want to, thinking that he was just trying to stop me from killing myself. However, thinking about it, all of it tied in too well. Yes, I had only lost my sanity after Sherlock's funeral, not before. I was always worse after a cup of tea. I hadn't had tea with Sherlock once he'd returned, too busy, and I'd recovered. I had only hurt Lestrade after tea. Could it all be true? It seemed too good to be true.

"Please..." He repeated, and after a small hesitation, I nodded. Slowly, so very slowly, I climbed down from the ledge, and I felt my hands shaking as I gripped the ledge with both hands. Once I was certain I was alright, and wasn't going to fall over from lightheadedness, I stood and turned towards my flatmate, who was grinning wildly. I started laughing, which I was sure was completely inappropriate, but Sherlock soon joined in and we giggled together. We must have been high off the adrenaline.

Then, I became serious again. I took a step towards him, nearly falling, but I stayed upright. I took another, and another, and soon I was running towards him, desperate to hold onto him, to use him as my anchor to the world. I needed to feel him, to know we were both alive, both alright, and I couldn't wait the length of time it would take me to walk.

He was grinning, and I was grinning, and his arms were opening, ready to hold me, and I was getting closer and-

Something was wrong. Sherlock wasn't grinning anymore, and I didn't feel right. I stopped, no more than five meters away from him. He still had his arms open, waiting for me, but I couldn't go to them. My vision was blurring at the edges, and there were lots of things that didn't make sense to me. For one, Sherlock was screaming at me, and though I couldn't make out what he was saying, I could see the tears glistening on his cheeks. I wanted to ask why he was crying, he looked as though he'd been hurt, and I didn't like the idea of that.

There was one other thing that didn't make sense to me. When I looked down, part of my chest was missing, right beside my heart. Bright red was cascading from the hole, and I felt sad because I had liked the shirt I was wearing, but now it was ruined.

Somehow, I was then suddenly unable to stand, which was weird, and Sherlock was kneeling beside me, screaming to stay with him. I tried to tell him that I wasn't going anywhere, but my mouth wasn't working properly. Why wasn't it working? I couldn't even tell him how much he meant to me, and my vision was going. I wouldn't be able to see his face soon, as I was feeling a bit sleepy, so I wanted to take a nap. I didn't worry too much, I would be able to tell him what a great friend he was when I woke up.

I grinned at him, at his wonderful, amazing face and glorious cheekbones and, with one last deep breath, closed my eyes.

I am actually crying now. Thank you so much, John Watson, for making me cry. That's just great, I'm crying on an plane, and people are looking at me like I'm crazy.

I feel this is the best I could have done in the situation. It is a happy ending, because John and Sherlock are finally both in the same place, and they know it wasn't John's fault that he did the things he did. However, it was also a sad ending because John was so close to being reunited with the person he cares for most in the world. To be truly honest, John living would not have worked, because no matter who was behind his actions, at the end of the day, he killed people, and the whole world saw him. He wouldn't have had any peace. That is my only excuse for why I decided this had to happen. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but I did the best to create an ending which would make both sides happy.

If you still feel like it (I won't blame you if you don't) please leave a review. I'm at over 180 now, which is amazing, and completely unexpected! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, and thank you to everyone who is planning to review after reading this chapter.

Also, for those of you who care, my Tumblr username has changed to cumberbliss, and if you want to send me anonymous hate (please don't...) I'd recommend you go there.

Even if you don't like me anymore, I love you guys, and have already started a list to thank you, which will come at the end! There are going to be two more chapters, which may be posted a few days apart, if I even manage to write them while I'm busy in San Francisco, so see you then!