Hello all. This is a FF based off my idea but written by my girlfriend. She thinks it is really bad and I told her you guys would review. So can you do that? Send in your opinions :3 love you all, Beth x
John had vomited on the floor for the third time, unable to move. Sherlock ran in calmly and held his back, and rubbed it soothingly, whispering that it would be alright in his ear. His partner, John Hamish Watson, was dying.
"Shhhh, shhhh, it's ok." Sherlock soothed. "Should I call an ambulance?" He asked through tears. John shook his head feebly in response, he reached out for Sherlock's hand.
"Just stay.. please?" John's eyes finally found Sherlock's. What the taller man saw brang him to the point of tears. He saw pleading, bloodshot eyes with little hope left in them, still pleading and grasping for life. He saw a ghostly pale face, and clammy hands. He brought his hand up behind John's head, as if holding a baby, to support him as he feebly tried to keep himself slightly raised from the ground.
"It is ok John. It is and always will be. I am here for you." Sherlock stuttered. He has always thought those words, throughout his whole time of knowing John. Sherlock's hands shook as he supported John with one hand and reached for the phone with the other. He dialled 999, and asked for an ambulance when asked which service he needed.
"John, look at me, the ambulance will be here in a few minutes. I'll be there the whole time ok? Just relax and let your body do what it needs to do," Sherlock said. He was more reassuring himself rather than John. Sherlock was genuinely terrified, which was not an emotion he liked to register. John suddenly grew heavy against Sherlock's supporting arms, and then his eyes rolled back in his head.
Sherlock started to panic, "John, stay with me John. Look John, the ambulance people are here. John listen to me. John." Fear took over Sherlock's mind as thoughts raced through his intricate brain. What's happening? Why me? Why now? The paramedics said a few things to Sherlock which weren't actually processing. The paramedics went to get a stretcher bed for John, and when they came back they lifted him onto it. Sherlock held John's hand the whole way to the ambulance, and on the journey to the hospital, and still held it even when asked six times to let go. At one point, they tried to physically remove Sherlock's hand from John's, but Sherlock held fast and just screamed and yelled incoherent things at the doctors and nurses attending John's case.
Various tubes and needles were poked into John's arms and nostrils, supporting his feebly beating heart. A heart monitor was dragged in, and the smaller man's heartbeat was soon turned into a rhythmic beat which Sherlock knew all too well. He was sat in the corner holding John's hand, which was rapidly dropping in temperature. His engagement ring looked stark on John's hand, as all the colour had been drained from the usually tanned skin. The heart monitor slowed and jumped a little, and 3 nurses came rushing in.
The line went flat.
Panic. Sherlock couldn't physically register any other emotion. He stood up wildly, his body now suddenly unco-ordinated. He pushed past the nurse waiting for their turn for CPR on John. The heart monitor skittered into life again, pushing out an even weaker pulse than before. The nurses talked among themselves, before adding another IV line to John, with yet another liquid.
Sherlock decided he couldn't just hold John's hand anymore. So he clambered haphazardly onto John's bed, and nestled next to him. He wanted to put his his head on John's chest, but he decided against it as he didn't want to put strain on John's heart.
John's pulse strengthened a little, and Sherlock looked up at John's face. John's eyelids fluttered open. Sherlock thought he must be dreaming. None of this was true, and he was just having a bad dream.
"Sherlock," John croaked. The dark haired man immediately looked up at John.
"Yes, John? What is it?" He tried to talk as normally as possible, and failed at hiding his shaky voice.
John put hand out to the table where his clothes were lying. He rummaged around for a bit, and his heart monitor started hitching. He found what he was looking for and returned back to his bed, the monitor resting at an even slower pace. John held out his hand to Sherlock, with a clenched fist.
"What is it John?" Sherlock pleaded. He wanted to know what John was doing. He needed to know.
The monitor flat lined again, and the three nurses reappeared and began CPR again.
A few minutes later, they stopped doing CPR.
John's hand's muscles relaxed, and in his hand was a box. Sherlock took the box and opened it.
Dearest Sherlock, I meant to propose to you tonight but if you have found this note, it means I am not with you. I am so sorry that this happened to you and I wish I never had to die. I had our whole future planned. I am sorry for this so very much. I love you so much and I will continue loving you forever. Please take this ring in my memory.
My love, John.