Aftermath

20~Sherlock's POV

I turn and run out of the room as fast as I can. I run to the room where Lestrade was - and probably still is- and fling the door open. I see something quite unexpected.

My brother kissing Greg.

Of course, I guess it wasn't all that unexpected. After I collect myself from the initial shock of seeing them together like that, I yell, "Where is he?"

They both turn towards me with a start. "Sherlock- what in the..." Greg starts.

I silence him. "Look, we can deal with the nature of your relationship later. Right now, I need to know where he is!"

"Who?" They ask in unison.

"Moriarty!" 

"Pentonville Prison. Why Sherlock?" Greg answers.

"He's not there. I don't know how he got out unnoticed, but he's not there."

"What? Sherlock, Pentonville is nearly impossible to escape from!" Greg says.

"Nearly. Not totally impossible. And look at who were talking about. He could've threatened his guards to let him out. He could've done anything to get out. He's unlocked it once, why not again?"

"How do you even now he's out?" Mycroft asks.

"He got a cabbie to kill Mary and Kayla. Look, I've got to go back to John, but you need to be looking. Everywhere. FIND HIM!" I yell and walk away.

"Sherlock, wait!" Greg yells after me. "We need you to help us! This isn't something we can do ourselves!"

"My boyfriend is grieving for his friend, and his daughter. He needs me more than you do!" I storm off. I walk into John's room to see him still sobbing. He didn't notice me walk in, so I just stand there and watch him for a few seconds. When he still doesn't notice me, I quietly turn and walk out of the room. I run down the hallway to the elevator. Oh God, I'm still high. This isn't going to end well... I end up in the lobby. How did I get here? I decide against hailing a cab and walk all the way to Baker Street.

I walk in, suddenly afraid. I want to do this, I almost need to do this. But I'm still scared. I haven't done this since after the fall. It's been so long, yet it's been no time at all. Oh God, I need to stop. I need to turn around and run just as fast as I can back to John.

But I can't. If I wasn't around, John and Mary would still be married, and Mary and Kayla would still be alive. I can't hurt John anymore. I go to remove my coat when I notice it isn't there. I must've left it in John's hospital room. I sit on the couch for a while, thinking.

John would be better off without me. 

In fact, he should've never met me. All I've done is brought him heartbreak. 

After those thoughts, I know I'm going to do it. Not like usual, when I had a glimmer of something to live for. Now, I have nothing. John needs to not be with me. John needs to have never met me.

I walk to the bathroom and find one of my razors. I break the head off and pull the blades out. As I'm doing this, I think of what John said to me at my grave. 

"I was so alone, and I owe you so much."

I decide to leave a note. An actual, physical note this time. Because this time, there isn't a plan. I'm not coming back. I find an empty sheet of paper and scrawl out the words.

John-

When you were at my grave, you said, "I was so alone, and I owe you so much." Oh John, if only I could tell you how wrong you were. You don't owe me. I owe you. When I met you, I knew my heart shifted. I wasn't afraid of emotions and feelings. You showed me joy, and love, and happiness. The years with you were the best.

They'll also be my last. 

I didn't mean to hurt you. You showed me wonderful emotions, but all I showed you was heart break and pain. God, John. I'm so damn sorry. I know that when I'm gone, Moriarty won't have a reason to hurt you anymore. 

I'm sorry if you're the one who found me. I don't want to be that way, but what can a deadman do? 

I know, you'll think it's your fault. It's not John, it's really not. I'm doing this because I can't live life hurting you. 

And I can't live with the flashbacks. John. I've tried so hard to bury my past. It doesn't work. Nothing I've tried works. I'm sorry, John.

I want you to remember, this wasn't your fault.

I love you.

Goodbye,

William Sherlock Scott Holmes

As I sign my name, I think of the finality of it all. I've dreamt of this for years, but now that it's here, I'm kind of scared.

No.

I don't get scared. Not of death. I can  do this. I need to do this. John needs for me to do this.

I slowly roll my sleeve up. I look down at all the others. Mostly horizontal, just one or two vertical. I pick up the blade again. 

My hand's shaking. I tell myself it's from the morphine. I know the truth. though. Deep in my soul, I know. 

I'm scared.

I take a deep breath and lower the blade to my skin. I close my eyes and pull it up towards my elbow. My eyes fly open at the pain, and I look down at my arm. It's stained red, and the color is so beautiful that for a second, I forget what I've just done. All there is is this color, and John would love this color.

John!

Oh my God, I've been so stupid. John needs me.

Shit shit shit shit SHIT! My thoughts scream. I've got to stop the bleeding. I thought John would be better off without me, and now I know I was wrong. I don't cause John pain. Other people cause John pain. There was only one time when I hurt him, truly hurt him, and I refuse to let that happen again. 

I stumble into the kitchen, barely standing, and try to find a towel. I can't think- where are the damn towels?

My vision's dancing with black spots, and I think I fell. "JOHN!" I try to scream, but it comes out barely a whisper.

Then my vision goes totally black.