After the Fall- A Johnlock Tale of Loss

Chapter 3- The Finale

It was a month after Sherlock last saw John at his grave. He was coming home; home to his John, to the love of his life. He was happier than ever. Every step he took was filled with a joyful bounce. Mycroft was not as happy, following behind him with a sluggish step.

They arrived at 221B Baker Street, where Mycroft told John to meet him. He knocked on the door and Mrs. Hudson answered. She was so surprised to see him that she actually squealed and jumped in his arms. Sherlock explained, and told her that he needed to go to his flat. She gave him his old key, and he ran up the stairs. Mycroft stayed down with Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock threw open the door, the hinges creaking as it hit the wall. He looked around frantically. He told John to be here at this exact time. 'Okay, maybe he's late,' He thought. He walked around the flat, taking in every aspect of the place. He took in every change, every off detail. Where was his skull? Why were some of his files on the floor? Why was his closet opened?

John must have been here, picking out what to get rid of. Or he might have forgotten what the place looked like. It has been four years. Wow, only four years? It felt like a decade...maybe even longer.

Sherlock took a seat on the couch where he solved multiple cases. He waited for hours upon hours, but John didn't show up. Sherlock, being the sociopathic genius he was, thought of every worst case scenario possible. What if he was on his way, but was in a car wreck and was paralyzed? What if Lestrade had this weird grudge on John and Sherlock, so he arrested John? What if he didn't care that Mycroft had something important to tell him? 

"Sherlock, stop!" He yelled at himself. At this exact moment, Mycroft came up the stairs, a look of grief on his unshaven face.

"Mycroft, what's wrong?" Sherlock snapped. He angered himself at the thoughts he was just previously thinking. Nothing happened to John, he just lost track of the time.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock, he just couldn't live without you." Mycroft cried, tears that he never shed in front of Sherlock fell.

"What are you talking about? I saw him a month ago, he was perfectly fine."

"He visited here a few weeks ago, to pick up something. Your gun. He tried for a few months to put it off, but he just couldn't. He couldn't live without you. He was pronounced dead three days ago."

Sherlock didn't know what to do. He jumped off the couch and was in Mycroft's face to yell, "Stop lying to me."

"I'm not Sherlock. I'm sorry."

Sherlock walked to the middle of the room and fell to his knees, in the exact same spot John fell weeks ago, not that he would ever know this. He put his head in his hands and began to cry- no sob- loudly. Mycroft put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gripped it. This was the first time Mycroft ever tried to comfort Sherlock since he was ten.

Sherlock composed himself after an hour of crying, and stormed out of 221B Baker Street, saying nothing to Mrs. Hudson or to Mycroft. Where he was going, even he didn't know. He surprised himself when he was looking at St. Bartholomew Hospital, where he leaped to his "death". There, he again was on his knees crying.

That was the last anyone ever saw Sherlock Holmes. Some believe he was truly dead, but Mycroft knew the truth. The day he found out about John, Sherlock committed suicide.

Just as John couldn't live without Sherlock, Sherlock couldn't live without his John. And that was the end. Mycroft moved on eventually, Mrs. Hudson died of stroke, and as for everyone else, all was well for they knew nothing of Sherlock's return, John's death, or Sherlock's second fall.