I Heard You (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

Isn't This What You Wanted?

When John awoke the following morning he picked up his mobile from next to him.

The words practically branded in his mind.

"Wrong -SH"

It wasn't Sherlock, it couldn't be.

"He's dead" John scolded himself for even considering the fact it was Sherlock. Probably Lestrade or even Mycroft from Sherlock's phone. That's the kind of people they are. And that's the only way this is possible.

"Hi John -SH" the next one came through and this time John replied.

"I'm not playing your games -JW"

"Understandable, but please John. Get rid of that horrid jumper -SH"

"Sherlock" couldn't have known that John was holding a horrid blue and grey wool jumper Mrs. Hudson gave him, he was on his way to see her for Christmas. He had since Sherlock.

"Please John, don't subject the poor woman to that -SH"

At this point John was fed up with Anderson, or whoever it was. He typed furiously.

"Whoever this is needs to grow up, this isn't funny. Knock it off. Sherlock is dead -JW"

"Obviously -SH" John threw his phone against the wall. It smashed into tiny bits and landed with a soft thud on the carpet. John collapsed into himself, tears rimmed his eyes, splashed onto his cheeks and got absorbed into the carpet.

He got dressed quickly, in the horrid jumper, a pair of jeans and black shoes on his feet. Finally he did something he'd never thought he could do, he picked Sherlock's navy scarf off the hook inside his closet and wrapped it securely around his neck. The scarf almost reached John's thighs, as Sherlock was much taller than he, it fit his companion but John was nearly going mad. He got in the car, and drove to St. Bart's.

When he arrived he took the elevator to the top floor and took the stairs to the roof. Briskly walking across the asphalt, he stood overlooking London. The cars whizzed by, the people continued being happy and carried on with their lives.

"How dare they," He hissed "being happy while I flood my flat in my own tears. Not anymore, I'm done with the hurting"

John turned around to face his imagination. Sherlock Holmes stood there, his black coat, his blue scarf and his stupid blank look on his face, his thinking face.

"Is this how you want it to end John?" He asked, his tone flat.

"ISN'T THIS WHAT YOU WANTED SHERLOCK?" John called across the roof, knowing he was being ridiculous. Talking to himself, he turned around and stood on the edge of the roof. Arms outstretched. "Who am I now?" He asked himself, tauntingly.

"John-" Sherlock started.

"Shut up Sherlock" he hissed. "Now keep your eyes fixed on me"

"John what are you doing?" Sherlock asked, taking a slow step toward him.

"This is my note Sherlock, that's what people do right?"

"John, this is absurd. Stop it"

"No" John retaliated.

"But what about Molly, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson? You can't leave them"

"Why not? You left them. More importantly you left me"

"I'm sorry John"

"Apologize after" John teetered on his toes, overlooking the streets. His heart pounded against his chest, he was scared. Hell, he was petrified but he was going mad.

That would be worse.

Moriarty was mad, he shot himself in the head on the very roof. He wouldn't be weak. He would die like a man.

"Good bye Sherlock" John spoke simply, a wicked grin.

He teetered foward until he began to fall, he prepared himself for death. But it never came, a strong force pulled him back onto the roof. When John finally opened his eyes Sherlock had wrapped his strong arms around John's small figure.

"Never do that again"

"It's a dream" John declared, struggling for freedom.

"No, John it's not. I'm Sherlock Holmes and I was never dead"