For the sake of this story, pretend that Sherlock hadn't yet "died" when John reached him.
This is a song fic. The song is "Hold On" by Michael Bublé. I heard it before and after The Reichenbach Fall, and I thought it fit quite well.
Any mistakes are my own, I don't have a beta. I never actually have had one... hmm...
'So, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you,' the story!
Didn't they always say we were the lucky ones.
I guess that we were once, babe, we were once.
"Sherlock! Sherlock! Let me through, I'm a doctor!" John Hamish Watson, M.D., Late of the Army Medical Department, pushed his way through the crowd of people gathering around Sherlock's body. A slim nurse tried to stop him, a man in scrubs tried to hold him back, but John was determined and could not care less about anyone besides Sherlock. "I'm his friend, I'm a doctor, let me through."
John finally got to the body and grabbed his friend's pale wrist; he was shocked when he felt a faint heartbeat. His eyes slowly moved up to Sherlock's face, and his eyes fluttered, further shocking John. John's grip on his wrist tightened, and he slid his hand up so he was holding Sherlock's hand.
"Our luck has run out, John." Sherlock laughed softly. A trail of blood came from his mouth, and John frowned. His own head was throbbing from the blow to the head when the bicyclist had hit him, and his palms were scraped up; he squinted his eyes at Sherlock in an effort to focus on him.
"What? Sherlock, we... We've never had any luck, Sherlock." John's voice was breathy and quiet.
"Speak up, John, there's a lot of noise around." Sherlock took a deep, shuddering breath, and John shut his eyes briefly for a moment.
"We never had any luck, Sherlock. Not recently." John told him, opening his eyes again. Sherlock was staring back, his eyes darting back and forth between John's, that stupid searching face that he had when he was trying to figure something out.
"Well, I think we were very lucky. Our luck just ran out." Sherlock repeated. He closed his eyes, causing John to squeeze his hand in a moment of sheer terror; Sherlock opened his eyes again. "Calm down, John."
John held back a sigh. "No."
But luck will leave you cursed, it is a faithless friend.
And, in the end, when life has got you down,
You've got someone here that you can wrap your arms around.
Sherlock was just staring at him now, so John began checking his wounds. Broken arm, two broken legs, at least three broken ribs, and severe head trauma. John hadn't seen a head that bashed in years; one side was nearly concave. There was nothing he could do, not here.
"Sherlock, we have to move you." John told him, starting to motion for the nurses to help him. Everyone seemed to start moving too quickly until Sherlock spoke up.
"No!" Sherlock's voice was struggling, scratchy, but loud. "I know I'm going to die. Please let me do it on my own terms, John."
John hesitated; Sherlock was right. He was going to die, there was nothing that could be done. "Okay, Sherlock. Okay, we'll leave you here."
"Thank you, John." Sherlock shifted slightly, and John squeezed his hand again.
"What do you want me to do, Sherlock?" John asked softly. Sherlock's eyes found his again; the colour seemed to have faded slightly. John looked away for a moment to compose himself before returning the stare.
"I want you to just stay here. Just... John, I'm going to ask you to do something, okay?" The volume of Sherlock's voice had dropped considerably; John nodded. "I need you to hold onto me. Just until the end, John. Please."
John didn't question it, didn't even stop to think about why, or how he'll feel later, or what Sherlock wanted. He just did it. He moved slightly forwards and lifted Sherlock as carefully as he could against him, pulling his arms around him. He tried to stay sitting up, but Sherlock was all dead weight and his body refused to move that way, so he just laid down beside him and tugged their bodies together. Sherlock sighed tiredly; John could feel the blood on the pavement seeping into his hair.
So, hold on to me tight,
Hold on to me tonight.
We are stronger here together,
Than we could ever be alone.
So hold on to me,
don't you ever let me go.
Sherlock clung to John tightly, refusing to let go at all, using all of the last of his strength to hold on.
"You can't leave me, Sherlock." John mumbled into Sherlock's neck, where his face was buried. Sherlock laughed humourlessly.
