Chapter Ten; Final Goodbyes

Moran was dead. Lestrade wasn't going to arrest him for murder and Mrs Hudson had lovingly restocked the fridge. But John hadn't come by in a week.

It was unusual for him to be gone more than two days in a row. Sometimes it was harder for him to materialise, it took a lot of effort and he ended up borrowing Sherlock's energy just to manifest. It was times like these that Sherlock remembered that his friend was dead. A ghost and nothing more.

When he was alone like this, he liked to think. It was quiet and peaceful and no one interrupted him anymore. But while he used to think about things like how much hydrochloric acid can I put on that eyeball until it dissolve he now thought about John. More specifically, ghost John. How was it even possible that he was here, in plain sight but only to Sherlock? Where did he go when he wasn't around? Was it heaven, hell, limbo? Sherlock had never had the guts to ask. Asking about John's life in death would make him seem more like a ghost than a friend that just happened to disappear. This is how Sherlock had been referring to him anyway. It wasn't… comfortable. Knowing that his best friend was a ghost. He didn't want to make it any more concrete by asking unnecessary questions. But should he?

John wasn't around – that Sherlock could tell anyway – and Sherlock had a headache. Paracetamol wouldn't do anything for him, it never did. So instead Sherlock reached for the one thing that he knew helped. His drugs. Powder this time; he didn't feel like piercing his skin again, too many marks raised too many questions.

He poured the powdered white onto his wrist in a line and sighed before snorting the whole lot. He shook his head, frowned and twitched his nose. It was always so horrible this part, it almost made the whole thing not worthwhile. Then his brain began to shut down, one thought at a time.

This was what he was always striving for. Peace of mind, just calm. No bombardment of thoughts, no deductions whenever he looked at anything. He felt ordinary like this, and while that word grated at his nerves, it was true at times like this. And during his phases of being high, he enjoyed it. He'd never want to give up being clever for long periods of time. But this was just enough to cure his headaches when his thoughts were coming in too thick and too fast.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Ah, there was John. Sherlock knew he would return soon.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Are you high?"

"Mm. So it would seem." Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but John walked over and… smacked him? In the face!

"What are you doing?" Sherlock yelled, "And how are you doing it?"

John slumped into his armchair and Sherlock watched him compose himself. "Leaving."

"Leaving? You've only just got here!"

John almost smiled, "No, I mean, I'm leaving and I'm not going to be able to come back."

Sherlock took a moment to take all this in, leaving for good? John would never do that! He'd always stay with Sherlock, until the day that Sherlock died and they could have a little 221b up in heaven so Sherlock would never be alone. He'd always have his blogger, his tea maker, his friend. It wouldn't be Sherlock without John.

John watched Sherlock's eyes flicker rapidly from left to right. His breathing accelerated and his lips parted. His brow was furrowed slightly. Sherlock was in shock. John knew that his announcement would have this effect but it's not like he could help it. He'd been feeling off for weeks. He knew what he had to do. It would hurt them both, but somehow, he just knew that staying here would hurt him more.

"Look Sherlock, I don't want to, you know I don't-"

"So don't." Sherlock said John had to freeze; Sherlock's voice was almost husky, a little higher than usual. He was turned so that his head wasn't facing John. Sherlock was crying.

"Sherlock,"

"Stay with me, John." He faced him now, red rimmed eyes and quivering lip, "Don't leave me."

John gulped, swallowing his own sadness. "I have to. It's not… it's not easy being a ghost, Sherlock. It's so lonely; you're the only one that can see me for god's sake. When I'm not with you, I have no one. I miss Mrs Hudson, Harry, and Lestrade. God I even miss Mike sometimes. But when I'm not here, when I'm… well, it's nice. And everyone can see me. Sherlock, I'm miserable."

"You slapped me, John. Maybe you're becoming alive! Moran could see you, maybe everyone else can too!" John hated seeing the rays of hope form in Sherlock's eyes. Water and happiness made them glow and it pained him to put a stop to that.

"He could see me because I was killing him. Technically, I'm killing you too, just being here. I have to take energy from my surroundings so you can see me. Sometimes taking heat from the air isn't enough. To stay with you the other day, fighting Moran, I needed to take energy from him. Therefore killing him. It's what I'm doing to you now, I can't draw that energy from the air anymore."

