"Goodbye, John"

Part One: John

"No. Don't-" Sherlock jumped off of the rooftop, his usually graceful limbs flailing through the air as he fell. John started running to Sherlock as fast as he could, but a cyclist ran into him. John fell over, and hit his head on the pavement. He couldn't process all that was happening. Sherlock- no. No. He couldn't be dead. John couldn't begin to remember his life before Sherlock had come into it. He couldn't imagine his life lacking of a certain dark haired, tall, elegant, gorgeous, sociopath. Sherlock. His Sherlock.

John pushed his way through a throng of people surrounding Sherlock. When he made his way through it, he found Sherlock with his head in a pool off blood. John reached down to check the motionless man's nonexistent pulse. John couldn't remember anything after that clearly. He knew an ambulance showed up and took Sherlock away from him.

Lestrade came and helped John get back to the flat. The flat that Sherlock would never share with him again. "No-" John said, trying to hold himself together, "no, I can't go in there" "Do you want to stay at a hotel for a wile?" he asked carefully. All John could do was nod.

The next thing he knew he was in a hotel room. Lestrade brought by some clothes. Enough to last him a week at least.

Part Two: Sherlock

Sherlock waited outside John's hotel room until he heard John preparing to leave. Just like he had every day for the past two weeks. He heard John getting ready to come out. He moved hastily around the corner so John couldn't see him. He watched as John walked down the hallway and into the lift. Sherlock walked down the stairs and waited until he was sure John was outside to walk out. He followed John, walking a good distance behind him. He walked into the supermarket and came out eleven minutes and twenty-seven seconds later. Sherlock made sure he was out of John's sight again. He followed John back to the hotel, took the stairs, and sat around the corner until John was back in his room. John stayed silent for a little while. Then Sherlock heard him fumbling around for something and then bolted the door shut.

That was when Sherlock got worried. John never bolted the door. Ever. John couldn't be- oh no. Sherlock knew what John was about to do. Sherlock banged on the door, but John was either preoccupied or dead. "Please not dead, please not dead," Sherlock muttered to himself until he busted the door down.

Part Three: John

John had his finger on the trigger, the gun aimed at his head. He was about to pull the trigger when something tackled him to the ground, and the gun fell out of his hand. Had Lestrade gotten into his room- his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice demanding "What the hell was that John?" "Sher- Sherlock?" John answered quietly, looking up to see the person pinning him to the ground was indeed Sherlock. "But- you were-" "Why, John," Sherlock interrupted, "why would you take your own life?" Sherlock had tears in his eyes and knew he wouldn't be able to hold them in much longer. "Because you were dead!"

Part Four: Sherlock

"But John-" a tear rolled down Sherlock's cheek against his will, "why for me?" "Because I love you," John blurted out and looked down quickly. Sherlock put his hand under John's chin and tilted it up so they were looking into each other's eyes, "I love you too," Sherlock replied, no longer able to hold back the tears, "don't you ever do that again," and with that Sherlock pressed his lips against John's. His John's,