These characters (and the cover image) do not belong to me.

John could still see his friend's silhouette up on the rooftop. It didn't matter that it had been months and months since he…he fell, and no amount of time can change the memory. John's dreams used to be plagued with bombs and his troop's screams to each other, now all he hears is the sound of his friend's smooth voice disrupted by the edge of tears and a silhouette falling…and falling…then it stops.

This phone call…it's my note. That's what most people do don't they? They leave a note…

Sherlock. You're not most people, you're fucking Sherlock. He couldn't be dead…he always escaped…some clever trapdoor that only he could see in that huge palace in his mind. John has never grieved like he was now, he wasn't living in 221B…he was only occupying.

Ms. Hudson is normal, she blusters about the flat constantly muttering that we should "tidy" up which meant getting rid of Sherlock's stuff and finding my own. That'd be too much like saying goodbye for good, and Sherlock was like her son, and no mother should ever bury her child. However…where does that leave John? He's just a friend, and friends bury each other all the time…at least he's buried many during Afghanistan, and he moved on. Why was Sherlock any different?

There were things that he had wished that he had said…a way to make him step down. There was something so wrong about Sherlock's—...fall…His Sherlock wouldn't give up so easily. He wouldn't care what the unimportant folks had to say, he cared for the important ones. John liked to think that he was one of them…at least that's how he felt for Sherlock. Before him…there was nothing…nothing but static…Bzzzz….zzzzz…zzzz…and John was hearing it again.


John's therapist has suggested that he take a job, maybe there will be a sense of normalcy, except she didn't understand that being with Sherlock drove it all away. Maybe a job could bring John back…right? He found a job at a cozy little café not too far away from their—his flat. Seven hours a day where he can practice being a proper Englishman doling out tea to the deserving Brits. He never thought that tea could make him so sick.

"Bloody hell they're talking about this twit again?" Says some man as John serves him his tea. Upon his newspaper was Sherlock's face with his misconceptionally trademarked hat. John immediately put on his poker face and pretended to be interested.

"Mmhhh who?" He placed the teacups ever so delicately in front of him and his friends.

"This bloody fraud Sherlock! As if one fraud wasn't enough in the media, now we have these fakes leaking into our criminal justice systems. It's all for fame I tell you! I'm bloody glad he tossed himself off that building, the fraud bloody deserved it." John was shaking, a shiver that started at his neck and his mouth snapped itself out of its poker face, and he was done. Suddenly his blood was lava and the tears that he constantly holds back boiled at the top of the dam. The teapot in his hands shattered on the floor, scalding hot tea splashing over him, but he didn't care.

He ripped that newspaper out the man's hands and clenched it with his fist and pounded the table, making the little teacups do a little skip.

"He was NOT a fraud. He was my friend and he saved me from this monotony that his de—fall has left me in. I would have done ANYTHING do stop him, but I couldn't. I bloody failed. But there's one thing…ONE THING I can do. It is to make bloody well sure that every chance I get, to clear his name from assholes like you who believe everything you see in a tabloid. You can read all the papers in the world and they will never compare to the man I know in my mind. He is my friend and I—, "John's words suddenly derailed themselves off a cliff, leaving him hanging there in shock. The man stood up…proving to be a lot taller than John…and muscular.

"And you what…?" He sneered in his face, his dulled teeth bared and the stink of cigarettes shared intimately between them. "Bachelor Watson I take it?" He looked him up and down disdainfully, "Little high strung for something so platonic, ever thought that maybe he feigned you two's 'friendship'…" He took a moment to humorlessly laugh, "You aren't worth my time Shorty, luckily all I want from you is my money back." John said nothing; he just swallowed and peeled himself from the situation.


That night John had a dream that he was at St. Bart's hospital again, he was standing in the empty road. Everything was empty, no cars, and no people…nothing but the roads and buildings. His phone rang…he answered.

"John?" Spoke a voice deeply. It was Sherlock…Sherlock!

"Where are you?" Suddenly his chest spasmed in panic, where was this panic from? Déjà vu…something was going to happen.

"St. Bart's…look up." He looked and up against the sky was a long-coated silhouette with his stupid collar turned up on the edge of the fucking rooftop. His heart stopped cold in his chest.

"Sherlock…stop...NO! Come down from there!" Screams welled themselves up in his cold chest, he wanted to move forward but his feet were paved in with the road.

"I—I can't, I'll just have to do it this way," Sherlock's strong voice wavered…something that intensified John's fear at this moment.

"Please! Sher—."

"Goodbye John." He hung up and dropped his phone on the roof, he fell.

"NO!" John ran so fast as he fell so slowly, like an angel, his wings were his coat. In seconds John was beneath him, ready to catch, but Sherlock's body passed right through him as though John were a ghost. *CRACK*

John flipped him over and straddled him, hands on his shoulders…"Please Sherlock no…" He croaked. "You idiot, please wake up…"

"John?" He heard the body rasp…he clutched his blood smeared face and his bright blue eyes.

"Sherlock?" John said through his silent tears.

"I—," suddenly he stopped, and the life behind his eyes detached itself.

"Yes?!" John clutched his collar tighter. "Sherlock! What were you gonna' say?! You what?!" He couldn't take it anymore and he collapsed himself into the dead man's chest, wishing he could smother himself there. "I never told you…Sherlock, I never said it. What I've always wanted to say, but now it's too late. I lost here."

And John found himself with his face buried in a wet pillow and a dry throat. He had half the mind to do nothing, and hopefully die of dehydration, but that would take too long. He'll tough it out he decided…just a little longer, and he arose out of his bed. Slowly standing up, and it was like left leg had turned into wood because as soon as he stood up on it he fell over. Shit. Not this again.

It was back…John didn't try to get up; he just lied there and sobbed. No use holding it back anymore. John wasn't sure how long he lied there but it didn't matter, at one point he heard the door to his room open.

"Ohh John dearie what's wrong?" Mrs. Hudson shuffled in, in her grandma nightie, and kneeled next to him and stroked his back. He pointed disdainfully at his leg.

"…It's back." And he sobbed some more, and she tried to shush him and somehow she ended up cradling him.

"This is about him isn't it? Honey I miss him too but he'd want us to carry on and be happy without him, we need to try our best hon." She petted his blond curls as tears ran down his face and onto her.

"I can't…I can't do this anymore. I'm useless, we need him Mrs. Hudson. I need him, but I'd rather it'd be me who fell." She held him tighter as his sobs became less like sobbing and more like whimpering.

"Now John…don't you ever say that. Goodness knows that man doesn't do anything without a reason. He liked you a whole lot and I know he wouldn't want to see you like this." She said quietly, and the tears came to a halt...and she patted him on the back. "Tomorrow I'll make you some cookies, and milk, I've been noticing how you've been drinking less tea here," she said as though she was his mother. John said nothing as she eased him off of her and she quietly walked out of the room.

"Mrs. Hudson…" she stopped. "He didn't kill himself. They did it…starting with his name…and they killed him…just…it was murder…" She stood in the doorway, looking pitifully at him.

"Yes they did John…yes they did."

*Sooo that's the first chapter...what did you think? Please let me know 3*