"I'm leaving everyone, John." Sherlock reminded him softly. John shook his head as much as he could in his position.
"No, Sherlock. No, you are leaving me, and I..." John took a deep breath. "Sherlock, please. You can't die. Please, for me. Stay alive for me."
Sherlock breathed in shakily. "John... If I could, I'd-"
"I'm nothing without you, Sherlock. When I left for the war, I had nobody. When I came home, I had nobody. Everything I have is you, Sherlock. I'm going to be nothing." John could feel the tears now, he couldn't hold them back anymore. They were falling down his face and mixing with the blood, and he could feel his body shaking.
"John, you are everything without me. But... we are stronger together. I won't be gone forever, John." Sherlock murmured. The people watching were feeling uncomfortable, trying to look at anything else as the men lay dying before them, in two different ways.
"What does that even mean, Sherlock?" John asked shakily. Sherlock just smiled.
"Don't let me go, John. Not yet." Sherlock inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. John could feel his breathing slow, but not yet stop. He held on tighter.
There's a thousand ways for things to fall apart.
But it's no ones fault, no, it's not my fault.
"I won't." John promised quietly. "But, Sherlock, I should've-"
"No, John." Sherlock turned his head slightly and opened his eyes so he could look at John. "It's not your fault, it's mine. I've been lying to you all this time."
"Sherlock." John dropped his voice as low as he could while Sherlock could still hear him. "You can stop saying that. I know that's not true."
Sherlock didn't answer. He just stopped talking and stared at John. John held his breath until Sherlock blinked; he let the air out of his lungs in one long sigh.
"It's no one's fault." Sherlock said softly. "This could've happened at any time, in my line of work, it... It's just happening today."
"Sherlock, I... I love you, Sherlock. We're going to get married." John felt there was no time for walls, not anymore, not now. Sherlock watched John's face closely.
Maybe all the plans we made might not work out,
But I have no doubt, even though it's hard to see.
I've got faith in us, and I believe in you and me.
"John... we can't, you know that we can't. Why are you... why?" Sherlock asked. His voice was fading, John could hear it growing smaller, leaving him.
"Because I love you, and I believe in us, Sherlock. We can be together, Sherlock, we can." John was insisting things that could never happen, making promises he knew Sherlock would break in a matter of minutes, but he didn't care. Sherlock took a deep breath.
"I love you, John." Sherlock squeezed John's hand. "I'm going to miss you."
"Sherlock, no, no!" John vaguely realized that he was screaming when Sherlock shut his eyes and his breath disappeared. "Sherlock!"
Someone's hands were pulling him away from Sherlock, unwrapping their bodies, putting Sherlock on a low gurney and taking him away. John was screaming himself hoarse, but not hearing a word he was saying, not a single word. Everything had faded to a dull roar, and there was a ringing in his ears that was taking over his mind. He was giving up.
So, hold on to me tight.
Hold on, I promise it will be alright.
'Cause it's you and me together,
And, baby, all we've got is time.
So, hold on to me,
Hold on to me tonight.
Molly had tear stains on her face when she went to get John from the room they had tucked him into while they waited out his shock. He was just sitting on the hospital bed, staring at the wall; Molly felt as though she were intruding, but that John also would need to come.
"John, we need you down in the... morgue. Please, if it's too much, don't feel the need to-" Molly's voice cut short when John looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes.
"I'll come." John said softly, like he couldn't manage anything above a whisper. Molly figured that he probably couldn't, and approached him carefully, taking him by the arm and leading him downstairs. He said nothing the whole way, just letting himself be led.
"John, it's just for the official papers, you'll need to confirm that it's..." Molly looked down at her hands and fiddled with her gloves. "I'm so sorry, John. If there was any other way, we'd do it."
John took the last few steps to the body and ripped the sheet away. Molly adjusted the sheet so it rested from his waist down; John fell to his knees beside the table and the body, gripping one of the pale, lifeless hands tightly.
