The Final Problems of Johnlock

In the shadows

(Sherlock)
I heard John walk to the grave- no it's MY grave. I shivered at the thought. Although I already knew that technically it wasn't mine, I couldn't help but feel strange every time I saw it. Of course, that wasn't why I was here,. I'd had my brother survey John since I'd made the decision to save my friends, which in turn made them all very upset. I'd had to spend a while making sure that the people who had threatened the people I cared about were out of action before I did anything though.

After a brief moment, I turned my gaze back to the reason I'd come here today; John. Just one look at him and the deductions started flying through my mind. "Has has little to no sleep recently; cried recently; had not gotten his hair cut in at least a month; and the most disturbing, he had become depressed. I almost let out a sob as I saw how distressed my blogger had become. I felt awful for not being able to tell John that day, but it was necessary. I had to keep repeating that thought to myself, but to no avail. I still felt extremely guilty.

It had, after all, been MY fault that he was feeling this way. I'd not know how hard he would take my loss. I figured he'd probably be sad for a few days; weeks if I felt important; before he moved on with his life. This was not at all what I was expecting. The way his head dropped while he sat by my grave, and how he came every day without fail since the headstone had been placed here. This was always my favorite time of day, the dark of night when John came to tell me what his day had been like. Of course, I wasn't always able to make it in person, but I made sure Mycroft always recorded our "conversations". I couldn't bear the thought of not listening to John's soothing voice. Tonight though, something was different.

He seemed.. different. What was in the bag he was carrying? He didn't normally carry things when he visited. I quickly looked at the bag, but I couldn't figure out what was in it- it was one of those brown paper sacks. John looked around shakily before beginning to talk.

"Hi Sherlock. I just came to say thank you for everything that you did for me. I wouldn't be here today.." he broke off into a sob at this point. He did this quite a bit, but tonight I felt an even stronger urge to go comfort him than usual. He continued,
"Of course, it would be great if you were here" he paused and looked around expectantly. Did he know I was here? No of course not, I knew that Molly wouldn't have told, and almost nobody else knew. When he continues he seemed disappointed.

"I can't do it Sherlock. I tried, I really did, but I can't stand living while you're..." he broke off again. The pain was so evident in his eyes, I almost began to cry. Almost.

"I wish there was another way, but there isn't. Hopefully, I'll get to see you soon." He smiled a bit as he said this, before opening the bag. Slowly, as he pulled something out of the bag, my eyes widened in horror. "No. This couldn't be true. John knew better than this. I know he does." As he pulled the syringe out of the bag, he looked meaningfully around.

Before I could react, he'd already plunged it into his arm. He let out a soft moan, before he lowered himself to a seated position.

"At least now, I'll be with you" he whispered to my grave. I love y.." he trailed off. I quickly ran over to him, while the calculations ran through my mind.

"That much would kill him!" It didn't matter what it was (though I was fairly sure it was heroine). I quickly pulled out my phone and called an ambulance. I didn't care about being exposed, John was dying!

When the lady finally hung up and told me that an ambulance would be there in 3-5 minutes, I quickly adjusted John so that his head was laying on my lap.

"Just hang in there" I whispered in what I hoped was a soothing voice, "I'll take care of you". I slowly caressed his head as his eyelids fluttered. When the sirens finally arrived, I finally breathed again.