John Watson Without Sherlock Holmes

Week One

'Day One

Patient: John Watson

Age: 37'

.

It had been five days since John Watson had watched his best friend fall from St. Bart's Hospital, telling him that meeting him, deducing everything about him had been a fraud. John hadn't believed that, he believed that Sherlock was an amazing detective, in fact, the world's best. The army doctor had thought of the man as a friend, the best that anyone could have. Yes, the inspector was crude, full of himself, and insensitive. But, he was there when no one else was there for John, someone who had understood his need for action.

.

"No. Don't. Sherlock! Sherlock... Sherlock. Sherlock. I'm a doctor. Let me come through. Let me come through, please. No, he's my friend. He's my friend. Please. Please, let me just... Oh, Jesus, no... God, no. Oh, God." His mind repeated over and over, when he had saw Sherlock's dead body. The doctor hadn't listened to his dead friend's request, he ran to his best friend, telling people to move out the way. There was blood from his head, his hands scraped from the impact. He pleads and pleads, wanting to help his best friend. Doctors and medics didn't let him through, but John had shoved them out of the way.

Sherlock noticed little things about John's character, like how he had never drink coffee with sugar, or how he would adjust the doorknob to the left or right, depending who is in the flat. Sherlock had deleted facts upon facts from his mind, but never deleting the smallest fact about John Watson. The doctor had taken his best friend for granted, in return, watching him fall to his doom.

"Goodbye, John." Sherlock had said, dropping his phone. John looks up in horror, his heart beating in his ears. The doctor watches the detective, his eyes red from crying, telling his friend he was jumping from the hospital roof, he couldn't do it. John gripped his fist tight, watching in suspense, 'Was Sherlock really going to do it?' He felt tears run down his face before wiping them away. Sherlock lifts his arms into the air, 'Oh, God - He - He is!' He jumps as John can't do anything, but watch.

"Leave a note, when?" John asked Sherlock as he asks him a question from the roof. John realises what Sherlock had meant by those words, but those words had gotten to him too late. Sherlock didn't want to be normal, by the standards of normal people, he'd have to dumb himself down. But, he had asked question about being normal. "This phone call, it's, um... It's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."

"Do what?" John asks that question to Sherlock, he didn't want to do that request. He doesn't want to watch his best friend die in front of his eyes. John had seen many good men die on the battlefield, either from the fact he couldn't help them, because the wounds were untreatable, or the fact he had trusted him so much that he couldn't let him go. John couldn't let Sherlock go.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" John remembers his best friend's ring in his ear as he took a step closer. Sherlock didn't want him to see the dead body fall to the floor. The doctor hadn't listened, he ran to his best friend, telling people to move out the way.

"All right." said Watson, with complete fear and worry. He did what he had done when he was a soldier, a medic, obey orders. He looked up at his friend, up at the man about to jump, his eyes were watered, but unflooding. He wasn't crying, not yet.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move." This was his request, Sherlock's last request for John. For him to watch as he commits suicide, for him to believe that he was dead. Sherlock had wanted John Watson to believe he was dead, but hadn't gotten the message he had given John Watson. John hadn't noticed the pause between the words spoken through the phone.