Alone on Baker Street

Chapter Two

Sherlock stood on the edge of the building, phone in hand. "Goodbye, John." he whispered, his voice unusually vulnerable. "SHERLOCK!" John yelled pleadingly. But, he could not stop the inevitable. Sherlock took one last breath, and fell forward, his arms stretched out like he was flying. Flying is just like falling, except there's a more permanent destination.

John awoke, his breath ragged. He started to panic when he didn't recognize his surroundings, but then realized where he was: a hospital. His mind was groggy.

At that time, a nurse rushed in. "Mr. Watson? The person next door buzzed and said you were screaming. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes. Just...just a bad dream."

The nurse smiled sympathetically and nodded. "I'll let the doctor know you're awake."

After a few minutes, an older man walked in the room, carrying a clipboard.

"I see you're awake," he said to John. "You're lucky that you are. You were found facedown at a cemetery and brought here. After some tests, we concluded that you were massively dehydrated, and even on the brink of malnourishment." He looked down at John sternly, but not without kindness. "What happened, John?"

John smiled bitterly. "My best friend died two years ago today."

The doctor shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, John, but that's no excuse to let yourself go like this. You could end up dead."

"Better than--" John began to speak, but stopped himself. "Yes. I know. When can I go home?"

"You're not quite out of the woods yet. Your fever is running dangerously high still, and we're trying to get fluids in you before it gets too high."

John paled a little at this. The thought of dying due to a high fever was indeed a little intimidating, even though he still had nothing to live for. He rested his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes. After a couple minutes, he heard the doctor's footsteps leave the room.

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"John? I need to check your vitals, okay?"

John roused from his sleep. He figured the morphine was the reason why his sleep was void of any dream. He sleepily nodded to the nurse, and she strapped a blood pressure cuff onto his arm.

"My name is Tara, by the way. When I saw that man carrying you in, I was so worried. I didn't think you were going to make it. But, you're doing so much better now."

John sat upright, looking up at Tara. "A man carried me in?"

"Oh, yes. A tall fellow, with dark hair. He sat by your bedside for a couple hours while you slept. A complete stranger, yet he looked so worried. It was strange, but nice." Tara gave a friendly smile to John.  "Alright, you've recovered almost completely. Dr. Smith wants us to keep you overnight for observation, though. I'll come back at 5 to bring you dinner, okay? You really should try to eat it."

John gave her a faked smile. "I will."

She left the room, and John's head was spinning. A tall man with dark hair who looked worried? Could it have been..?

He shook his head vigorously, scolding himself for even entertaining the possibility. Sherlock was gone forever, and that's that. It was just a Good Samaritan who brought him in. It had to have been, right?

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5 o'clock soon came, and John was brought some kind of stew and a roll on a metal tray. He ate about half the stew, and didn't touch the roll. His appetite had diminished due to his malnourishment, and also because of the strange man who brought him to the hospital. Who was he? As much as John tried to push the thought out of his mind or dismiss it, he couldn't help thinking about it.

Nighttime came, and John just wanted to sleep and go home and forget this hospital trip. He was just about to doze off when he heard a very faint noise, like a shoe tapping the ground.

John's eyes flew open, his senses being on high alert, but he saw nothing. Probably just a nurse or doctor walking down the hallway.

He soon dozed off, having the same kind of sleep as he had earlier: restless, dreamless, void. 

John got a few hours of sleep, but was rustled from his sleep by the tapping of shoes on the floor.

This time, John kept his eyes shut, wanting the intruder to come closer so if he opened his eyes he could see who it was.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

John could feel the presence of someone very nearby. His breathing quickened very slightly, and hoped the person at his bedside didn't notice.

But soon, a deep, familiar voice reverberated through John's bones, a voice he thought he would never hear again.

"I know you're not asleep."

John's eyes flew open, and he looked up to the one and only Sherlock. His Sherlock.

"Oh God, another nightmare," John moaned, shutting his eyes tightly as they filled up with tears. "Please go away. Please, PLEASE go away. I know you're not real."

Sherlock's voice came tenderly. "John, it's me. Sherlock. I'm here, right beside you. I'm real."

John felt a very real hand stroke his face. He again opened his eyes, and still barely believed them when they showed him Sherlock again.

John quickly sat up, and gasped when he saw the real Sherlock standing above him. Sherlock sat at the foot of his bed, looking at John intensely.

John's heart was racing. The world felt like it was spinning. He reached a hand up to stroke Sherlock's face, feeling the sharpness of his cheekbones under his thumb. Those beautiful blue-green eyes stared into his own, and Sherlock's heart-shaped lips formed a half smile.

"It's really you. Sherlock. You're here, right beside me."

"Yes I am, John."

John then removed his hand and looked down sadly. "You left me."

"I left to save your life." Sherlock grabbed John's hand with both of his. "Moriarty had snipers trained on you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. The only way to save you three was for the snipers to see me jump. To see me die." John shivered at the memory. "Everything was planned--the fake phone call about Mrs. Hudson, the biker that hit you when I jumped. I'm sorry, John, but I had to do it. It was all for you."

"Two years..." John's voice was quivering.

"Those were spent destroying Moriarty's system. I travelled across the world, erasing every single part of it. It is almost like he never existed." Sherlock flashed a small proud smile at that point, but John didn't see.

John looked up at Sherlock, his face serious but full of a sad sort of joy at the same time. "I missed you."

"John, you were all I thought about," Sherlock promised, and brought John into a tender hug. John sobbed onto Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock rubbed his back to soothe him. "It's alright, I'm here now. I won't ever leave you again," he whispered in John's ear.

They stayed that way until dawn, John feeling the happiest he had in two years.