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"Forget me," Sherlock sat at John's hospital bed, willing his friend to breathe, to open his eyes, to see, to speak.
John's broken body was his fault.
"Go on with your life, John. Be a doctor. Be brilliant. Forget me. Forget the chaos. Forget the crime. You wouldn't be here if we've never met."
"No, I wouldn't." John croaked.
No drug ever lifted him to such heights. No bullet ever pierced so sharply. "I'm sorry. I'll go."
John squeezed Sherlock's hand. "No. You're right. I wouldn't be here. If we'd never met, by my own hand, I'd be long dead."
--
Sherlock stood on the ledge watching John below. He knew his death would break John's heart.
The very thought of leaving broke his own. But he had to go. For John. For Mycroft. For Lestrade. For Mrs. Hudson. For all of them.
To live in a world that contained them. His world couldn't. It shattered him. The sharp edges cutting more deeply every time he thought of John.
That motivated him. Every staggering stab of loneliness motivated him to find and eliminate more threats. Each one bringing him another step closer to home.
"I'll be home soon. Forget me not."
--
"Forget me!" Sherlock frothed. "Go. Leave. I don't want you. I don't need you. Go!"
"That is the drugs, talking."
"I am the drugs. They have consumed me. Go. So, I can return the favor."
"Never."
Sherlock vomited, sweated, swore, shook. He prayed for drugs. He prayed for death. Nether came. Punishment for atheism? A reward?
John wiped up the sick, wiped away the sweat. Stilled the tremors. Stayed.
"Forget me," Sherlock begged, humiliated.
"Never."
Could he keep clean? Not here. Not now. A new life together. The country. Bees.
To his dealers, to his pushers, to London. "Forget me."
--
It was simple things at first. He hardly noticed.
Who could remember the name of that damn thingamajig anyway?
The pen. The table. The Erlenmeyer flask.
Who could?
A forgotten anniversary? They loved each other Everyday. Who bothered about the date.
The lost things. John never lost anything Sherlock couldn't find. John's lapses kept Sherlock sharp.
Harder to ignore… the forgotten appointments. Getting lost on the way to the shops. But really, with delivery was there any reason to leave home?
"We'll manage." Sherlock kissed his partners forehead. "We'll be fine. I'll remember everything else…. But please, forget me not."
--
The doctors, the nurses, everybody tried to comfort him, "We know how hard this is."
They could only imagine.
"There is nothing left of him."
If only that were true.
John could no longer swallow. He could no longer speak. There was no dignity left. They'd enjoyed their last good day.
It was time to go, well past time.
John lingered.
John stayed.
"It is okay. I forgive you." He kissed John's forehead, his fingertips.
"I love you. Let go." He squeezed John's hand
"Forget me." He listened for John's last breath. "Goodbye, my love. I will forget you not."