Johnlock, #15

(well then youre aa little shit, but hazel will skin you if she isnt allowed to read it)
'You're not here yet. I do believe it is impossible to travel any slower. SH' Sherlocked replied, kicking at a stone. Now he knew there was point trying to back put now. This research is pretty essential.

(I gotta go, see you in a couple hours)

(Its in my veins
See ya)

John
'St Barts isn't that near Baker st', I texted back, but in the meantime, I reached the entrance of St Barts. I looked around, and I found him. On the rooftop. My jaw dropped. I pressed 1 on my speeddial to call Sherlock.

(true love is when their number is their first speed dial)
Sherlock glanced at his phone when it started ringing, and he pressed answer, this is where the first part of his research begins "John"

(Im debating whether i should do or not do this fic idea)

John
"Sherlock, what the Hell are you doing?" I asked looking up. I know Sherlock is insane in his ways, but he might fall.

(Do it)
Telling John the truth would just ruin Sherlock's plan, so instead replied "Goodbye John" Sherlock was looking directly down towards were he was stood.

John
"What...? Sherlock, get of that building right now!" Was he going to jump? Why would he do that, he might die! "What are you doing, tell me and we can work it out." Sherlock had his days, and maybe talking to him will make him not want to jump.

"I don't need to talk John, there is nothing to work out" Sherlock had already worked out all the possblities of this going fatally wrong, "I need to do this"

John
"No, Sherlock, don't..." I never considered the possibility of losing Sherlock. He became a part of my life. I never really had a friend like Sherlock, not that type of person. He was... different."Please, just... come down."

(well this is sadder than I thought itd be)
"John.. I can't" Sherlock took a breath, okay he had to admit this was a new feeling. Looking towards John almost made him not do it, he couldn't hurt John in this way. But in a way he had to. This was all for the greater good.

(Im in the zone of this new fic so nahh)

John
"Bloody right you can! You don't have a gun pressed against your head!" I was frustrated. It was bloody selfish of him! He had no right to just leave like that.

(heh at least it isnt school work)
"John, I'm sorry" Why did he keep saying John? Was it because of the feeling it had as it passed Sherlock's lips, or was it the small hint of fear of not saying his name directly to him for a very long time? Sherlock wasn't sure, but he didn't stop saying it, "Believe me John, I am sorry"

John
"I...I don't understand. Explain, please", I felt my voice shiver. I can't lose him. He was a person I never thought I'd have in my life."Sherlock." I whispered, because my voice would break."Come down."

(Dad's going, tablet's going. I'm coming back next weekend.)

( :c buhbye old friend)
Sherlock shook his head slowly, "I can't explain, but it is vital I do this, John" His voice dropping to a whisper too. "I have to"

John
"Why?" I asked, loudly, before I gathered myself up. Yelling at him will most certainly not work."Please tell me why."

Sherlock shook his head slowly, "I would if I could" And he wants to. Sherlock, if there was ever time, would sit and tell John absolutely everything he could. He took a deep breath, "I'm sorry"

(Meep, skip to the actual literal fall?)

He knew he had been delaying the jump as much as possible. Sherlock took a deep breath, knowing this plan will work, but still was having second thoughts about it. "Goodbye John" He said, before hanging up the phone and throwing it aside.

John
"Shit." My hand which held the phone dropped."Sherlock!" I shouted.

Sherlock's toes just hung over the edge of the building, taking one last glance at John. His arms spread out, and he leant forwards. His coat flew behind him, and with his arms spread out, it made him appear to be a bird. But, unlike a bird, he wouldn't swoop and take off. He'd keep falling, he wouldn't stop, he'd fall until he hit the concrete. Though that is not what Sherlock wished to happen. The wind whipped at his face, reaching his terminal velocity, making it impossible for him to fall faster, but time seemed to stop, no matter how fast he fell. But the fall wouldn't last forever. St Bart's is only a few floors high.

John
"Sher-" no. No, no, no. This isn't happening. It's one of those dreams wheee you have the feeling that you're falling, and I would wake up any moment. No such luck. He fell and fell and fell and hit the ground. And with that, my heart dropped to the concrete.

(skip one year)

Sherlock had to admit, he had never felt so alone, though he had never had anyone to feel apart from. Until John. He had never had anyone until John. But he knew what he had done was needed. It was research- for his latest book. He needed to find out how people reacted to their friend, or acquaintance, committing suicide. And after spending a large amount of time with John, he had found him perfect for this experiment. Sherlock had been studying Lestrade and Mrs Hudson's reactions as well, but their reactions weren't as important as John's. Over the last year, Sherlock had stuck to the shadows, finishing his book off. The year had been uneventful, especially compared to the time he had spent with John. He spent most of his time in the graveyard where he was supposedly 'buried', his homeless network bringing him the resources he needed. In the winter it was almost unbearable, and he almost wanted to reveal himself early but he held through. After a whole year, Sherlock decided he had collected enough information, and the book was almost finished, so thought about his return. He had considered jumping out of a cake, but decided turning up at 221b was the best option. John would be happy to see him again.
Sherlock pushed open the door to 221, then made his way upstairs, heading to his old flat.

John
The flat smellt of him. Which was utterly ridiculous. He was gone. I was there for his funeral. He wasn't here. And yet it was as if I could feel him in the air, hear his voice. It was his flat, if we were brutally honest, of course it reminded me of him. But what was I doing in there? I felt like I don't belong, and in a way, I didn't. I was there only to clean it from things that belonged to him, so the flat cojld be open for new people who would live next to me. I couldn't get past his coat. I simply couldn't. Just a sight of it reminded me of him, so I ended up sitting on his bed, clutching the coat with my fingers so hard they went numb, staring at the wall. I didn't cry, I couldn't. Because if I was to start, I would never stop.

(bby)
Sherlock pushed open the door to his old flat, his gaze flickering over it quickly and sharply. It hadn't changed much, but was slightly cleaner, but something wasn't completely right. The door had been opened recently- meaning someone was here. Sherlock didn't expect anyone to be in his flat, he just hoped it was the right person. He walked flopped down onto the chair, taking a few minutes to decide how to make his arrival as grand as possible, but couldn't think of anything possible to do at that moment. So he just sat, his hand steepled, knowing he had probably made enough noise to have been heard.

John
"Mrs Hudson?" Someone was there, I was sure there was, but it was too quiet for Mrs Hudson. Who else would it be? I got up, my fingers still refusing to let go of the coat so it dragged uselessly behind me, and headed towards the living room."Who is there?"

Sherlock stood, and heard the approaching footsteps. "It won't do the coat any good being dragged on the floor like that" He observed, smiling as he heard John's voice. He had missed it.