He had broken his promise. Sherlock had broken his fucking promise and what the hell was John suppose to do now? He remembers that day with vivid details and he wishes he could forget every second of it. The flailing of Sherlock's limbs as he flew down the side of St. Barts, the sickening smack as his body had met the concrete, the blood, so much blood. And the look of peace that John had found on his dead detective's face was probably what haunted John the most through the past months.
How could he have done that to John? He knew everything had been falling apart around Sherlock but that's why he had John, John would have never left his side.
Those words had echoed in his head ever since then along with the pain and the tears he had heard through them even though he ha