John stared down at his best friend's​ grave, he had jumped that very day. Tears nipped at John’s eyes, he would miss Sherlock an incredible amount.

“Please… just one more miracle,” John says, choking out sobs. He dropped to his knees, staring at the black grave with Sherlock's name painted a gold John would never forget.

He covered his face with his hands. “One more miracle, Sherlock... Please don't be dead. Please please…”

John started shaking, he cried more and more. Sherlock was his best friend, and whenever he looked back into his past, Sherlock was there; correcting people, complaining, doing silly experiments and making John have a feeling of wonder.

He put his hand into his jacket pocket, “I--I can't…” he mumbled, but Sherlock, who was watching behind a tree, heard him.

“I can't live without--out…” he wiped away a few more tears. “Y-you..”

He tapped his fingers on the metal object in his pocket, letting the silence fill the air for a few moments before he sighed.

“I l-love you…” John whispered, taking out a gun and cocking it. He put it to his chest. “I can't ​imagine life without you…”

John pulled the trigger, he fell to the floor, blood splattering over the grass and grave.

“JOHN!” Sherlock yelled, running out from the trees. He started to panic and called an ambulance, taking John to the hospital quickly.

After a painful few months John was out of the hospital, a new man-- a man filled with gratitude and determination for life-- just kidding. He rushed home crying, wondering how he survived.

He didn't even go home, he went to the park. When he saw 221B he cried more, remembering the memories of his dead friend.

He sat on a bench and sulked, he even ended up sleeping there a few nights. He wasn't in a relationship, he had nowhere to stay, and he wasn't about to go to his parents. He had no home other than 221B Baker Street.

The next two years was filled with sorrow, John would have no idea that every time he'd try and kill himself, and would randomly be in a hospital, Sherlock was the one who saved him.

He tried jumping, easy fix; Sherlock just had to catch him mid-air.

He tried using a gun, also easy; he changed the bullets so they were blanks.

He tried drowning himself, Sherlock had to give him mouth-to-mouth and CPR to save him.

He tried drugs​, but he felt horrible and his high consisted of vomit and hugging a make-believe Sherlock Holmes, yelling at him and punching his face because he killed himself.

Eventually he went back to the flat, but he refused to go upstairs. He just sulked in the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson would pick him up and try to encourage him to keep believing in his friend, but he would shake his head.

One of these days, John stood up and yelled at Mrs. Hudson, then proceeding to grab a knife and slit his wrist. Mrs. Hudson freaked out and luckily he was saved, but Sherlock's absence was driving him insane. He started talking to imaginary Sherlock, making up answers to questions and responses to anything John said.

By the time Sherlock returned John was a mess, he'd tried to kill himself many times.

And when Sherlock returned, John was in a hospital bed, sleeping quietly with the stains of tears on his face.

Sherlock sat in one of the chairs for a while, fiddling around with his curly hair and coat collar for entertainment until John woke up.

He woke up, but didn't notice Sherlock straight away, he just started crying, the sounds of his cries filled Sherlock's heart with dread.

“I love you, too…” Sherlock said, placing a hand on John's shoulder.

John felt electricity ran through him, and he turned around to see Sherlock's precious face.

So he punched him while screaming profanities. “TWO BLOODY YEARS!” He yells, trying to recollect himself as he backed away from Sherlock.

“I'm sorry, John… it was to protect you--"

“I tried killing myself to be with you, Sherlock, and you weren't even dead?” Sherlock could hear the crying in John's voice.

“In my defense, I was the one that kept saving you--”

John pulled on Sherlock's shirt, making him stop short as he forced a kiss on his lips.

“Oh shut up you bastard.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed John back. “I'm sorry.”

“I know you are…” John released Sherlock's lips. “You could've given me a sign. I would have been better off knowing you're out there.”

“I know… I should have. But if saving you from yourself counts as a sign, then I gave you many.”

John wiped away his tears and kissed Sherlock again, his body still trembling. “You're a horrible friend.”

Sherlock felt hurt, he tried his best with this friendship. John was his best friend. So he had an idea to save the horrible friend status.

“Wanna see if I'm a horrible boyfriend?” Sherlock asked, kissing John gently.

“I’d bet you are.”

Sherlock whimpered, holding onto John's shirt gently. “I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry…”

“I know you are…” John felt like he had to forgive Sherlock, he did spend two years attempting suicide just to be with the man. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, please forgive me and let me try to be a good boyfriend…”

“You don't need to try, you are a great one.”

A big smile took the place of Sherlock’s frown. “Oh thank you! Thank you! I truly apologize for leaving for so long!”

“It's alright, I forgive you.” John smiled and kissed Sherlock's cheek.

“Yay!”