"How long can you do it for?" Sherlock whispered, all hope lost. He stared at John, not blinking, not daring to look away.

"About an hour. Then you'll die."

They sat in silence, they had so much to say to each other but they didn't know how to say it. They just stared at each other until Sherlock had the courage to speak. He was holding back on the tears though, he didn't like John seeing him weak. He fidgeted in his seat before clearing his throat.

"What's it like, when you're not here?"

"It's nice. It's like this, the flat. But no one's here. My Mum and Dad are, but they're dead so that wasn't surprising. But everyone I really care about is here, you, harry, Mrs Hudson. I love my parents but they aren't enough to keep me there. But they like the flat, they're happy I found somewhere."

"Is it heaven?"

"It's meant to be. But I'm not happy. I can have anything I want, I ask for a beer, I get a beer. But when I asked for…" He stopped halfway, blushing.

"What?"

"When I asked for… you, nothing happened. I can't make it like this, because I'm dead and you're not."

Sherlock was stumped, was this one of those normal people feelings, was that why he couldn't understand? "Why would you want it to be like this?"

"Because I'm happy." John smiled, "I thought that was obvious."

Sherlock chuckled deeply, "I knew you were happy here John. I was happy too, something I'd never really felt before. You helped me." He paused, not quite knowing how to voice his feelings. "There is so much that I should've said to you when you were alive and living with me but I couldn't. I couldn't tell them to anyone. This is a little different, to how I usually feel."

"Just tell me." John said quietly, "I'm not going to be here much longer."

Sherlock knew that, he could feel himself growing cold and tired as John sucked out his energy from his body. He withheld the yawn he felt coming and clenched his fists. He looked straight at John.

"It's just… I wish all this wasn't real. I wish you hadn't died."

"I wish that too, obviously. But I have, and I have to make the best of it. I can't stay here Sherlock; I can't stay where no one can see me. Where no one can talk to me. I can talk to people when I'm away Sherlock, the other ghosts, up in heaven or wherever the bloody hell it is. I never wanted to leave you, but I'm hurting you just staying here."

"Then hurt me!" Sherlock shouted, he leapt up from his armchair and John flinched at the sudden movement. "I was so alone. And I owe you so much. You were the kindest human being I've ever known, and no one will ever convince me otherwise." He sniffed loudly and took in a breath. John looked about to say something but Sherlock cut in. "Oh and one more thing, one more miracle, John, just for me. Don't be… dead." Sherlock was crying now, sobbing more than he ever had. "Just stop, stop this." He gestured to John, who was crying too. Sherlock was breathing heavily, anger and sadness fighting for control. He hated that his voice had broken on the word dead, like it was some kind of emotional trigger. He sat back down and buried his face in his hands, trying to stop the tears as well as all other emotions.

John said nothing, just sat there, dead. He hadn't realised that Sherlock felt that way. Every bone in him was telling him not to do it, not to leave Sherlock here, where he'd be all alone again. But he couldn't stay, every second meant he'd have to drain the life out of him. He couldn't kill Sherlock, couldn't make him a ghost like him. It was selfish, it would make him a murderer. But Sherlock wouldn't live without John.

"What would you do, without me?" John asked, dreading the answer.

"Die." Sherlock said, looking up from his hands, "I'd kill myself to be with you."

"But all the people you help, without you, they'd die."

"John, I don't care. Caring isn't an advantage, the only person I've ever truly cared about was you, and you died. It doesn't matter, everyone dies."

In that case, would it really be murder? If Sherlock would kill himself anyway, then… it would be ok for John to just stay with him for that hour. Take his energy and… no. It wasn't right, he couldn't. He had ten minutes left with Sherlock. He wouldn't spoil them with thoughts like that.

Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked at John, as if he could read his mind. John knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"Kill me, John."

"No."

"Please, John, kill me so we can stay together. Kill me!"

"No! I can't! You may not think you're a hero, Sherlock. But every person you've ever helped – including me – does. They need you alive, I won't be the one to take you away from them."

"But I'll just kill myself anyway. You know I will. And what If I can't find you on the other side? I need to go with you, so I can find my way."

John shook his head, "I'm sorry."

Five minutes left. "Goodbye Sherlock."

