I owe you so much.

"You know, John?" Sherlock breathed into the night, buttoning up his coat with his shaking hands as he stood at the top of the high building. His breaths came out in small whisps of cloud. "What?" John asked, through the telephone, his voice becoming a bit fuzzy. "Sherlock? What's wrong? Why won't you let me come to you?" Sherlock heard it in John's voice. Confusion, obvious - but also... concern. Why concern...?
"John..." Sherlock started, turning up his coat collar, "I... I fear death, did you know that?"
It stayed quiet on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Then, he responded. "Sherlock. Don't." It was almost a plea. "Please..." his voice cracked, then trailed away. "Why-" Sherlock stopped for a second, breathing in and out. Ugh, those emotions. Very fascinating, but they wouldn't... suit him.
"Why would you care, John?" Sherlock muttered, his voice bitter. He wasn't even supposed to be this way, to feel this way...
"Because-" John hesitated. "Because you're my best friend, Sherlock. I... I was so alone, and I owe you so much." He was quiet then, and for once, the great Sherlock Holmes didn't know how to respond.
"John, I-" John interrupted him. "Is there a reason why you're... you know, leaving?" his voice cracked again. Sherlock nodded, then realized that John might not had seen that, and whispered, "Yes."
"Is there no other way?"
Sherlock licked his lips. "...No."
"Oh."
"I'm sorry, John. Forgive me."
"Ah..." For a second, John didn't know what to say. "Yes, of course. It's okay." Sherlock almost heard him smile, as he looked down at the little figure on the street, smiling himself. He, Sherlock, had changed too...
"Goodbye, John."
And with that, he walked into the space below.