I didn't want the day to end in bed. I insisted we go out to the city and drive around one last time. I woke up Friday morning feeling grief for leaving my home behind without bidding it a proper farewell. John, of course, argued against it as he did everything else but I insisted. It took us nearly five minutes to get down the flight of stairs but once we were in the car it felt like a normal day. John attempted to chat up the driver but could only continue the conversation for a few blocks before they both lost interest.

All I could do was look out at the city I would leave behind.

It felt unreal.

At the moment the pain had dulled and my head was clear. It didn't feel like it needed to be done now. I wanted more time with the streets, with the cars, with the people. There was so much left to do.

The driver made a loop past the hospital before turning back. That had been my refuge after university when times were at there most strained. My brain had been scattered and over stimulated with the narcotics and focusing any bit that I could on the science kept me from making mistakes that could not take back.

I breathed a heavy sigh as St. Bart's faded into the distance.

"You alright?" John asked.

I nod. The city was going to sleep. The sun had begun to set against the buildings and the streets were beginning to fill with women in formal dresses and men coming home from a long day of work. It was time.

"Let's go home," I said.

"Now?" His voice trilled with dread.

I could ride forever. As long as we drove then the inevitable was delayed but that was not meant to be. Time would not go in a loop endlessly. My mind deteriorated every moment that I was alive and soon I would no longer be the man I am now. I didn't want to fade.

No, this is it. This is the time.

"Yes," I said. "Now."

It was eight o'clock before John brought in the pills.

As he walked away, his head bowed, I felt the moment closing in on me. Up until now it was a theory. What would happen if…

My life had been an experiment and this was the conclusion.

He returned with two pills and a glass of water. His skin was ashen and dry after days of doing nothing but tending to me and waiting for his next duty. I doubt if he's slept more than a few hours all week.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

We both know that I do and he doesn't continue the thought.

"John…" I point to the door. He has to leave.

"I don't care. They can arrest me. I want to be here."

"Please," I plead.

He turned around and faces the door. "Take them. My back is turned."

If I had more strength I would have argued the logistics but there was no point any longer. "Alright," I said.

I stare at the pills in my hand. They appear innocuous, nothing more than a Tylenol or an aspirin. But, once they enter my bloodstream, these small items had the power to shut down my entire system. It truly was marvelous to think of it.

This was what I wanted…I didn't want to die like my father. I wanted the power. I wanted have some shred of control.

Sherlock.

Do it.

Now.

I brought the pills to my mouth and tried to imagine what would happen next. Intellectually I knew the steps these pills would take but I couldn't seem to recall them. As their chalky exteriors crossed my lips I felt a jolt of adrenaline course through my body. My will, my instincts, were screaming at me. They wanted me to live. Their entire purpose was to sustain my life and I laughed in the face of that purpose.

I brought the water to my lips and let the pills fall down my throat.

It had begun.

And I wasn't fine.

Immediately I felt a numbing sensation through my chest. "John," I mumbled.

He spun around and raced back to the bed. There were tears in his eyes that he desperately kept at bay. He had to be strong for this.

"How are you feeling?"

I felt my mind beginning to slow. I can't control the words. "I thought I wanted this," I said.

"You did," he said. "You were sure of it."

It was meant to sound reassuring but it seemed like an insult. I couldn't control the panic that had begun to set in. "I'm scared, John."

He took me by both shoulders and pulled me in closer. "I know."

Each moment seemed to make my body heavier. "I don't want to go."

"It's okay," he said.

The reality hit me all at once. This was it. This was dying. My last breaths were fast approaching. "What do I do?" I ask.

He rubs my back. "Just breathe," he said. "The medication will calm you naturally. Don't fight it."

His touch calmed me. I tried to breathe like he asked. The room became darker and darker which each passing second. My flat, my room, everything that I'd taken for granted all this time-I want to miss it. I want to grieve for the life that I will not have. But mainly I grieve for the life I would not share with John.

I felt his hands drift away. "John?"

"I'm still here," he said.

It's cold. I pull at the blanket but I miss the sheets. John pulls them up to my neck and I can't keep from shivering.

"Closer," I said. I didn't want to be alone.

There is a foot of space between the edge of the bed and where I lay. John moved from his seat and sat on the bed next to me. He lifted my head and laid it on his lap. With his arms wrapped around my shoulders, I felt the panic subside. In his embrace I felt comfort. I rested my cheek against his leg and let the sleep take hold. My eyelids grew heavy. I reach up for his hand but all I gather is he shirtsleeve. I pull it close to my face and his fingers follow. All I can see is the darkness of his palm against me.

My heartbeat slows and I can feel the calm grab hold.

I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I wanted to work with John until we were too old to solve crimes any longer. Together we would work until we were no longer able to walk and then we'd sit and talk until night fell. It was supposed to be a lifetime. My friend. My friend for life.

But it's true.

I did get to spend the rest of my life with him.

I pull his arm closer and my fingers slip and fall onto the bed.

Don't give up, John.

I want him to fight. I want him to work. I want him to move on but I'm scared for him. I'm scared for me.

I take a breath and the air seems to stick against my lungs like inhaling on a humid afternoon.

It won't be long.

He'll be okay.

John will be strong. He has found his purpose.

It's so hard to stay awake.

I look out into the room one last time and see a glimpse of his face in the reflection of the mirror.

I close my eyes.

I want him to the be the last thing I see.

Thank you, John.

My friend.