Love:The Power of Life and Death- Johnlock

Is This a Dream? Is This Real?

‘This is it’ John thought as he observed the ground below him; people were walking down the street with not a care in the world. They were happy. John envied them. Oh how he longed to be happy, to not be suffering with a broken heart. He stood on the ledge of the building; at the top of St. Bart’s hospital. He was ready, ready to jump and leave the world the same way Sherlock did. The doctor reflected on the memories of his life; despite working incredibly hard to achieve what he had, with many years of medical school and risking his life to serve his country, the only thing John cared about was the years he had with Sherlock. When he watched his companion jump from St Bart’s, John realised that the detective was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Now he was gone; and he took John’s happiness with him. John had given up. He had given up on life. All he wanted was to be in his detective’s embrace, to run his hands through his dark, messy curls and feel his warmth. He couldn’t have that though. John couldn’t have him. He missed his chance and that was the doctor’s biggest regret. He had nothing else to live for, so what was the point in life? Just one jump. One jump, and it will all be over; all of his suffering would vanish. It was so tempting to John. Something stopped him from jumping though, he thought of everyone he knew and the most important people in his life: Mrs Hudson, Molly and Greg, even his sister, Harry. If he went through with it, he would leave all of them behind; he would never see them again. They suffered with Sherlock’s death, wasn’t that enough without John falling to his? He had people that cared about him. Mrs Hudson and Molly were extremely supportive when they tried to help John recover from Sherlock’s death, even today; Mrs Hudson brought John a cup of tea and called Molly for him who then gave him a box of cupcakes. Any person would be grateful and consider themselves cared for; John however was grateful, but found himself a burden. He believed that Mrs Hudson and Molly felt obliged to care for him so he would stop being so depressed. ‘No wonder Molly dashed out of my flat today’ John thought. “I’m pathetic.” He whimpered, “I’m a pathetic heartbroken idiot.” Tears began to roll down the doctor’s face as he peered over the building. It was a long drop…

John was suddenly struck with heart palpations and beads of sweat rolling down his face as he continued to watch people innocently walk down the street. He became more and more weak with each breath, causing him to become light-headed, negatively impacting the man’s balance. With a loud thud, the poor man-who was now hyperventilating- crashed backwards onto the solid concrete rooftop. His mind was spinning, his heart was racing, his vision was blurring. It wasn’t difficult for the army doctor to diagnose his own symptoms, even in his helpless state. A panic attack; John was having a panic attack. “I-I can end this…I can end this now.” The weak doctor stumbled onto the ledge of the roof. “Sherlock Holmes…I love you.” Were the last words of the the dizzy man who was eager to end his pain. He took a deep breath preparing himself for death, when a pair of strong arms grabbed the doctor by the waist and pulled him off the ledge and down onto the cold concrete. John retaliated, “let me go!” He cried, “Let me die!”

“Shhhh…You know I can’t do that, John.” A low, quiet and familiar voice immediately caught John’s attention. His head was pulled onto his rescuer’s lap and the man stroked the doctor’s short blond hair. That voice. His voice. No, it can’t be… can it? John inhaled deeply, only to smell an all too familiar cologne. Is this real? Is this a dream? Did John jump and is he now slipping away from life? No. The doctor continued to breathe in the sweet man’s scent; it made him weak and numb. All of his pain that he had dealt with for 3 long years started to dissipate. John looked up to confirm his suspicion of the man that was still playing softly with the blond hair in his hands. Looking back at him was a face, consisting of nothing but concern and guilt, his perfect cupid bow lips were parted due to his heavy breathing. The man’s eyes looked deeply and intently into John’s; his irises were ice blue, whereas the rest of his eyes were pink. He had clearly been crying. The fact that his eyes were coated with his salty tears confirmed it. “John,” Sherlock whispered, “I’m so sorry…”