He had just finished a case, simple deduction, a twirl of impressed faces among the watchers and police, and then Lestrade happily shook his hand, glad that another case was solved.

"You getting home by yourself?" Lestrade wrapped an arm around him like he was his treasured prize. It was true. Without him, Lestrade would've never been able to be promoted to Detective Inspector.

Taxi, Sherlock motioned with his hands, despite the freezing temperature outside. He really need to go get some gloves someday, perhaps make Mycroft get him one of those expensive leather ones that are extremely durable. Light rain was already beginning to fall, stinging his face as he stuffed his hands back in his pockets, trying to warm them up.

"Well, okay, see you tomorrow then!" Lestrade bid him a farewell and left. No sooner, Sherlock hailed and cab and climbed in, Redbeard following close behind.

"Where to?" The driver glanced at him from the review mirror. Sherlock handed him a slip of paper. Surprised, the driver hesitantly took it and turned it around to look at the thin scrawl of words.

Harrow Street 234C

"Ah!" The driver hums, a look of satisfaction slapped on his weathered face. "Quite far from here, charges will be a bit high, but I can still take you there,"

He starts the engine and they drive off. Sherlock pulls out his phone and sends a quick text. The rain was growing torrentially now, and in minutes, the rate of the water has gone from a light drizzle to pouring rain. The sky has also darkened accordingly, obscuring most of the road and lights on either sides.

The cabbie driver muttered something about the street lights but Sherlock didn't quite catch it over the falling rain. The drops were mesmerizing, like tears sliding down the sheet of glass, dropping onto the window sill to group with the other balls of water. He wondered what rain would sound like, tiny bullets hitting the floor, perhaps creating a small music concert played plainly by nature.

A sudden beam of light swept over him and he turned to see what was going on. Redbeard stiffened beside him and Sherlock knew he was barking. Something was happening. The rain fell more heavily, blocking the entire road from view. Only two glaring headlights shone back at him, as if warning him of something. But before he could realize what was going on, the two orbs of light got closer until finally, the glass before him shattered and everything went black.

—

He sensed himself being thrown back, his head slamming on the headrest before smashing into the window beside him. He lost track of Redbeard too. Now, he laid on the ground, hard cement underneath him, bits of rock ingrained into his skin. He couldn't really feel his body anymore, and his face felt wet and sticky, maybe because of the rain or maybe because of something else.

Hi head was positioned in a way so that he was staring down the road, at the green trees with the green leaves, and the gray sky above mirroring the black cement below. It was confusing, lying on the ground. Sherlock wasn't sure how he got to the ground in the first place, and instantly his mind diagnosed him for shock. He tried moving his body. Instantly, spikes of pain ran up his legs, sending warnings throughout his brain telling him that something was broken.

Sherlock opened his mouth and a strangled cry escapes him, rain sliding down his face mixed along with the tears of pain. The torment was unbearable. It felt like he was being burned alive, wounds covering his body dying it crimson red. His fingers were covered in some sticky substance and as Sherlock looked down, he saw that they were dripping with blood.

No, no, no, this feels wrong, this all feels so wrong. Sherlock never imagined he would die this way instead of drug overdose. Of course he prepared for death at anytime, but this was ridiculous. Not to say boring at the same time. Hundreds of people die from car crashed ever year, it doesn't make his any more different.

Another shot of pain raced up his leg and he gasped again, clenching his teeth to stop himself from clattering from the cold. The rain had now completely soaked through his coat and suit, temperature dropping rapidly, smoldering the tongues of flames that still remained within the car.

Suddenly, the smell of gasoline grew near and for a fleeting instance, Sherlock thought one of the cars was leaking oil. Instead, he sensed a pair of heavy boots getting closer and finally, someone has knelt down besides him, hands hovering above his head to check for any serious injuries.

Sherlock felt a feeling that he has never experienced before wash over him, filling every single cell in his body. And then it hit him. It was the feeling of weakness. He felt stupid, lying on the ground, tears running off his face, legs stuck in the most awkward position ever. It was his worst state yet.

"Hey! Can you hear me?" The man tapped at him. Sherlock only stared blankly at the man's moving lips, efficient hands working around him checking his pulse and blood pressure. "Hey, you still there? Richard! Go call the ambulance, now!" The man called at an unseen man and Sherlock felt a series of mini earthquakes trembling beneath him.

"Hey!" He slapped Sherlock's face gently to see if he's still responding. Sherlock only blinked at him, mouth nailed shut. "Stay awake for me okay? The ambulance is coming,"

Sherlock stared at him. The man wasn't much older than him, perhaps 28 or so years old. Funny cut hair, military maybe? His head pounded and he couldn't think straight. So he stared at the man's moving lips, watching his concerned face and dripping blonde hair.

"Sir, may I take your name?"

Sherlock would've motioned with his hands if it weren't for the pain he caused at every single action. He opened his mouth to say something when he realized he really couldn't put together a word except make a few weird noises.

"Okay, okay, I know it hurts, just stay still, help is arriving," the man reassured. Sherlock stared up at him, confused at everything around him. This doesn't make sense, none of this makes sense!

Red-blue flashing lights came to view and steady hands lifted him up onto the stretcher. He craned his neck to take one last look at his recuser, despite the fiery pain that races up his body every time he tries to move. And there he was, standing there, a camouflage truck behind him, army uniform completely soaked, short blonde hair dripping with rain, and the bluest eyes he has ever seen watching him as he was carried away.

Didn't… quite catch your name, Sherlock thought. And then he sank into a disconcerting sleep.

For Emilie. Who has higher math scores than me. :((((