Naka-kohai is writing! da crap, man.
well, i don't entirely suck so heres a thing.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN. SHERLOCK BELONGS TO BBC AND SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE(though i also believe it's in the public domain as well)
No.
Falling. Falling.
This isn't real.
I'm pushed to the ground by a biker, the crack of my own head hitting the pavement drowning out my best friend's.
Get up. Head throbs, don't care. Have to get to him...
Blood. Rivers of it.
Raining. Is the sky crying out in anguish?
Words. Don't know what I say. Something to do with friend. Sherlock.
Blood.
No. Please no.
I squeeze his wrist. I can't tell if it's cold or not; the damp air rushing against it could've cooled it considerably. I barely get a hold of the vein for the pulse before it is wrenched from my grasp.
There...there was nothing. No life pre-sent-...
De-...Go-...
I can't say it. Can't believe...
He can't just-...
"Is that that Holmes guy?"
"Oh my God, it is!"
Nurses make futile attempts to control a fast-forming crowd. Some try to calm me down.
"What happened...?"
"Looks like he jumped."
"Poor bugger."
"'s 'e dead?"
Some nurses have moved him but the small crowd keeps talking. The nurses start to escort me inside too.
"Yah know what I say? Good riddance! 'e was nothin but a lia-"
My fist connects with a face, sparing no formalities and doing as much damage as possible. No sharp comebacks. Rage. How dare-?
"Sir, I know this is rough, please come with-"
Words of protest I don't fully hear fly out of my mouth before I can restrain myself.
They eventually get me into the building.
A/N: I'm tired and this is more a test piece than anything; see if i can get the hang of this whole " " thing. ^^;
I hope you enjoyed my angst piece.