Yay I'm back, this is my first attempt at a Sherlock Fanfiction. No insults please and I really don't want any reviews saying noooo I can't believe you killed him. It took me ages to actuallly write something and ever since I got a review for one of my other stories saying that I could write a cracking Sherlock Fanfiction I've been trying to get an idea. I don't mind constructive criticsm as I'm always wanting to improve my writing. If I don't get enough reviews I might just take the story down. The countdown part idea came to me when I watched the music video Savin Me By Nickelback. No Insults, I already get quite enough of that, It took a lot for me to upload this so I hope I did the right thing
Numbers, Numbers, they sprawled around everything and anything every second of every minuet of every hour of every day. 365 days a year numbers and knowledge would always win. Sherlock knew this, well he knew this more than anyone to be honest. Once too often did these thoughts cross his mind, particulary when he coversed with John, not so much with Mycroft as he had already conculded within his own mind that he was smarter than his elder brother.
He couldn't exactly remember how long he had been lying on the couch in his dressing gown. At one point his mind had proposed shooting up the wall but he managed to figure a bunch of logical arguements against it that his mind couldn't refute.
Glancing at the clock he threw his head back onto the cushion in frustration.
2am and he was wide awake. One of the worst nights for the Baker Street genius.
Frustrated, he jumped up and began to pace the room, exceptionally annoyed with the way this night seemed to be panning out. A slight click orginating from the landing outside the door, alerted Sherlocks mind much to his discomfort as the only thing he wanted to do at the minuet was either work or sleep, at the very least.
"John, if your going to try and come in quietly can you at least try not to step on that floorboard at the top of the stairs"
Sherlock paused expecting one of John's usual remarks, the most likely being 'Stop doing that Sherlock', but oddly nothing came. Walking from the window he cautiously approached the door, slowly at that and lowered his hand with ease onto the cold doorhandle.
Quickly opening the door, he looked around and to this surprise there was no one there. He walked out onto the landing convinced that John was up to something. Looking down at the floor he could tell instantly that someone had been standing there and he tensed up wondering what was about to transpire.
"John, If this is a joke it's not funny anymore" Sherlock called. "Seriously, you should know by now just how good my hearing is! Its like your trying to annoy me deliberately"
Another floorboard cracked but this time in the apartment causing Sherlock to swing back and look into the blackness of the apartment. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the blinding darkness of the apartment trying to figure out a reasonable explanation and one explanation was the fact that he was just hearing things, with one of the others being that perhaps he was going insane but quickly conculded he was hearing things due to sleep deprivation, just like normal people but then again he wasn't normal and that caused his mind to focus on stranger explanations.
Then the sound of someone opening the door brought him back to reality, followed by a voice too familiar to ignore. John
Suddenly another thought collided with Sherlocks mind, If John had just arrived, who was upstairs?
He just couldn't shake this feeling and everything went to hell the second Sherlock walked back towards the door. As soon as Sherlock walked back into the room his line of sight plunged into complete darkness.
He never saw the glint of the gun, only the fire that ignited the second the trigger was pulled.
The gunshot echoed through the biulding in an instant, tunneling straight down the staircase and taking less than a second to reach John's ear. He dropped the bags straight away and lanched himself up the stairs.
"Please, Please no" He thought over and over again in his head as he raced up the stairs in what seemed like slow motion to him. When John got to the top of the stairs the door was wide open causing him to take extra caution at what he should do next. Breathing deeply he walked into the room and the darkness overtook him in an could have sworn he saw a figure in the blackness but ignored it, allowing the perpetrator to leave undetected, slipping out onto the landing and without bumping into Mrs Hudson, strangely enough, escaped into the serenity of Baker Street. Feeling the cold midnight air against his skin he turned to consult it and realised one of the windows was open but it was when he looked over to the couch he got the shock of his life.
"Oh God SHERLOCK!" he whispered, falling onto his knees beside his fallen friend. Sherlock was shaking hard, as if nearly convulsing as he lay sprawled across the floor. Blood was fast flowing through the large gaping bullet wound in Sherlock's chest which John was firmly pressing down upon.
Mrs Hudson appeared at the door, and having switched the light on the landing on Sherlock's true colours were revealed and it didn't look good.
"Oh my God Sherlock!"
"Call an ambulance!" John yelled, causing Mrs Hudson to rush back down the stairs to grab the phone.
Sherlock whimbered in pain as John pressed down hard against the wound but blood still continued to escape from between his fingers.
"Stay with me Sherlock You hear me!"
"John...I...I..."
Sherlock's head lolled to the side loosely but John wasn't having any of it.
"No No, Sherlock! Don't you dare! Keep breathing and stay with me!" John demmanded.
Sherlock slowly reopened his eyes and looked straight up at John. He reached for his hand and John took it, tightly at that and even though Sherlock was trying his best to match it he could barely provide the responding grip.
"John I...I can't.." Sherlock slurred.
"Just keep breathing" John said shakily trying his best to control his own breathing as his eyes were already starting to well up.
Sherlock's chest rattled as he breathed in, getting more erratic as seconds passed. He knew he didn't have much time left and the second he started thinking about that his mind palace kicked in, and second by second it began to count down the remaining seconds of his life.
1 minute
""John" He whispered. "I ...Never...I never thought...I would...go like this"
By this time John's face was completely tear ridden unable to take in what was happening in front of his very eyes and unable to accept that Sherlock was dying. He had been through hell after Sherlock had jumped off St Barts Hospital, months and months of pain that never seemed to end no matter what he tried to do. But he came back, they fought like hell and it nearly ended up in a fight but they got through it. This time it wasn't an act, it was real, he wasn't going to come back.
"Don't say that, You're a miracle worker remember"
Sherlock smiled slightly
Fourty Seconds.
"Not this time John"
"Please don't I'm begging you" John cried. "I can't go through this again"
Thirty Seconds
Keeping a tight grip upon Sherlocks hand he manovered him so he was lying in his arms. John's hands were covered in blood but right at that moment he didn't care. Sherlock's head fell against John's chest hearing his heartbeat through his chest in the process. It sounded like a hypnotic lullaby.
Twenty Seconds
"No...Not your fault...Not your fault" Sherlock stammered.
"But If I had returned sooner..."
"Not...Not...your fault" Sherlock breathed trying to ignore the line of blood running from his mouth.
Ten Seconds
"I'm sorry John, truely"
Five Seconds
"Goodbye John" he whispered.
Those words echoed through John pulling him straight back to a memory he would rather forget, the memory of Sherlock standing on the roof of St Barts about to jump to his death and right at that moment in John's mind Sherlock was about to jump again.
Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut, sealing his final image of John firmly in his mind.
One second
Sherlock's grip loosened completely in John's hand and his body relaxed, slumping against his chest. At that moment John couldn't bear it. Fresh tears began to coat John's eyes as he cradled his best friend's lifeless body in his arms. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. Sherlock's lifeforce had dissapated into nothingness and John had been powerless, helpless. Even John knew there was nothing he could do for Sherlock now. He was gone.
And this time he wasn't coming back