It's raining, it's pouring…
Sherlock ran until his legs threatened to give out and his lungs threatened to burst.
Sherlock is boring.
Ran until he thought he couldn't anymore, then he ran some more.
I'm laughing, I'm crying…
Because he knew that if he slowed down, even for a second, he would be too late.
Johnny-boy is dying.
He cursed at the sing-song voice in his mind, the one that belonged to the man that had vowed to burn the heart out of him. The man who, for all he knew, might have already done just that.
Sherlock barged into the building, only to meet an empty hallway. He ran up the stairs, John's name echoing on the walls as he tried to drown out the voice in his head.
I'm laughing…
He checked every room, knowing his nemesis was long gone. But he couldn't bring himself to care, just kept going until he found…
I'm crying…
There, curled up in a protective ball, lay John Watson. Sherlock's heart leapt in his throat at the state of him. He crouched down next to his friend, trying to ignore the blood. He put two trembling fingers on the side of his neck and his other hand in front of John's face.
Johnny-boy is
Sherlock shut his eyes against his own tears.
Breathing.
