'Day One
Patient: John Watson
Age: 37'
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It had been five days since John Watson had watched his best friend fall from St. Bart's Hospital, telling him that meeting him, deducing everything about him had been a fraud. John hadn't believed that, he believed that Sherlock was an amazing detective, in fact, the world's best. The army doctor had thought of the man as a friend, the best that anyone could have. Yes, the inspector was crude, full of himself, and insensitive. But, he was there when no one else was there for John, someone who had understood his need for action.
.
"No. Don't. Sherlock! Sherlock... Sherlock. Sherlock. I'm a doctor. Let me come through. Let me come through, please. No, he's my friend. He's my friend. Please. Please, let me just... Oh, Jesus, no... God, no. Oh, God." His mind repeated over and over, when he had saw Sherlock's dead body. The doctor hadn't listened to his dead friend's request, he ran to his best friend, telling people to move out the way. There was blood from his head, his hands scraped from the impact. He pleads and pleads, wanting to help his best friend. Doctors and medics didn't let him through, but John had shoved them out of the way.
Sherlock noticed little things about John's character, like how he had never drink coffee with sugar, or how he would adjust the doorknob to the left or right, depending who is in the flat. Sherlock had deleted facts upon facts from his mind, but never deleting the smallest fact about John Watson. The doctor had taken his best friend for granted, in return, watching him fall to his doom.
"Goodbye, John." Sherlock had said, dropping his phone. John looks up in horror, his heart beating in his ears. The doctor watches the detective, his eyes red from crying, telling his friend he was jumping from the hospital roof, he couldn't do it. John gripped his fist tight, watching in suspense, 'Was Sherlock really going to do it?' He felt tears run down his face before wiping them away. Sherlock lifts his arms into the air, 'Oh, God - He - He is!' He jumps as John can't do anything, but watch.
"Leave a note, when?" John asked Sherlock as he asks him a question from the roof. John realises what Sherlock had meant by those words, but those words had gotten to him too late. Sherlock didn't want to be normal, by the standards of normal people, he'd have to dumb himself down. But, he had asked question about being normal. "This phone call, it's, um... It's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."
"Do what?" John asks that question to Sherlock, he didn't want to do that request. He doesn't want to watch his best friend die in front of his eyes. John had seen many good men die on the battlefield, either from the fact he couldn't help them, because the wounds were untreatable, or the fact he had trusted him so much that he couldn't let him go. John couldn't let Sherlock go.
"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" John remembers his best friend's ring in his ear as he took a step closer. Sherlock didn't want him to see the dead body fall to the floor. The doctor hadn't listened, he ran to his best friend, telling people to move out the way.
"All right." said Watson, with complete fear and worry. He did what he had done when he was a soldier, a medic, obey orders. He looked up at his friend, up at the man about to jump, his eyes were watered, but unflooding. He wasn't crying, not yet.
"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move." This was his request, Sherlock's last request for John. For him to watch as he commits suicide, for him to believe that he was dead. Sherlock had wanted John Watson to believe he was dead, but hadn't gotten the message he had given John Watson. John hadn't noticed the pause between the words spoken through the phone.
"No, all right, stop it now." John demanded, becoming angry, but not truly. He didn't want to believe what
"I researched you. Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick." Sherlock said. He was crying. The sociopath's walls crumbled down, forcing him to let all the emotions that he had held in for so many years. Sherlock's lips were trembling, not wanting to lie anymore, but he continued for his friends' safety. The detective had continued playing as the cold man, the fraud,
"You could." John believed in him. Those two words had almost reduced Sherlock to tears. John believed that the detective wasn't a fraud. No one could continue being a fraud for so long, no one would be able to play a part for so long without breaking.
"Nobody could be that clever." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, ignoring the man's words. He had had to pretend that he was faking his intelligence, much as Moriarty had faked his innocence. Sherlock had to work with the path that had been paved for him. He recited the words as if he had been telling the truth, making it so believable, that he would even buy it. But Watson was as resilient as ever.
"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met. The first time we met. You knew all about my sister, right?" John recalls the first time the duo met, remembering all the words and the warnings. Detective Donovan had told him to stay away, that he was only a psychopath, and that some day, he was bound to snap.
"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes." Sherlock says, looking at John. He was only a speck on the pavement, just as they have been specks in the universe in general.
"Sherlock." John said, wanting Sherlock to stop this. He wanted him to come down from the roof, not by jumping off, but by calmly coming down. He knew that his friend wasn't a fake genius, he was lying. But why? John had known that Sherlock wasn't coming down. He hadn't known that there was a sniper, aiming at John's head. He hadn't known all the dangers he wouldn't be put in if it wasn't for Sherlock.
"I'm a fake." The detective said, sure of himself. His voice was unwavering, his tone had seemed so cold. It was dead and worse than the first time they met, there was no feeling, nothing human in his voice. In reality, Sherlock was holding back all the feelings that were slowly drowning him, but he keeps the strong facade up.
"Why are you saying this?" John questions, he knew what he was doing. He didn't want this to be true. He didn't want this to be true.
"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty." Sherlock says, not looking at John.
"What?" The companion said in shock.
"An apology. It's all true." Sherlock looks down.
"What's going on?" John asks in pure, authentic fear.
"I...I...I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this." The detective said.
"Oh, God." John realises what had happened.. Everything becomes faster.
"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop." Sherlock said, telling his companion his location.
"Sherlock?"
"Stop there."
"Where?"
"Just do as I ask! Please."
"No, I'm coming in."
"Turn around and walk back the way you came."
"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?"
"John."
"Hello?"
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I repeated one more time. "Tell me the events from the end, to the beginning. You notice much more than you will the other way around.."
"You know what?" The army doctor said, his voice clearly hysterical. He hadn't been handling Sherlock's death well. He had stood from his seat. "Another session, another day, our time is over."
I sigh and begin writing notes, 'Well, obviously this didn't go as well as I expected. John Watson, he is more patient with me than his other therapists, so that's nice. He told me what had happened, it was honestly sad how detailed it was when he had told me. It was better than the first time around, which was mainly.. crying.. and chocolate.. and trying to comfort John. But! I believe that - maybe - I made progress!.. although I might accidently reduce him to tears again..'