John opened the door and slowly made his way to the edge of the roof, stepping on it with a hesitant step. He closed his eyes and looked up, just standing there for a moment.
The moment passed and nothing happened. The pish of wind wrapped him in warm embrace, as he opened his eyes, and looked down, to the people going in and out of the hospital.
He seated down, his legs suspended in the thin-air as he glanced at his side, just like many times before. Straining his eyes, they didn't came back the voices. He bit his lip.
"I still don't understand, why you did what you did, Sherlock."
He smiled at himself, softly. he looked around at the air. He shook his head.
"Because that is what friends do. Protect."
John didn't even looked around, and then sighed. Then he almost jumped up in the air, standing up, and touching his right shoulder, looking at him in disbelief.
Then he felt it again. A presence, a touch, this time on his forearm, as it tugged at him a little. He let the hand fall down, his eyes wide.
His voice was strained, but also tired. He waited, until he could hear the voice again.
"I am here, John."
John looked around, but he wasn't be able to see anything. The roof was empty. Like like every other day. Almost every other day. Except that day. He gulped.
"And how did you death help anybody?"
He looked around, his eyes now focused on looking. But nothing changed.
"Because, if I didn't jump, then Moriaty would have you, Mrs. Hudston and Lestrade killed."
There was a pause, and then the presence on John arm disappeared, him starting to rob it.
"Three bullets, three gunman, three victims. The only way to stop them was my jumping."
"You mean your suicide?"
The pause that followed showed, that it was not a question.
"I was not supposed to die. I still think I did not."
John raised his eyebrows, and laughed, shaking his head.
"You are haunting me."
Sherlock's voice sounded questioning, confused, but at the same time still on guard, full of pride.
"Sherlock, as different as you are, even you couldn't make yourself into a ghost, if you would be still alive."
There was silence again.
"Out of the body experience?"
John blinked, and then blinked again.
"For how long?"
"Since the jump."
The answer was quick. John shook his head.
"What about your body?"
The puh following that statement was dismissive. Not important matter.
"When I move away from you I start to disappear. I think that this is a way to go back into my body."
John seated back to the edge of the roof, no longer looking around.
"So why are you still here?"
"I was worried."
"You are making me insane."
Since no reply was coming, John grabbed his forehead.
"I thought I was hearing voices for so long. Makes moving on a lot harder."
"So you would prefer to move on?"
The voice was small, uncharacteristically shy and insecure. Slow even.
"Sherlock. You were my best friend. But even I don't have suicidal thoughts or plans to follow you."
He looked at the sky, as his eyes softened even more.
"If you are dead, I have to move on anyway. But if you had really managed to cheat death, then you are a lot more useful inside your body then haunting me."
He could feel the small pressure on his shoulders and he stood up, trying to hug. It felt like it, but at the same time it didn't.
"See you later then, John."
The voice was moving away, as disappearing. John smiled.
"Good bye, Sherlock."