All The Tears
John sighed as he trudged through the streets with a group of other survivors. About a year ago the zombie apocalypse started. A freaking zombie apocalypse. He had been on a business trip in Dublin at the time and his husband Sherlock had been home. He had searched for Sherlock every day, but knew he needed to stay with the group or he would end up getting himself killed. So many times he had to stop himself from running away and going to find Sherlock, but he needed the help or he was as good as dead. He couldn't just tell the group that they had to go the Baker St. that would be selfish of him. They had other places to be, and wih every passing day he felt more and more hope being ripped from his grasp. He knew he would find Sherlock at Baker St. He just had a feeling. The irony that Sherlock had gone through all the trouble of keeping John home so he didn't have to be separated from his lover had hit John like a ton of bricks. He was unable to make it back to Baker St. Well that was until now. Out of all the places he could have ended up with the group of survivors he tagged along with, they had to come to London, to Baker St. He had no idea if he would find Sherlock or if he would even be alive, but he chocked back tears, feeling as if all hope was lost when he didn't spot Sherlock anywhere, as they walked. Searching for shelter from the soon coming night.
/John/. Sherlock staggered out of a well-shaded corner of the house, incapable of any rational thought anymore (he couldn't remember much since having gotten himself bit in the arm just a couple hours ago) but he would recognize John's tread anywhere. "John?" he choked out, half-delirious but still very much human, hair plastered across his forehead in sodden locks.
John heard his name being called, but it didn't come from anyone in the group. He looked around and the others pulled out their guns. He knew that voice, but it was a little off. "Sherlock?" he called back, searching frantically, now that he had put a name to the voice. He saw him staggering out of a corner and felt relief that he was still alive, but then he noticed the way he held himself, the sheen layer of swear, and the out of it look to him. "Oh God Sherlock." he breathed and rushed over to his lover. "Are you okay, please tell me you are okay." He said feeling panic surge through his veins. He sat the taller man down on the ground and started to look over his body for signs of infection. He saw the bite on his arm and let out a dry sob, "It's okay, love. I'm going to make it better."
"John, John, John," Sherlock chanted breathlessly, pressing himself against the warmth of him like a lifeline. He shook his head. "I love you," he slurred. "I thought you'd left." He pulled him close and buried his face in the shoulder of John's jumper. "Sorry," he breathed. "You're just a bit late, 'm afraid. Went and got myself bit. I'm sorry..." He choked out a sob. He couldn't see too well anymore, but John was still bright and vital and clear in front of him and that was all that mattered, really.
John held Sherlock close, tears streaming down his face, "No Sherlock, I'm not going to let you leave me. I can't...I can't do that. Please just hang in for a little longer." he sobbed. He pulled off his med pack and set it next to Sherlock. He rummaged through hoping to find something, anything to help Sherlock. To let him live. He only had some plasters, some thread and a needle, disinfectant spray, ibuprofen, and incline. He sprayed almost the whole thing of disinfectant spray on the cut and started to clean the needle and unwind the thread. "Please Sherlock I can't lose you." he mumbled as he wiped tears away. He started to stitch the gash up with shaky hands and kept having to do them over. He glanced at Sherlock pale face and cringed, he was losing him, just when he got him back he was losing him again. He leaned down and kissed him gently, "Please..." he whispered.
Sherlock barely realized what John was doing until he saw the needle going in and out of his own half-rotted flesh. He wasn't entirely sure why, but the thought kept tugging at him that this wasn't going to work- but why wouldn't it? John was the best doctor Sherlock knew, he always fixed him, always- but Sherlock pulled his arm away, barely feeling the way the needle dragged across his skin. "John," he whispered. "I... it won't work. You know that. You have to... you're not safe. I have a few hours, maybe less, and then I won't be myself anymore. I might hurt you, John. I can't... you have to do it." He looked John in the eyes as evenly as he could, willing for his voice not to shake. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
John felt furry course through him. Why did this have the happen to him? Why couldn't something go right? Why couldn't he just be with the man he loved? "No God damn it! I'm not leaving you Sherlock. I'm not letting you die!" he shouted and felt hot tears stream down his cheeks again, "Please Sherlock, I can't let you die! I love you! Please I love you, I love you..." he muttered the same three words over and over again as he held Sherlocks growing cold body. "You're not going to die..."
"John," Sherlock said with a growing urgency as he felt himself slipping. "Shoot me. Right here." He pointed at his temple. "Now. Just do it, don't... don't think about it." He leaned up and kissed him with the last of his strength. "Please? For me? I don't want to turn into a monster, John. Just let me die human. Please..." he begged. "I love you. I don't want to leave... I love you so much. Thank you for coming back for me, but now you have to do this. Please?"
John was shaking as he listened to Sherlock, "I...I can't Sherlock." he whispered as he held his hand, "I don't want you to go. I can't go on if you aren't with me." he sobbed and glanced at the gun next to him. He looked back at Sherlock, and saw how sick and how much pain he seemed to be in. Though everything in his body screamed at him not to he picked up the gun. His hands shook as he pulled out the magazine. He emptied it except for two bullets. One for Sherlock, and one for himself. He reloaded it and looked at Sherlock with tear filled eyes. "I love you so much Sherlock."
Wait. Two bullets? Alarm shot through Sherlock even in his delirious state. He clutched at John's arm. "No. Not you. You can't. You've still... still got a chance." He shook his head weakly. "Won't let you. Can't. Not fair." When was anything ever fair? "Live. For me." He couldn't keep his head upright anymore, entire body starting to droop. He fought to stay awake. "Okay?"
John wanted to listen to Sherlock. To do everything for the slowly dying man that he loved so, but he couldn't. He couldn't possibly go on with out him. The first time , when he even thought Sherlock could still be alive, it tour him apart in ways he never wanted to go through again, and this time he would know for sure he was dead. For it would be by his own hand. "Sherlock I can't, not without you." He shakily lifted the gun and pointed it at Sherlocks head. He leaned down and kissed him one last time, when he pulled back he felt the air get ripped out of his lungs, "I'll see you soon, love."
When John's lips left his for the last time, Sherlock used one last breath of air to shout as loudly as he could for the rest of John's group to come over and stop him. "John's here," he screamed, and it wasn't very loud but it was loud enough in the surrounding silence. As rapid footsteps approached, Sherlock sighed in relief. "Not if I can help it, John," he breathed, "I'll wait for you."
John heard the footsteps and sobbed, "Don't worry it won't be that long. I love you Sherlock." he whispered and closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. He heard the gun shot and felt the blood hit his face, but he still couldn't process it. He opened his eyes and looked down at Sherlock, no with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. He saw the blood spilling out and the glassy look in Sherlocks beautiful grey-blue eyes. He sobbed and looked down at the gun in his hand as a few members in the group approached him. He couldn't take his eyes off of Sherlock and the gun though. With a shaky breath he lifted the gun to his temple, and pulled the trigger.
Scy: Okay guys today this fanfic was actually written with my good pal Kate.
Kate: Why did we do this? Why am i crying ;~;.
Scy: The feels man...
Scy: THE FEEEEELLLLLSSSSSSS *Dramatic Outro*
Note: The next chapter for Midnight Stroll should be up in around a week or so.