"I- I love you." John whimpered into the phone, his eyes concentrated on the small figure on the roof. Sherlock's voice was shaking, slightly too high, as though he was holding back sobs, which, judging by the tears that trailed down his cheekbones, was accurate.
"Quite right too." He said, chuckling sadly. His hands shook on his phone as he watched John below him.
"And I suppose, if it's my last chance to say it... John Watson, I-"
John's heart stopped as Sherlock fell, dropping like a stone as his coat billowed behind him.
At this point John realized that Sherlock did have friends. But it was true that John was not one of them. He had been for a time, but then he had passed into someone to love.
But John couldn't admit it to anyone. Hell, he had just told the first person. Ever. And look what had happened. He had promptly jumped off of a building.
"He's my friend. He's my friend."
And maybe that's all he was. But the fact was, Sherlock Holmes had nearly said it. He had come close.
And that made it so much worse. The fact that the one thing John Watson had hoped for was shattered when Sherlock had fallen.
Not far away, Sherlock Holmes thought of Redbeard for the first time since he was 15.