"No, John, please. Please don't leave me, please! Take me to, don't, oh John don't please! Please!" Sherlock begged but nothing worked, John just faded, quicker and faster than he had before. It took a few seconds and the armchair was empty. Sherlock roared with loss and pain and flipped the chair onto its back and cried deeply into it. "John…" He moaned. He had to kill himself, to be with John on the other side. Already he could feel the loneliness creeping up on him again. He would not be alone, not again. But John wouldn't want to see him; he couldn't kill Sherlock because of the people that Sherlock would save. There had to be some way…

Xx

A few minutes later and Sherlock had stopped crying, enough anyway that he could pick up the phone. Mycroft answered on the first three rings.

"Brother dear, how can I help you at this late hour?"

"I'm going to die, Mycroft."

"Don't be stupid, Sherlock, you've played this little trick before."

"No, I'm going to kill myself. I miss John, I need John, I can't… I can't be alone again!"

There was a pause on the other end of the line and when Mycroft spoke again it sounded like he was choking.

"I always knew that man would be the death of you. What do you need?"

Sherlock smiled, "Lestrade, teach him our methods. Go with him and show him what to look for, make him deduce. Make him better, so that he won't need my help. He'll never be as good as us, and some people may die, but John would want me to save as many as I can. Teach him, brother. Please."

"Of course. What should I tell Mummy?"

"I don't know, don't tell her anything, I doubt she'd care."

"If that's what you want."

"Yes."

"Sherlock, I'm sorry. About everything that's happened between us. We don't get on, never have. But you are my Brother, and I'll miss you, you arrogant sod."

Sherlock laughed, "I might just miss you to, you posh prat. Goodbye, Mycroft."

"Goodbye Sherlock."

He hung up and breathed once, then dialled another number.

"Sherlock! How nice to hear from you! Is everything ok, do you need my morgue?"

"No, Molly that's ok. Listen, I just wanted to thank you. For everything, there hasn't been any time where you haven't been important to me. You deserve more than I can give you. There's this man, he's got two cats of his own, he works in surgery but he really likes you. He's… cute I suppose."

Molly could hear the catch in his voice. "Sherlock, are you ok?"

"I'm fine. Really. But I, won't be seeing you for a very long time. I'm… going to visit John."

"Oh." She gasped, understanding dawned on her and they sobbed down the line to each other for almost half an hour, talking, thanking each other for the help and friendship. He would really miss her, he realised as he dropped the phone. She'd meant more to him than she could've imagined. But she'd find that surgeon, she'd be happy with him. There was one person left, the most important.

"Mrs Hudson!" He called down the stairs. She rushed up, tutting at being woken at such a time but stopped when she saw his face. Tear streaked and red. He looked tired, aged, broken.

"Dear me, Sherlock. Come here."

He held onto the fragile little woman for ages, whispering to her that he had to go, that there was nothing more he could do here without John. She understood, she cried and hit him more than once which made him laugh. He gave her one last kiss on the cheek and the forehead and pulled on his coat and scarf. "Do whatever you like with my experiments," He told her, "But send the skull to Mycroft. Keep whatever you like."

"Why can't I just bin the skull, it's a horrible thing."

"He's my oldest friend," Sherlock frowned, "And Mycroft hates him just as much as you do."

"Well if that's the case." The little woman smiled at him and a last tear dropped onto her fluffy slippers. "Bye Sherlock."

"Goodbye Mrs Hudson."

Xx

Sherlock looked down over the roof of Bartes. It was still just as tall as when he'd leapt off it the first time. But there was no trash truck this time to break his fall. No carefully laid out plan to keep him alive. This was it, death. He was looking at death and he liked it. It meant peace, comfort and John. He held out his arms and shivered a little in the nightly breeze. Then dropped like a stone.

He didn't feel the fall. He didn't feel the floor when it hit him, not hear the bone crunching smack as his ribs cracked. He saw John's face, felt the pillow as John hit him with it, heard his laugh. Heaven. 221b, just as it always had been. Both dead men, living together conducting experiments. With all the time in the world, able to do what they liked when they liked, together. Finally.

Xx

And that's all folks! Hoped you liked it, it was fun to write and I'm already working on my next one! What did you think? Reviews!