Ok I'm not necessarily proud of this but I have to admit just the first few minutes almost had me in tears! So I know there is going to be a lot of fics like this but I hope you enjoy it none-the-less. It's good closure for me writing this with a happier ending but still intense and emotional. We fans can lick our wounds together haha hopefully this will help .Also I wrote a good portion of this before actually watching it so there are some major differences, but still some SPOILERS. I'm also nervous this being my very first Sherlock story. Well here goes nothing.
…
It was surreal. Something you see in a movie or dream, but not right in front of you. He felt detached from his body, and numb, as if he were back at 221B reading about the event in the newspaper instead watching it before his eyes. He watched as Sherlock feel a tangle of flailing gangly limbs, that weren't supposed to move that way. Normally he was so graceful and agile now he saw him grappling in the air.
John wasn't sure how he got his legs to work again and get to his friend. The relief of seeing him still conscious was palpable.
"Sherlock, you idiot!"
"John…John?' He moaned confused and bloody from his little spill with gravity.
"What happened!"
"Well…"He started with much difficulty "You know what they say what goes up, and all that."
"How the hell did you survive" He breathed not accusingly or angry at this point as he was too flooded with relief to be busied with screaming at his flat mate.
"Must have…" He groaned in the middle of his sentence trying to get up, John quickly stuck his arms under his back to lift him at an angle so he could breathe better. His medical training had taught him to make the victim stay still after trauma or a fall but he knew Sherlock would still squirm and breathing was pretty high up there on the priority list. "I must have hit something on the way down which slowed my speed and there for decreased the impact of the concrete, how fortunate for the ground" was he joking, was he actually joking at a time like this? John thought irate, he wanted to throttle him, but of course that went against training too. He wanted to go off and yell, and ask him what they hell he was thinking but he pushed it to the back burner and took a deep breath. He needed to access the damage first.
"Sherlock…can you tell me what day it is." First the man in question rolled his eyes at this simple question, but then seemed to be confused with the effort of coming up with an answer.
"I never know the day" He dismissed.
"So the answer is no, you can't tell me." John sighed.
"Uff see I'm getting slow, it's probably best I'm dying now "
"Sherlock!"
"What? once my intellect goes not much left of me worth preserving is there" he laughed bitterly
"Perhaps they should be notified I'm not the best organ donor considering I have no heart… don't worry John you'll find some way to pay the rent"
"Shut up! Shut up!" They were silent for a long time each other staring intently at the other and in that un-breathable silence John couldn't help but let out a sad small laugh
"I fail to see how anything could be so funny at the moment and you thought I was being morbid" Sherlock quirked his eyebrow seeming almost put out.
"It's just…the great Sherlock Holmes was…wrong"
Sherlock flinched indignantly, "Pardon"
"You're wrong." John reiterated, the phrase feeling foreign on his tongue
"I got that the first time, thank you. But in what regard?" the injured man questioned impatiently.
"There is so much of you Sherlock Holmes; so much worth saving so much worth living. You're not just a man with a bloody brilliant brain. You have a heart, a huge one. One I can't live without. I need you and I know it doesn't make sense to you even I don't get it but…you're my best friend. We need each other; I'm nothing without my detective" Sherlock's eyes roamed over John's dissecting them for the truth.
"Thank you John"
"For what?"
"Not saying piss off." They both laughed with each other for a moment forgetting where they were and what was happening. It was a strained wiry nervous laugh and they both knew it but would never mention it. After a moment John realized the significance of what Sherlock had said, he had never been very good with sentiment or emotion so it was his simple cryptic words that held the most weight that meant the most. He was thanking him, for giving him a chance, for not leaving him, for being his friend. Sherlock; the man that had no friends, and weather that wasn't entirely by choice or not either way he had still picked John to be his friend, and that meant everything. He was not the heartless man everyone thought him to be, he felt just as deeply as everyone else, in fact he felt even more, he just didn't understand it like other people did.
Sherlock took a deep shuddering breathe; John could feel his back arch in his arms.
