Distasteful Profession

You are my note...

Sherlock woke at dawn and since John was on the other side of the bed and hogging the blanket, he decided to check the time. 07.25. Sherlock quietly chuckled. 'How come you can't sleep when you're expecting an extreme event?' He thought to himself. He decided to get dressed, go for a stroll, and possibly pick up something for his new fiancé on the way back. Sherlock smiled as he looked at the ring, but his heart dropped when he realised he should've said no to John's proposal. He threw his coat on over his shoulders and quietly made his way down to the streets of London. There were cars and people and bicycles and noise and never before had Sherlock come to finally appreciate people and who they were and how clever people actually were. Not as clever as him, but clever nonetheless. Sherlock now appreciated how far humankind has come from the Stone Age, Bronze Age And on to more sophisticated societal means. He only didn't appreciate the conformity that the social forces him to try and do. But nevertheless, Sherlock liked walking and looking and being looked at by passersby. Sherlock took a stroll through the park when he got a frantic text from John.

'Sherlock? Are you okay?!'
'I'm fine; just strolling in the park, thinking. -SW'
'Thinking? Uh-oh. Is it wrong that that worries me?'
'Haha, not at all, Honey. -SW'
'Alright, then. You worry me.'

Sherlock chuckled. He shoved his mobile into his coat pocket. He sighed as he pulled it out to check the time. 13.12. 'Well, better get going home,' Sherlock thought, 'John might call Lestrade. And, I'm not ready yet.' Sherlock made his way back to the flat slowly, taking his time. He stopped at a shoppe on the way and bought John a couple of Jars of Jam since he didn't know what flavour John liked the best, he just got one of every kind of Jam. Sherlock found that if John had Jelly, too, it might feel like he was being pampered, so that's what Sherlock did; he bought John Jam and Jelly. Let's just hope that John won't put a stapler in the Jelly this time. Sherlock groaned at the memory. By the time Sherlock got back, John had just popped out for some takeaway dinner and maybe, if John was lucky, he'll get back before Sherlock fell asleep, so they could possibly put on a DVD. Sherlock read the note giving him this information and once he was done, he put it in his pocket. He then wrote his own note. Then, Sherlock left again.

John came home to see the note on the table. He didn't even put Rosie down. He read the note and went in a hurry. 'Meet me at the Hospital. Bring Rosie. I have something to tell you. - Sherlock Watson-Holmes' John forgot he even had a car, he hailed a cab and sat Rosie in his lap as they made their way to the hospital and saw as Greg also stepped out of a police car. "Greg, what's happened? Where's Sherlock?" John asked. "Hell if I know; he just said he needed to tell me something," Greg said. At that moment, John's mobile rang. He picked it up as Rosie was babbling up at a bird on a wire or something. "Sherlock? Where are you? Are you at the flat? What's happened?" John asked. He heard a sharp inhale from the other end and John looked around for anyone who could look shady. " turn around," Sherlock said. John obeyed desperately, needing to see Sherlock with a smile on his stupidly adorable face. He needed to know Sherlock was okay. That they would go back to the flat and everything would be alright, but Greg tugged on John's sleeve to grab his attention. He pointed up in shock and disbelief as he continued to absentmindedly tug on John's sleeve. "Oh, Christ, Sherlock!" John said into the phone. He saw the figure shyly wave as he said, 'Hello,' to Rosie through the phone as if she could hear him. Rosie was whining, grabbing up at the sky as if telling Sherlock to get down and give her Squee-hugs. "Hold on, I'm coming to get you." John began walking towards the building. "John! No." Sherlock said, holding out his hand. "Greg can't call the police, and you can't come up here. Can you do this for me, now, please?" Sherlock's voice was shaking as his hand was still held out. "Sherlock, get down. J-just. Just get down already. We can go home, put on a DVD, play with Rosie, we can solve crimes again, Sherlock. P-please, Just get down here." John pleaded. Greg thought this was a good time to hold Rosie for John. "That's it; I'm calling the Yard-!" Greg started. "No! If you do, he'll jump. You can't call in, and we can't go up there." John said, stopping Greg. He took the phone from John's hands. "Sherlock. This is what he meant? Mycroft? When did he say you're dangerous, unintentionally? You can prove him wrong, Sherlock! Just - Just come down and take your daughter." Greg said. "That would only prove him right," Sherlock said. "There are snipers, at you three. If I don't do this, you'll all die. I'm sorry. Don't say anything about it." Greg nodded. He handed the phone back to John. "John. Take care of Rosie. Tell her about me. Tell her about how angry you get when I put bullets to the wall or body parts in the fridge. Tell her to trust her uncles, Mycroft and Lestrade. Tell her that I'm never gone. That I'm just a sentimental memory of her dad's perfect lover, tell her that I love her, tell her that I love you, John Watson." Sherlock said. "Sherlock, please. D-don't...!" John had tears rolling down his contorted face. "This is what people do, don't they? Leave a note?" Sherlock spoke up again. John looked up at him again. "Leave a note when?" John asked, feeling more and more tears rolling down his face as hands were completely steady, but his voice said otherwise. "This call; it's my note." Sherlock said, "Goodbye, John." With that, he hung up. John saw Sherlock's arms go out and his body leaning forward. "Sherlock, don't...!" Greg shouted as Sherlock began to fall, flailing his arms and kicking his legs about. Rosie was wailing like she somehow knew what was happening. Greg turned her around and covered her eyes. As he watched with watery eyes, he tried to hush the child. He only managed to work himself to tears as he heard John shout his name. John started to run for Sherlock, but a cyclist was making his way across the road and ran into John. Greg opened the door to the police car and placed Rosie on his lap as he picked up the radio to call the Yard.