"It's going to be alright, John. We have time, we can-" Molly began, but John looked up at her tiredly, and she stopped talking.
"Molly. He's..." John started. He looked back at the body, letting out a sob; he hung his head down, and his shoulders began to shake, like something was tearing it's way out of his body. Molly knelt down beside him, putting her arms around him and holding onto him tightly.
"It'll be okay, John. Shh." Molly buried her face in his neck and started to cry again herself. John held onto her with one hand, and Sherlock with the other.
There's so many dreams that we have given up.
Take a look at all we've got,
And with this kind of love,
And what we've got here is enough.
"John, we could get married at Scotland Yard." Sherlock offered. He was laying on his back on the sofa, his body straight despite the fact that he was far too tall to fit comfortably. He had been staring at the ceiling silently for hours, and John didn't even jump when he suddenly spoke.
"No, we can't, Sherlock." John told him patiently, not looking up from his newspaper. Sherlock sighed, rolling off the sofa onto the floor and laying there, face-down. John still didn't react to his theatrics.
"How about the Tower of London?" Sherlock mumbled into the floor. John sighed and folded his newspaper down.
"How about a nice church, or a park? I don't see what's wrong with a quiet wedding." John was smiling despite his words. Sherlock turned his head so his cheek was lying against the floor.
"We're not quiet people, John. We're Sherlock Holmes and John Watson." Sherlock answered. "Well, we're going to be Sherlock Holmes and John Holmes."
"Why do I become a Holmes and you don't become a Watson?" John asked, his smile widening to a full-blown grin.
"Because we're in love, that's why." Sherlock pushed himself up onto his knees and looked around the flat, his hair mussed. His eyes finally settled on John. "And I'm manlier."
"I was a doctor in a war!" John insisted, laying his newspaper aside. Sherlock climbed back onto the couch.
"I'm taller. That's how it works, John, you said so yourself." Sherlock adjusted his position so he was, once again, laying flat on his back.
"I'm sure that wasn't how I meant it." John got up from his chair and leaned over Sherlock. "Have a nice visit to your mind palace. Come back with a reasonable wedding idea."
Sherlock grunted, and John bent down, giving him a quick kiss before leaving to make a pot of coffee. Sherlock smiled and went back into his mind.
John snapped up in bed, breathing heavily, sweat pouring down his face. He had had another dream, another future that he had lost, another life he could never have. He sighed, covering his face with his hands and falling back in bed. He wondered if Molly was still out in the front room from when she had brought him home and forced him to get some sleep. He sat up again and rubbed the tears away from his cheeks.
So, hold on to me tight.
Hold on, I promise it will be alright.
'Cause we are stronger here together,
Than we could ever be alone.
Just hold on to me,
Don't you ever let me go.
Hold on to me, it's gonna be alright.
Hold on to me tonight.
John looked beside him in bed. He knew his eyes were playing tricks on him again, he knew that Sherlock was gone, but he couldn't help but pretend that when he saw Sherlock sitting next to him that he was really there. He took a deep breath and shuffled closer to the illusion on the bed.
The make-believe Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, holding him from behind and pressing his face into John's shoulder. John relaxed, letting his head lean back against Sherlock's chest.
"It's going to be alright, John. I promise. I'm here. It's gonna be alright." Sherlock whispered near John's ear. John nodded tiredly.
"Just hold me, Sherlock. Never, ever let me go." John whispered back. Sherlock turned his face so it was buried in John's neck.
"I promise. I will never let you go." Sherlock kissed him lightly. Suddenly, the door opened, and Molly was standing in the glowing doorway. The illusion of Sherlock disappeared with the new light, and John was left sitting by himself.
"Who were you talking to, John?" Molly asked, squinting at him. John smiled slightly.
"Nobody. I'm just going back to bed." John nodded to her. "Thank you, Molly. Get some sleep."
Molly nodded and disappeared sleepily, shutting the door behind her. The illusion of Sherlock came back when the light disappeared, holding John tightly. John sighed and held on.
They always say, we were the lucky ones.