Please God let me live...
Was the last thought of John Watson as he continued to bleed out in the afgahni sun. Not a very original thought, but filled with all the rage and greif of having his life cut so short.
The blood loss was getting to him, and his vision was getting fuzzy around the edges. The wet rasp of breath, the only sound in his ears. There was so much blood. Too much to walk away from. He had tried to stem the bleeding with his ruined shirt. It lay, useless, next to his injured shoulder as he stared at the cloudless sky. He was so tired. He would just close his eyes for a minute-
"John!"
Just for a minute. Then he would-
"John, no!"
The voice resonated around his skull, bringing him back to the present. had someone found him? Hope surged through his chest. He tried to call out but all that left his mouth was a hoarse croke. Blackness started to creep in again.
"John, hold on. Just hold on!"
Dimly, he was aware that this was not a voice he knew. His last thought before slipping into oblivion:
Please... please god let me live.
Then there was black.