The voice in his head

"You know the rules."
"Shhh…", with trembling lips.
"You know the game."
"Shut. UP.", through clenched teeth.

His hands were shaking heavily when he lifted his fists and finally buried his face in his palms.
"Shut up…", he whimpered.
"Goodbye, John."

He sobbed and glimpsed through his fingers over the rooftops of the city. The view was slowly blurring behind tears.
"Please shut up."

He sank to his knees. No more strength was left in his body. It had cost him far too much to make his way back to St. Barts and it had been even harder to climb the stairs that lead to this damned roof. But the last step he had to take was way too much for him to bear.
This one step onto the edge he could not take.
At first he had just starred at the spot. This very spot were his friend had stood. No thoughts on his mind, just blank horror on his expression.
But feelings had soon over ran him when he bowed slightly and looked down. They came back into his minds together with the thoughts and all in HIS voice. This deep baritone voice that was so soothing yet so cold and arrogant.

"Stop there.", he heard him again when he set his left foot onto the small wall that surrounded the roof.
"Listen to me, John."
"NO… no…"
"Turn around and walk back."
John shook his head.
"I can't Sherlock.", he tried to say but the words were stuck in his throat. His hands sank down and the blue eyes starred blank over the city again.

He did not understand. Not even after all this time.
Days or month, John had no idea how long it has been since the Fall. Time just didn't matter anymore for him. When he rose out of his armchair in Baker Street hours ago there was only one thought in his head. One decision he had made and that had given him the strength to come that far. Follow into the last footsteps of his dear friend.

His love.

"Listen here, Sherlock…", he started with a feeble voice.
"…I already broke into pieces when I saw you fall. I am no more alive than you are, so I might as well follow you."
"Just do as I ask. Please."


There had been so much pain in his voice when he had said that word. Just like he wanted John to disobey.
"I am so sorry Sherlock. I should have listen to the subtext."

He was crying now, his hands resting on the edge and his head bowed down. One tear after another was covering the spot where he wanted to stay right now so badly and where his friend had made this terrible decision.

"I don't want to… I can't live anymore, Sherlock."

He hesitated a moment then rose again. This time he managed to climb the small wall in front of him. John slowly spread his arms and looked down.

"I can't come down."
"But I can follow."
"No. Stay exactly were you are."
"Why are you doing this to me."
Now there was silence.

His eyes fixed on the ground he thought of all the words left unspoken. Regrets caught him once more and all the missed opportunities passed his eyes as tears came up again.

"John, you should know, I am flattered…"
"SHUT UP!", he yelled over the rooftops of the city.
"It's okay."
"NO, no, it's not okay."

Another moment of silence on lips and in mind. That was when he realized. If he really wanted to follow, he would have jumped by now.

He almost fell backwards and sank down on his knees again. He leaned against the wall, giving in to another stream of tears, his body shaking. Only minutes passed before his eyes closed and he fell into a light sleep. Agin he had brought himself towards the edge of sanity. This time speaking literally. But he had realized that there was still a glimpse of hope inside him.
The voice would not be there if he would not still believe in Sherlock. And for some reason his heart knew, he would get his chance to confess all that he missed to say so far. This knowledge cut deep into him. And it hurt as much as the view of that corpse, to know that this hope was foolish.

"You once said, it's all fine and I was thankful. You were the first to understand and even appreciate me. And even if my goodbye was not the way you deserved it to be, I can do no more. Be patient, my dear John. Be patient for I will return to you. Until then know, that you are under my protection."

When John opened his eyes again, the night had covered the city. And surprisingly a blanket covered his own body. It was one of those the ambulance always put over people in shock. He rose and pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders left the roof.

He never tried to find out where the blanket came from and he never let the thought came to his mind, that someone in particular put it over him. He just kept this feeling in his heart. The feeling that someone was watching over him. Visible or not.

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