I never thought the end would be like this. I though it would be quick and dramatic at the hands of danger and adventure; not slow and painful at the hands of old age or sickness. I never thought I would have time to think about the end or how I would say goodbye to you.

The doctors urged us not to leave because they said I was too sick to be outside of the hospital and on the cab ride home I know they were right. Without the medicine that I was receiving in the hospital I can feel the pain in a new intensity. I thought it was bad before but it had been nothing compared to what I feel now. That, coupled with the tiredness, makes me wonder if I can survive the ride without collapsing. Sherlock hovers close by. He's not touching me yet but he is sitting much closer than he has too. He stares out the window but I know he is really watching me.

After a few minutes, he simply says, without looking my way, "Its not necessary you know." I know he's right; it makes no sense for me to be using what limited energy I have in this way. I'm not sure how much I have left so I lean against his shoulder. It helps. The doctors were right about the fact that I shouldn't have been out of the hospital. But Sherlock and I both know that I didn't leave the hospital to survive. We both know the real reason and despite the pain I don't regret it for one second.

When we arrive at home I'm almost asleep. We still live at 221B and I take a long look at the well-remembered sight as Sherlock helps me out of the cab. I couldn't have kept up appearances now if I needed to. I lean heavily on Sherlock as he helps me up the stairs to our flat and I'm afraid I might not make it. I feel him strain under my weight; he might be healthy, unlike me, but he's still getting older. But he says nothing and somehow I manage to make it to our flat.

It feels wonderful to be back in this place. I feel myself gain just a little strength at the sight of it. We've been away for so long that I had almost forgotten the warmth and comfort it holds. The hospital was so cold and sterile; the opposite of our home. I breathe in the scent of it and take comfort in the familiarity of it. This place holds memories of the past 30 years. This place holds the memories of the life I have loved.

Sherlock helps me to my bedroom and sits me gently on the bed. I try not to but I can't help but breathe an audible sigh of relief to be able to sit down. Sherlock gets my favorite pair of pajamas out of the dresser and sits them on the bed beside me. I am mortified that I have to ask. Thank goodness that I just look at him and he knows. He takes off my coat and shoes and then takes off my clothes. I am so embarrassed that I feel tears welling in my eyes. But he doesn't make me feel embarrassed. He doesn't say anything and he's so gentle with me its like he does this every day, though I'm sure this is something he's never done, or would ever do for anyone else. With that thought I can't stop the tears and they run down my face. I feel so worthless because I don't even have the strength to brush them away. Ever since the doctors told us there was nothing more they could do for me something about him changed but I can't quiet figure out what it is yet.

He puts my pajamas on and lays me back on the bed. It's so comfortable that I feel myself practically sink into it. It smells like familiar and it's so soft. Again I am thankful that I am here instead of the hospital. When I shiver he lays an extra blanket on top of me. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes my tears away. He still doesn't say anything to make me feel bad but I wonder if I was selfish to want to come home. He couldn't really be comfortable with all of this.

"I should still be in the hospital," I say. I don't say I want to be there or I regret coming home because I don't. But it is a fact that I probably should have stayed.

"You are exactly where you should be," he says with such intensity that he makes apparent that that issue is closed and I shouldn't feel otherwise. Its good to hear that he doesn't regret brining me home.

"Are you in pain?" he asks. I've tried so hard not to let on how much pain I am in. Up until I had to be hospitalized I was still going on cases with Sherlock. We weren't working quite up to the caliber we use to when we were younger. Most of the cases we were helping on didn't require a lot of leg work and we certainly weren't running around London like we did when we were young but we were still working. I dreaded the day that I had to tell him I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't want to make him stop just because I couldn't do it anymore. But I was also afraid that he wouldn't stop and that I would be left to suffer through this terrible ordeal alone.

