It's raining; it's pouring.
The old man is snoring.
He went to bed and bumped his head,
And he couldn't get up in the morning.
It's raining; it's pouring.
The old woman is snoring.
She went to bed and bumped her head,
And she couldn't get up in the morning.
It's raining; it's pouring.
The children are snoring.
They went to bed and bumped their heads,
And they couldn't get up in the morning.
One second before
"Sherlock!"
One second after
John Watson could almost almost hear Sherlock Holmes' body hit the ground. Logically, he knew that being that far away, as well as the wind making a difference, that he couldn't hear Sherlock hit the ground. But he also knew that logically Sherlock couldn't survive that fall. So all in all, logic was definitely not on his side.
Five seconds after
Wham!
John suddenly felt himself falling into the kerb, his head and shoulder taking most of the impact. No, no! That couldn't be happening, he had to find Sherlock! As quickly as possible, for someone with a new concussion, John got up and made his way to the body on the ground. People were already crowding around Sherlock. Somehow, doctors were already there.
Of course, that's not what John was thinking of. All he was thinking of is the fact that he couldn't get to his best friend.
Finally, he pushes through the bystanders and doctors. With a medical instinct, John grabs Sherlock's wrist.
Twenty-five seconds after
It's cold. Sherlock's arm. Sherlock's body. Sherlock's pulse. Sherlock's skin is white, and with one glance to his fingernails, the capillaries tell him what he already knew. Sherlock was dead.
Thirty seconds after
The hands pull John away. Which they can't do. No, John needs to have his flatmate. He needs the only Consulting Detective alive. He needs Sherlock.
One of the nurses finally pries John's hand away.
And John collapses.
Thirty-five seconds after
When John's knees buckle, one of the nurses- the same nurse- tries to hold him steady. It doesn't work. John completely falls, his body going limp. And yet, he still begs to see Sherlock.
The doctors turn Sherlock over, getting ready to put him on the stretcher. A large pool of blood is revealed underneath the detective's matted, bloody hair.
"Oh Jeesus. No. God… No" John's words are already slurring.
All of the doctors pull their attention back to Sherlock. Or rather, back to Sherlock's body. After all, that's all he his now.
All of the doctors except one. That one woman is still trying to make sure John is okay, which is awfully useless. She doesn't know that John will never be okay.
As John leans into this woman, from sheer exhaustion and shock, everyone, the bystanders and doctors just try to focus on Sherlock's body.
And then they take Sherlock away. Away. Forever.
Fifty seconds after
Just like all the others, that nurse also left.
So John stood there. Just simply stood there, trying to breathe. It's never been harder. Even being shot in Afghanistan, John could breathe better there.
His vision is also blurry, and it appears that his mind has simply turned into mush. No one is here though. Just John. The other families have gone away, and the doctors have taken Sherlock's body. No one had asked John if he was okay, if there was a reason why he was standing there. Sherlock was right, people are so oblivious to the things around them.
John has never felt as alone as he does right now.
Two minutes after
John hasn't moved since Sherlock… Since he fell.
He's just been standing there absently, not really doing anything. If someone were to ask him what he was thinking for the past minute, he wouldn't be able to answer them. A part of his brain told him he was still in shock, and should sit down, if anything lay down and raise his legs up, maybe get some liquid into him.
But John shut out that part of his brain.
So it continued.
Four minutes after
John heard his named being called. With eyelids at half mast, he look to his right, where Greg Lestrade was standing, with a concerned look on his face.
"John…?" Greg trails off, not really knowing what to say. "John, I"
"No." John turns back and looks at the floor again. He doesn't notice that his neck is hurting from staring at the floor.
"What-"
"You don't get to say anything." John heavily breaths out before continuing, "You did this to him." This time John does look at Greg. "You. Did. This. You-" John chokes on a sob. "Oh God!"
