There was a gunshot.
John looked up from his position by Janine as he realized Sherlock was nowhere in sight.
"You arse!" He growled out before sprinting off in search of his friend. He made it to the stairs and looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of a familiar trench coat. Nothing.
"Sherlock!" He called. "This isn't funny! What's happening?" No response.
The doctor began to worry. He sprinted up the stairs and scanned through the rooms. That's when he heard it. Groaning.
He turned around to see a door opened a crack, light filtering from inside. A man's groan of pain came from inside, but otherwise, silence.
John Watson pulled out his gun from his jacket pocket and walked carefully towards the door, hesitant to open it any further. He pushed.
The first thing he saw was Magnussen as the man was laying on his side, his forehead presenting a deep cut that needed a stitch up.
The Watson furrowed his eyebrows and looked around the room; only to freeze at the sight of an unconscious Sherlock Holmes lying on the ground, a bullet wound in his chest and bleeding rapidly.
John immediately dropped his gun. "Oh my God ..." He trembled at the sight. Seeing his best friend bleeding out in front of him, he didn't know what to do. He was in a state of shock.
Hearing Magnussen moans behind him, John whipped around to stare at him.
"What happened?" He yelled, marching over to the semi-conscious and wounded man. John grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him up, only to have him faint and become nothing but dead weight.
John growled out in anger and turned back to Sherlock, reaching into his coat pocket in search of his phone. He dialed 999.
"Hullo?" He started, his voice shaking in panic. "It's an emergency! My fr-friend has been shot! Ple-please. He's dying!"
They wouldn't let him walk beside him. They wouldn't let him hold his hand and speak encouraging words as he bled. He hated it.
"You have to let me see him! I have to be there!" He was yelling. It was Reichenbach all over again. All he could feel was hurt and loss.
"Goodbye, John."
"No. Sherlock!"
The body fell.
John ran. It can't be true, he thought. I can't lose him.
"I'm a doctor, let me come through. Let me through, please! He's my friend!"
He saw the body. He checked the pulse.
Sherlock Holmes was dead.
John shook his head to clear his thoughts as he was held back by the police and watched his friend being loaded into the ambulance. A firm hand gripped his arm.
"John. We'll ride in the car." Lestrade stated, his voice soft as he tried to comfort the shocked man. "We can meet them at St. Barts and you can stay by his side. I promise. Now come on."
The doctor wasn't paying attention to the DI as he was led to the police cruiser and driven to the hospital, his thoughts riddled with doubts at the possibility that Sherlock wouldn't make it this time. He let out a sob.
Lestrade looked into the rearview mirror and frowned. He sped up. Sherlock Holmes was a great man. He needed the people he cared about to be by his side - to help him fight for his life.
They arrived right behind the ambulance. The two men burst out of the car and raced over to the unconscious body of Sherlock as he was carried into the hospital on a stretcher. Doctors and nurses crowded around the wounded man, shouting orders and trying to keep him stable.
Lestrade and John picked up their pace to try and stay right beside their friend.
"Take him to room 325A!" a doctor yelled as he made a path through the crowded halls. He turned to the secretary at the front desk. "This man has been shot. We need all the help we can get in Intensive Care." The woman nodded, a look of determination crossing her features before she turned on the intercom. "All available doctors to Intensive Care, room 325A! Emergency!"
They rolled the stretcher into the room and tore off Sherlock's shirt as they attached an oxygen mask to his face and placed an IV into his arm. John stood in the doorway and watched as the doctors and nurses worked, tears forming in his eyes as he saw his friends' heartbeat begin to drop on the heart monitor.
"We're losing him!" They tried harder.
A nurse pulled out the defibrillator and held it over his chest. "Clear!" Sherlock jerked up, but his heart rate didn't get any better. They tried again. "Clear!" Nothing.
John was crying now. Sherlock was going to die for real this time. He was truly going to lose him.
He closed his eyes as he heard the undeniable sound of a heart monitor flatlining. John let out a sob as the doctors gave up.