But he has been by my side the entire time. He was constantly on the doctors to do more, to try this or that. I use to laugh to watch how he pestered them and know that they hated him. But he got stuff done that way. They truly did try everything. Even Sherlock tried to do research of his own. Sometimes I wished that he would just stop rushing around and doing so much and just sit with me. But I knew that it was his way of dealing with it. Sometimes it felt lonely but I know he was doing all he could, coping in his own way.

I think about lying to him but I decide to tell him the truth since its painfully apparent that I'm not alright. "Yeah. But its much better now to be here." And that's the truth. The pain is worse but I feel so much better to be home. To be here with him where we can face this in a way we never could in the hospital.

"Can I get you anything? Some tea maybe?"

"Yeah, some tea would be good."

He leaves and goes to get the tea and I wish I hadn't asked him to get it. The moment he leaves I feel lonesome for him and I just count the seconds until he returns. Without him here, its agonizingly quiet and I am faced with the facts and they terrify me. I'm relieved when he returns with a tea cup in his hand. He helps me lean up to drink some of it and then sets me back down when I'm done. It feels good because I am impossibly cold all of a sudden and the tea is warm.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asks me.

"No."

For a moment he looks unsure and I'm afraid he is going to leave. I don't want to be alone. I'm going to die and I don't have much time left. Its why we left the hospital when they said there was nothing they could do anymore. I didn't want to die there and he didn't want me to either. In fact, when they said there was nothing more they could do he was the one who announced we were leaving. He was only putting up with the hospital because he was hoping it could help me. When we knew it wouldn't there was no reason for me to stay there. They said they could have made me comfortable but I wouldn't have been comfortable anywhere but here. But I'm still afraid. And Sherlock makes me brave. I don't want to spend one minute of the time left doing anything else but be with him.

I don't want to tell him all of that but I do want him to stay so I say "Just sit with me." He looks relieved. Like, he thought I would want to be alone and he didn't want to leave. He sits on the bed right beside me just barely touching me and it hits me what's different with him; he's letting his guard down for me.

All the time I've know him he's had a certain amount of guard up around me. He let me see a lot more then he ever let anyone else see but still most of the time I really had to be looking to know what he was thinking or feeling. But he's letting his guard down now because he knows we don't have much time. The whole time I was in the hospital he never did anything even like this small gesture. But now that we're at home he can be himself. And we can have our proper goodbye.

But how do you say goodbye to the one person that made your life worth living? Silence hangs between us for a long time. Neither of us knows what to say. I know there is a lot I want to say. I feel desperate knowing that I have a limited amount of time to tell him everything that I'll ever say to him. But I don't know how to say it or where to begin. He doesn't know what to say either. Even for the man who always a comeback he has no answer for this. He can't reason out a clever solution so he is just as speechless as I. So, for a long time we just sit there. I think about taking his hand. It's a silly notion and I don't do it but I am so scared and sometimes actions say what words can't.

After a long while, I am surprised that he is the first to speak. "I always expected that I would go before you," he says to me. I'm looking at him but he's looking out into the distance. "I've always lived so dangerously I thought I would die young. Even after I met you and you insisted that I take care of myself I still expected you would be the one who would have to say goodbye to me. This is not a situation I thought I would find myself in."

He doesn't know how to say goodbye to me any better than I know how to say goodbye to him. I also had always thought that he would die before me. I spent a lot of time thinking about what it would be like if he were to die before me and I spent years living that way, so I know exactly what he's feeling right now; how he is looking at a very bleak future without his companion by his side. I faced all of this when he faked his death. Now he is going to have to face it. He is going to have to bury his friend. He is going to have to keep living in this lonely flat. He is going to have to reinvent his life to continue on. I feel a lot of pain thinking about the pain he is going to have to face. There was deliverance for me from that pain; there won't be for him

Silence stretches on for a longer stretch of time. Neither of us knows what to say. Neither of us knows how to say goodbye. We always thought it would happen sooner in this life and still we're not ready for it.