"Donovan; Anderson..." Greg said in almost a whisper. "DI? Is hat you? Are you okay? You sound spooked out." Donovan said. "I'm going to need a  Serious crime unit next to Bart's Hospital." He choked out. Rosie was beginning to whine. "Sh, Rosie. Shh... it's fine, I have you." He sobbed as he clung to the only thing that resembled Sherlock. No sooner than three minutes later, John was throwing up next to the trunk of the police car and more of them came. Donovan and Anderson knocked on the window, startling the DI as he had just calmed down Rosie. "Lestrade, What the hell happened?" Donovan asked. "He-h-he... Oh, God, Sherlock! Why?" Donovan heard from the rear of the car. She turned to see John crouched next to the puddle of vomit. "He threw up?" Anderson joked. John's eyes widened and he sprung up, spun around, and landed a punch to Anderson's stupid face. Anderson tried to back up, but John grabbed him b his shirt, pushing the both of them down to the ground. John withered and curled up on Anderson, sobbing into the other man's shirt. "Uhh... What the hell!?" Anderson asked. "No, please! Y-you're the closest height to him..." John said as he stopped Anderson from getting up. Donovan turned back to Anderson with tears in her eyes. "What?" Anderson asked, still completely oblivious to what was happening in his surroundings. "Oh, God. John" was all she could mutter, "somebody tells me what the hell is going on?!" Anderson shouted, becoming annoyed with John lying on him and Donovan crying over them and Lestrade, who's only hugging a toddler! "He's dead, Ignorant tosser!" John shouted, weakly punching at Anderson's chest. He was quiet. He never expected... "Why?" He asked, wearing a blank expression. "Hell if I know; he just jumped," John sobbed. This took Anderson back. He sprung into a sitting position and only looked at Lestrade, Who was very pale at the mention. "He - H-he... killed himself...?" Anderson choked out.

John slept in Sherlock's bed that night, tangled up in the sheets, desperately taking in the scent of Sherlock Holmes that remained in the sheets and divers and pillows. John got up, walked over to Sherlock's wardrobe, took everything out, and threw them all onto the bed. John then, curled himself up in them, becoming overwhelmed with the scent that his clothes bore. To add the perfect touch, John wrapped Sherlock's scarf, that he almost had to physically fight another officer for, around his neck. He tightened it until he could barely breathe, then loosened it. He didn't know why, but he felt it was something that helped. He cried until his head ached, then fell asleep for fatigue.