The main doctor sighs and rubs the back of his neck as he holds up a clipboard. "Time of death?"
A nurse looks at her watch and is about to reply before a beeping sound echoed through the room. They all turn to see the slow rise and fall of Sherlocks' chest as the monitor began to beep again. They jump into action.
John looks on in utter amazement at the sight of the arches on Sherlocks' heart monitor. He smiled as he hoped and cheered Sherlock on. His friend could make it! There was a chance!
A nurse smiled towards the doctor. "He's coming back! It's a miracle!" The doctor grinned back as he looked down at the wounded man's half-lidded eyes before fluttering closed as he welcomed the comforting darkness of sleep. "It sure is."
John sat in a chair by Sherlocks' bedside as he watched the steady rise and fall of the mans' chest. It's been six hours and he still hasn't woke up from his slumber. John wasn't complaining - as long as he knew his friend was safe then he didn't care. He sighed and leaned his head back into his chair. He was alone. Mrs. Hudson was at her sisters', Lestrade got called back to the Yard for an emergency and Mary was still asleep at home. He didn't want to have to wake her up in the middle of the night and wanted to wait until he got his mind and emotions situated before telling her the news.
"...Ma...ry?"
Johns' head jerked up as he stared at Sherlock.
"...Mary?"
There it was again - stronger this time. John leaned forward, hesitant.
"Sherlock? Are you - Are you awake?"
The mans' heterochromia eyes fluttered weakly as he stared at the hazy shape of John leaning over him. His brows knitted in confusion. Wasn't he supposed to be dead? He didn't feel any different.
"John?" He croaked.
The doctor let out an airy laugh of relief to see his friend awake and okay. "Yeah, Sherlock. It's me."
The consulting detective frowned and looked at his surroundings. "What happened?"
John smiled and shrugged. "I don't know exactly. I was checking on Janine when I heard a gunshot and raced up the stairs to see you shot and unconscious."
Sherlock froze as he stared at the ceiling. This motion did not go unnoticed by the army doctor. He raised an eyebrow but tried to act as if he didn't notice. He leaned back into his chair.
"When you were just waking up," he started. "You were saying 'Mary' - as in my wife. Why was that?"
The man kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, his body still tense. "No idea," he mumbled.
John shook his head, knowing he wasn't going to get anything out of him at the moment. He stood up and stretched, his back popping and loosening the tension from where he had been sitting for so long. He picked up his wallet and phone and turned towards the door.
"I'm gonna go get some breakfast and tell the doctor that you're awake. I need to call Mary, too, and tell her the news. She would want to come and check on you as well." Sherlock said nothing.
John awkwardly stands in front of the door before nodding and putting his hand on the nob and preparing to twist the handle - only to be stopped by someone clearing their throat. He turned to Sherlock who looked as if he was trying his hardest to stay awake - his eyes fluttering closed before he forced them open.
"John? Why am I still alive?"
The Watson was surprised by this comment. "Well, we did lose you there for a few minutes," he began. "I thought for sure you were gone - but out of nowhere, you came back. You were a real fighter. It was a miracle!"
Sherlock hummed as turned his gaze back to the ceiling - the tune sounding something like "It's Raining; It's Pouring". It was strange.
There was another awkward moment of Sherlock humming and fighting the urge to sleep. He stopped.
"I remember." He mumbled. He turned towards John, a small smile gracing his features. "It was because of you. You're my priority."
John couldn't be more confused. "Excuse me. What?"
Sherlocks' smile turned into a frown as he thought. " I fought because of you, John. You were my number one priority when I was dying. At first, I was going to accept it. I thought I had no one that would care - but then I thought of you." His smile returned. "My best friend. Thank you, John."
The doctor was at a lost of words as he watched his friend fall back into a dreamless slumber. He smiled and then laughed. He opened the door - but before he shut it, he grinned at Sherlock.
"And thank you, Sherlock Holmes."
He shut the door behind him.
So, what did ya'll think?
This was probably horrible but I had an idea so I used it.
Hope you enjoyed the One-Shot!
Olympian is out! No charge!