I'm the one who breaks the silence this time. "When I was a solider and I would be in battle…sometimes I would think about…what would happen if I were to be killed. Buddies of mine would talk about their families and girls at home and it got me thinking; would anyone really care if I were alive or dead? I mean I knew that there were people who cared and would be sad but would anyone find it hard to get along with their lives without me? It was quite unnerving to not have the answer to that question immediately…to actually have to wonder."

I don't know why I am telling him this. I've always been so careful with him. But my weak body and my lack of time are stripping away my defenses. How is it that after all of this time I still wonder if I matter to him? Of all the things I could say now, why is this the reassurance I need with the limited words I now possess? I've always felt a need to appear a certain way to him, to try to be as strong as he is. But there is no time for appearances and we both know it. And I am not strong and we both know it.

He finally looks at me with those eyes, eyes that seem to hold my whole world in them, and says "Surely you don't still feel that way anymore?"

I swallow hard and barely make out in a shaky voice, "Should I?" I shouldn't have asked; what if I'm disappointed by the answer?

To answer my question he doesn't say anything. Instead he leans down and touches his lips to mine. Its not a romantic kiss; I've experienced lots of those in my life and this is something different. A wide range of emotions stir in my chest but I am at a lost to identify them. But I can feel what he is feeling. In this kiss is a lifetime of loyalty and protection of love and friendship. All my life I have wondered how he felt about me. Now I know; I feel it from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It's like he has saved it all up for this very moment, to usher me out of life in love and comfort. Everything he's never been able to say is there. It is so gentle and right it makes me cry.

I lose a sense of time. I'm not sure if this took seconds or minutes but eventually he pulls away, just inches from my face and says "Do you still not understand?"

My voice is thick with tears but somehow I manage to speak. "No. I understood all along really."

He smiles me at me, that impish grin that I love but there is some insecurity there. "I have tried. I really have."

Now its time for his reassurance. Sherlock has never been good with people. I think he got better at it over the years and (I like to think) with my help but he never got good at it. He never understood sentiment or emotions. He could never tell people what they needed to hear or comfort them in any way. All his life he's been disappointing people. Right now, before I go, he needs to know that I have not been disappointed.

Thirty years flash before my eyes, honest to goodness, my life actually flashes before my eyes. But its just the last thirty years that I've spent with him. Its like I didn't even live before that time; I can't even remember what my life was like without him. I see us on cases. I see us at home. I see me getting frustrated at him. I see myself astonished at one of his deductions. I see the excitement and danger and adrenaline. This life we've shared is unconventional to say that least and I think about the life I could have had. How dull it would have been! How fortunate I have been to have had a friend like Sherlock. Most people will travel through their whole lives without knowing what it is like to have a real true friend. But I don't have to. I know that this life has exceeded my expectations in every way and I have no regrets at all.

So, I smile at him through the tears that are still on my face and say. "Thank you Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for this extraordinary adventure. I wouldn't trade a thing"

"Believe me when I say that the pleasure has been all mine, my dear John Watson."

The silence is there again but this time we're looking at each other and remembering. Remembering the other one. Remembering the years we've spent together.

He remembers something and breaks the silence. "Mycroft once told me, 'All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.' I never realized until now; he was right two out of three. But he couldn't have been more wrong about the last part."

I know what he's saying in this statement; he's telling me what I mean to him. He's telling me that its breaking his heart that I'm dying. But he's also telling me something else; that I've actually helped him, that my presence has been an advantage to him. He's admitting he's needed me. I've always known it somewhere deep down but its really good to hear him say it. I spent a lot of time feeling stupid next to his brilliant mind and its good to know I contributed.

Before I can say anything he speaks again but he pulls a little farther away and looks down not meeting my eyes. "John…I know what you need me to say. I know…that I need to let you go. You've been by my side for many years. You've always been faithful to me; you've done everything I've ever asked you to. But I know you need to go…I know you're tired…and you're in a lot of pain" a few silent tears run down his face. He's not sobbing but still I've only seen him shed tears, real tears, maybe twice ever. "I won't hold it against you…I won't be mad that you left me."