"I'm dying John." He stated as if discussing the weather, although for a brief second John thought he caught a glimpse of regret.
"No, no you're not" John didn't know who he was trying to convince more.
"Come now, you're a competent doctor. Considering the height and speed from which I fell and the angle I hit my head; statistically speaking I shouldn't be alive or not for much longer at least. Pulse slow and thready, breathing shallow, probably massive internal bleeding in the brain; explains cognitive issues, and most likely punctured lung, I can tell do to the difficulty breathing and angle at which my rib fractured. Now considering the distance we are from the closest hospital and taking in account the traffic at this hour even with people pulling to the side…I won't make it"
"Damn it Sherlock I won't let you die."
"I'm afraid that's not in your control." He struggled to get out between breathes. But John could tell he was trying his hardest not to let it show, Sherlock wasn't the type that died; it wasn't dignified enough for him, he was afraid to show weakness. They stared at each other challenging.
"Don't you want to ask?" He questioned suddenly.
"Ask what?"
"If they were right…about me, all of them" There was something undetectable in his eyes covered by the sarcastic and playful glint even though his panting.
"I don't need too. I know the truth. I'm not as dull as you make me out to be" John smiled at Sherlock and saw a rare genuine smile mirrored in his face.
"They all said I'd die alone…but I suppose…they were wrong…then again their idiots so it's too be expected" Sherlock panted his forehead clammy and fevered with the effort, his dark curls stuck wildly to it from the sweat.
"How did you manage it John?" The doctor stared at his friend his arms shaking, drinking up every word his friend said, willing him to keep talking. He feared if he blinked or breathed for a second he would disappear. He shook his head confused and not trusting his voice.
"To…be….my best…and only friend" John could feel his vision blur from the building tears and any other time he would be afraid to show them in front of his friend. Sherlock's eyes widened with the horror of not being able to breathe, he reached out a trembling hand and fisted it in the doctor's jumper.
"John…" He gasped as if he were trying to anchor himself to something.
"Sherlock" Johns voice grew with alarm when the man's breathing only became more labored and his icy blue pools of eyes shut tight.
"Sherlock! Keep breathing…Sherlock!" Then after the terrible panting and gasping, after the convulsing and pain…there was silence.
"Sherlock?" He started hesitantly until his voice rose to panic than commanding and pleading then anger. He screamed and cursed and shook his dearest friend to no avail. Only the deaf hollow walls of the ally hearing him.
"Sherlock, please! You bastard, you bastard! You're not allowed to die" He sobbed into the dark blue material of the detective's coat. Praying to nothing in particular it was all a dream, that they would get to the hospital and he'd be fine, and he'd belittle John for getting so emotional and getting tear stains all over his favorite coat. But he knew the truth. It's wasn't supposed to end like this, the greatest mind in all of London probably even the world, wasn't supposed to die in a filthy alley, chocking and gaging on his own fluid. This was a man who chased criminals, who jumped in cabs with serial killers; he jumped from bloody rooftops for Christ sakes he wasn't supposed to fall from them. He wasn't supposed to die like this, it just wasn't…Sherlock. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. And the facts were there, he couldn't escape them, this revelation caused him to weep harder, and shake his head like a stubborn child not wanting to admit it. He couldn't lose this man, not him, not Sherlock. But it was the truth, and Sherlock had always taught him you had to look at the facts no matter how unpleasant the reality was;
The great figure of Sherlock Holmes was still in his best and only friend's arms.
…
So I don't know about you but I had chills at the end of watching this episode. There were some really brilliant moments; when Sherlock was talking to Molly, the roof scene between Moriarty and Sherlock and the last conversation between Sherlock and John. Then John at the grave, oh my gosh. Excellent writing and absolutely superb acting! Anyway I have a hug list and strangle list for the characters.
Hug: Molly, Sherlock, Moriarty (yes I know he was the reason for Sherlock's 'death' but he was very funny) and most of all poor poor John!
Strangle: Mycroft! (you fool!), Donavon, Anderson, even Lestrade just for being stupid.
***CHAPTER TWO WILL BE POSTED TOMORROW***