"Please, John," Greg begs him, "Just let me-"
"NO!" John shouts at him again, causing a few people to look their direction. "You jus-. You can't! He's de-. Oh God. He's…" John begins to flat out cry. "He's gone because of you. So." Sob "So, you don't get to comfort me!"
Greg opens his mouth to speak, but doesn't say anything. He does it again, and finally the third time, he says something. "John, please, I understand, but at least go inside. Just take care of yourself." He takes a breath before continuing, "I understand that this is quite difficu-"
John cuts him off by throwing a punch at him. Okay, Greg thinks, not going as well as I had hoped.
And although the punch did surprise him, John was still in shock, so his blows weren't as strong as they should've been. With minimal effort, Greg restrains the soldier.
As if he didn't notice, John pulls his head into Greg's chest, creating the restraint into an embrace. And then he sobs. Sobs uncontrollably, like a child.
"Oh God he's gone. Greg he's dead. He's dead!" At that, John collapses into the pavement, mere centimetres from the almost washed away blood of Sherlock's. No, the blood from Sherlock's body.
"Hey, John? C'mon mate, let's get you back up." But John didn't get back up. If anything, he sank down further. "John?"
Greg has never been so happy to be metres from a hospital.
Two hours after
John woke from a distressed sleep, not remembering much of it, just a lot of falling and rain.
And then it all came back to him. All. Of. It.
Just the thought of that made John sob, causing him to turn sideways into the pillow. Wait, that pillow wasn't his. Now taking in his surroundings, John realized that he was in a hospital. Great. Just what he needed right now.
"J-" Sniff "John?" A voice asks from the door frame. John looks over and sees Molly, her nose and eyes red, and a tissue pushed up against her face.
"Oh um. Hello Molly." John says, effectively ignoring the elephant in the room.
"Hi John." Molly replies, with another sniff.
"How long was I…?"
"Oh. Two, um, two hours." Molly says, looking down while talking.
"Two!-? Christ." John says, pushing himself into a sitting position.
"Um John, I think… I just thought that you'd like to know that. Well. Uh… The body outside of Barts, it was… It was Sh- Sherlock's." Her eyes don't come off of the floor.
Instead of replying, John just sobs into his chest.
"I'm..." Molly starts, "I'm sorry John." She takes a deep breath before continuing. "It's not your fault John."
John sobs again, trying to stand up out of the hospital bed.
"I don't think that's such a good idea John." Molly says quietly. John doesn't say anything back, but he does sit back into the bed. Molly can see the red around his eyes. "I'll, I'll go um, get a nurse." She says, already turning to the hall way.
Four hours after
Come back Sherlock, I know you're still here ~sent at 20.09
Enough of this game, you know I never thought of you as a fraud ~sent at 20.21
Sherlock please ~sent at 20.34
I'll tell Mycroft ~sent at 20.35
I'm not going to be the one to tell Mrs Hudson ~sent at 20.56
Sherlock ~sent at 21.32
Come back ~sent at 21.55
Please ~sent at 21.55
It's been long enough now ~sent at 21.59
Sher ~sent at 22.16
lock ~sent at 22.16
ill tell your brother ~sent at 23.24
come back ~sent at 23.38
its time for you to come back ~sent at 23.41
sherlcok dont do this to me ~sent at 23.52
sod all of sthis ~sent at 00.34
your not ealoud to do thiss tom e ~sent at 01.48
i thought thast i was youre friensd ~sent at 02.13
A drunk John throws his phone across the room of the bedsit. And screams. Like an animal.
Eight hours after
Sherlock stares at John, not unlike weeks before, when he performed an experiment of John's nightmares regarding the Baskerville. And just as last time, John was drunk. Knowing this information, he knew it would be safe to say three words to John, without the worry of waking up.
"I'm sorry John."
A/N Well. This is my first story. Criticism is welcome, whether it be constructive or not. And if you do feel it is necessary flame if you want. Ahem. Now, if you will excuse me I need to have a few anxiety attacks about actually publishing a story.