Suicide doesn't kill just one person {A Johnlock fanfic}

Chapter Nine

(A/N we out here with support from our friend over facetime and we stan all u tuning in 5 years later for this mess,

carrieGChandler, you've commented i think the most out of anyone thanks so much for your support thanks so much

let's try to fuckin wrap this up folks)

John shook his head, eyes narrowing a bit as he backed up. He wiped his face, perhaps a bit too roughly and stood up, his bad knee aching but not enough to stop him. "Then welcome home, find a new roommate." 

He stumbled a bit to find his cane, the anger in him only growing as Sherlock handed it to him. "You have every right to be angry, John, but..."

"But what?" John waited, as if Sherlock was going to stay anything useful, before shaking his head. "But nothing, Sherlock. You were gone too long. If it had only been a few months, maybe I could have forgiven you more, but you were gone three years. Not only did you break my trust but you gave me too much time to grow distant. The Sherlock I miss and the Sherlock in front of me are not the same man." 

He jerked his cane away and stepped away, heading towards the door with tears welling in his eyes, begging Sherlock not to say anything. 

"I heard you. At my grave. I know...I know you love me." 

John froze. 

If he had been angry before, he wasn't ready for that revelation at all, he was more than livid, he was fucking enraged. 

"You...You fucking heard me? You listened to me say that shit, you listened to me lose it in front of your fucking grave and you have the audacity to say sorry?" He dropped his cane, turning around. "You really...You really just sat there and listened to me pour my heart out to you, thinking you were dead and I'd lost my chance and you just listened!" The tears flew down his cheeks, his head shaking, struggling to grasp the idea that Sherlock had been there all along. "God, they were all right, you are a fucking psychopath." 

"John..." Sherlock sounded so broken, so lost, watching John with those icy eyes. "I..I, um, Moriarty was there and he had a gun on you, and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. He said if I didn't jump he'd shoot. I...I couldn't risk it. I knew he'd do something like that, so I had a way out, but I had to make sure it couldn't happen again. I spent most of that time trying to get rid of anyone Moriarty was connected with but...I had to see you." His eyes fell to the floor and he shook his head. "I was so lost without you, I know I should have come back sooner, but I needed to make sure when I did you'd be okay." He shook his head, slowly standing and stepping closer to John like he was a wounded animal, scared and skittish, ready to dart at any moment. He reached out a hand, settling it carefully onto John's cheek. "I'd rather you be safe than anything else. That's always going to be my priority." 

John couldn't help but lean into the touch, briefly, before he realized and pulled back. "And you didn't consider what you dying would do to me? You really think I'm safe in my own hands?" he whispered before opened the door and stepping out, feeling only a bit guilty as he shut up in Sherlock's face. 

Without another thought, he made his way over to Mary's. 

She was quick to answer, going from excited to concerned as she saw John's tears, leading him and sitting him down, making him tea as he tried to explain the situation. It was quite a strange one, and he knew it. 

"John you absolute fucking idiot." 

One thing that John had truly loved about Mary was her honesty. From the start of their relationship she had been nothing but open with what she wanted, what she liked, and what she thought, and more often than not her honesty sent someone reeling, and very rarely was that person John, but this time, he was startled. 

"The man you love just came back for you and you walk out? Really? " She paused for a moment, shaking her head. "I don't care if you were thinking for me, I've known that there was a ghost in your past you weren't touching, that you wouldn't talk about and would never stop loving, and I was fine with that, but if I know that you stay here, and he's out there, wanting you, and you're wanting him just as much, I'll never be enough for you, and I'll never be happy. And you have every right to be hurt because of what he did, but you two can have each other.

"Maybe go home, sleep it off, work for a few days, but don't just leave him, John. You two can be so happy together, happier than you and I could have ever been, even if I hate to say that. You've gotta go back to him." 

John stared at her for a moment before hugging her tightly, squeezing before pulling away and smiling. "I knew I loved you for a reason. You deserve the best." She laughed and pushed at his shoulder. 

"Go get your man back." 

-----

John had every intention of not listening to Mary, going home, sleeping, and pretending absolutely nothing had happened, but unfortunately for him, his brain refused to let this happen. There was a never ending stream of what if's, of missing Sherlock, and of all the pain and loneliness he'd felt with Sherlock gone condensed into one evening.

He made it back to his flat, only a passing glance across the street, catching the figure of Sherlock in the window and for once not passing it off as a shadow. The longer he stared, the more the loneliness passed to anger, a boiling hot rage settling into his gut. If not for the rain he was sure he would have felt it on his skin, the prickling of fury. Sherlock was facing away, as though he was looking to someone else in the flat, and without another thought John stomped across the road to confront Sherlock again. Maybe it wasn't logical, but that was always Sherlock's game anyway, not his. 

As he raised his hand to knock, he paused, stopping dead at the sound of two voices from inside.

"Sherlock I don't think you understand the severity of this situation. If the man is not caught it could escalate to include us, more than it already does. I can guarantee you the reward of completing this case would be more than enough to make up for any inconvenience."

"I don't care, Mycroft, I can't disappear again. We've been though this already. I have no doubts your people are more than capable of handling it. I've hurt John enough, I can't leave again and expect another chance to try and make it up, I don't think I even have one now." 

The statement shook John to the core. He couldn't seem to conceptualize the thought of Sherlock turning down a case, let alone a case that big, just to make something up to him. He took a step back, praying that Mycroft would leave soon so he could be given  a chance to speak to Sherlock again. Maybe yelling wasn't the best option at the moment. 

It only took another half an hour, which he spent with Ms. Hudson, dealing with her shock at the arrival of Sherlock along with his own. As he heard the sound of someone descending the steps, he politely excused himself to head up again. 

The staircase had never seemed longer than in that second, and when he finally reached the door with a soft knock, he was once again unsure what he even wanted to say, the feeling only intensifying as he saw Sherlock's face. 

"I, uh, I heard you with Mycroft earlier," he said, cutting straight to the point before freezing up again, "Um. I just wanted to... would you like to help me move my things back over?"

The light smile on Sherlock's face was more than enough to solidify in John's mind that this was a good idea. It didn't fix everything, but it was a start. 

(A/N, yall this is it, i hope you had a blast, god knows i didn't, anyway hmu on my ao3 account gayyegg and read my dead poets society fanfics, thanks!!)