He might not be sobbing but I am. He knows me so well. How could he see so deep inside my soul to things that I have never said? I wasn't fooling him; all the time I thought I was hiding how much pain I was in from him I wasn't. He knew all along I was suffering. I don't want to leave him. I don't want to leave life. But he's right; I'm tired and I hurt and I've been holding on for him. Already I've lived longer than the doctors expected but it hasn't been easy.

I haven't wanted to leave him. I know the pain and loneliness he'll feel and I don't want him to have to face that. I know he'll be alone when I go. I know he has no one else in this world. Who will take care of him when I'm gone? Who will care about this extraordinary man? I know the answer to that question and so does he. And that's how I know the price of the gift he's just given me. As hard as it is for me to face death Sherlock really is the one facing a much worse fate.

I'm still sobbing and tears still roll down his cheeks when he asks me "What can I do for you?" He's giving me all that he is. This is my moment. Right here and now, I can ask anything of him and he'll do it, be it for me.

I acknowledge what's he's said and I know that I need to give in. I finally give in to the emotions and stop trying to be so brave. "I'm so afraid," is all I can manage to say. I wrap myself in his arms, which are waiting for me, and bury myself in remembering him. I breathe in his scent, I feel the warmth and softness of his clothes and skin, I listen to his steady heart beat. I know at this moment he's no braver than me. But I allow myself to believe he is so I can find strength enough to leave him. I know he's doing the same.

Do I dare? Do I dare to say the words I've never said to him? I would say it and mean it whole heartily but I don't want him to feel like he needs to say it. I know he feels it even if he doesn't say it. Again, like so many times before, its like he hears my thoughts and answers them. His head is beside mine and I hear him whisper in my ear "John, describe love to me again."

I've been doing it all our lives; having to explain this emotion or that emotion to help him understand what they mean and why they make people do certain things. Because he honestly doesn't understand. "Love is…" I start but the lump in my through is so large I have to wait a moment before I can finish. He's asked me before what love is. I have described it dozens of times to help him understand a part of a case. But I understand why he is asking now and it almost undoes me.

"Love is when you care about someone else more than yourself. When you would do anything for them. Love is when your life would not be complete without them because they make it so much better, they make you so much better, and you don't know how you would survive without them."

He pauses again before he says. "Good. I just wanted to make sure." I wonder if that's all he's going to say because it's a long time before I hear him whisper again, so soft I can barely hear him, "I love you John."

I already knew it. I knew it for a long time. But I have never heard it. I take the last bit of strength I have left and squeeze my arms as hard as I can around him and say "I love you Sherlock." We've never been able to say it before. I love this man who is my best friend, my other half. He's been my family, like the closest brother. He's been my soul mate. We've never said it before, I guess, because of the way people are, the things they assume, even though it isn't true. I'm upset that I've let others opinions keep me from saying it before now.

After a long time, after I've cried all my tears, after I've taken all the comfort I can from his arms, he lays me gently back in the bed and I'm glad for it because all my strength is gone. The fatigue is coming over me and I am not sure that I can fight it long. He pulls the covers up and arranges them around me. He runs his hand through my hair and smiles down at me. He puts a hand on my cheek and is a very soft voice says "Just relax now. Close your eyes. I will be here; I'll never leave."

I close my eyes and I hear him playing a song on his violin. Its not one that I've heard before but it is the single most beautiful song that I have ever heard. I know now that he's known for a long time that this was the way things were going to end. All those times he left me I thought he was laboring to save my life; but some of the time was spent preparing for my death.

I know that this is my song. He's written for me. For us. For the life we lived and all we've had. To say good bye. To let me go in peace.

The beautiful notes are the last thing I hear and I slowly drift away.