Sherlock's secret

CHAPTER 7

SHERLOCK'S POV

Sherlock's argument with John had left him reeling. He hated getting into arguments with him, let alone upsetting him. By now, although he hated to admit it, he was pretty used to upsetting him. When John had gone quiet and settled back down in the chair by his bed, he fell asleep, and immediately fell into a nightmare he hoped he would never dream again.

He was standing at the base of the building he was lying in right now - St. Bartholomew's Hospital - the all too often location of situations that brought him and his best friend closer together. But also, tore them apart.

He could remember all too clearly the day he had broke John's heart. The wind whipped through his hair, his coat audibly flapping in the breeze. He knew he wouldn't die; he had a plan to make John think he had, as much as it made his heart ache to do so. And then he had to disappear.

But, for a second, up on that rooftop, the grey sky providing no comfort, he almost took that one quick step down to the lobby; the very real step that would have ended in a broken skull and a gravestone with Sherlock Holmes inscribed on the front.

But now the roles were reversed. Sherlock now stood at the base of the building, instead of on top. Which could only mean one thing.

He refused to look up for several seconds, too scared to witness what he already knew would be waiting for him when he lifted his eyes. A figure stood up on the rooftop, too far away to be identified, but the way John held himself was all too recognizable.

His hands trembled and sweat, making it hard to dial his best friends number. Sherlock stood for several long seconds, hoping beyond hope that John would pick up. When he did, his heart broke.

"Sherlock?" John spoke in barely a whisper, but Sherlock heard the telltale breaking of his voice.

"John? Oh, god, John, please don't. I know where this is going and-"

"Don't say anything more. Don't. It's taking all my courage to stand where I am, and I don't want you to convince me to come down. I need this. I need it. I need it..." John started repeating over and over again.

It was the chanting that did it.

"I'm coming to get you-" Sherlock started, but was cut off by a desperate, shrieking voice from the other end of the line.

"No, stay EXACTLY where you are, don't move." he held his hand out towards Sherlock, driving the point home. This was really going to happen. He knew there was no convincing a suicidal person out of the ultimate act. He knew all too well. There was only one thing he could do.

"Can I come?" Sherlock whispered. "I don't know what happens after death. No one does. But, wherever you are heading, can I come too? I don't want a life without you, John." A lazy tear trailed down his cheek.

Sobbing was the only sound that ensued, a sound that very nearly broke Sherlock. But it only made his decision firmer.

"I'm coming."

Within two minutes, he was walking out on to the top of the building. John balanced on the edge, teetering precariously. Sherlock's heart leapt into his throat and he ran to his best friends side.

"I know there is no convincing you of coming down. I've tried," he wiped away tears as he remembered a situation too similar to the one unfolding in front of him, only it was his childhood best friend that stood in John's place. His heart quickened as the sound of crunching bone filled-

He shook his head. Sherlock looked into his friends tear filled eyes, and took his hand. "We go together or we don't go down at all."

John's face crumpled as Sherlock joined him on the ledge, pulling him in for one last embrace. John nodded once, solemnly, when Sherlock pulled away, and as though words had passed between them, they both stepped out in unison.

The last thing either of them saw was each other. The way it should have, and always should be.

_______________

Sherlock awoke with a start, back in the present. Sensing a person in the room, he subtly wiped away the tears forming in his eyes. When his eyes were clear once again, he was able to make out the figure, standing shrouded in the shadows in the corner of the room.

The man stepped out, revealing himself. "Greetings, brother dear."

Mycroft.