Kinda JohnLock

Kinda Angsty

That's about it...

My first foray into the BBC Sherlock fandom. Yay.

Also anyone that reads 'Reading No.6' I will post the new chapter soon. Probably not today cause It's nearly midnight but sometime tomorrow definably.

Kay, enjoy.

They were running. The streets were dark and filled with litter, but the two men running through them moved with the ease of doing it many times.

'He's gone.'

An exasperated sigh, 'Clearly, John. But where…?' A slow turn, then.

'Look out Sherlock!'

A body, hard from years of physical work, shorter than his own, slammed into Sherlock. The bang of a gun firing rang out through the air.

'JOHN!'

The hospital room was quiet, the silence broken by the soft beeping of the heart monitor and two separate sets of breathing. Sherlock was quiet, sitting at John's bedside, holding his hand gently while images flashed through his mind, broken and disjointed.

John tackling Sherlock.

John's body jerking as a bullet entered his body.

Sherlock calling out John's name.

Sherlock pressing his expensive –worthless- jacket to the bloody wound.

Blood. So much blood John's blood, spreading across the ground. How could there be so much blood in a person? How could John still be alive?

Calling a ambulance. Begging for help.

Getting to the hospital, John being rushed away.

Mycroft arriving, talking with the doctors, trying to pull me away.

The doctor telling me that John, John, might not wake up.

Falling into a seat next to John's bed, the steady beeping making Sherlock relax in a way that the doctors reassurances could not.

Sherlock shifted, leant down and rested his chin on the bed, studying John's peaceful face. Sherlock knew that John's peace wasn't due to being relaxed, he knew that if John wasn't on painkillers that he would be in excruciating pain, would probably cry, certainly not be able to sleep. And, for the first time, Sherlock cursed his mind for not allowing him even the illusion that John was sleeping peacefully.

"John," It was a whisper, soft and intimate, "John, you must listen to me John. You aren't allowed to die John. You aren't. I used to think that attachment, sentiment, was all useless, but you John. You opened me up, you forced me to, to, to become more. And honestly John, I'm not quite sure I can thank you for that.

"Moriarty wasn't lying. Did you know that? When he said that you were my heart I mean. The heart is the most important organ in the body, even more so than the brain. The body can survive even when the brain stops working, but without the heart, he body dies...maybe not straight away John, but it will. It's the strongest and the most fragile organ in the body. Just like you John. You're so strong, you must be. You fought in Afghanistan and you live with me. If that doesn't say anything about your strength than nothing will…

"But…John without you… I… I need you John. I need you because before you I was alright and I was content with being alone and just my Work, but then you came and you opened me up like one of the corpses in autopsy and you bared all my fragile parts and… And it scared me John… So much… But at the same time, it was exhilarating, because I trusted you. Knew I could trust you, could trust you with the weak fragile parts of me and not worry about you breaking them because you wouldn't. And that feeling John was so incredible that I wanted more."

Sherlock sighed, his spare hand going out to stroke John's hair, still short from a combination of leftover military instincts and a lack of interest in it.

"You were the first person to think that my deductions were brilliant. Which they are of course, but you were the first person to see that John, and you never hated me, not when I deduced you, or crashed your dates, or shot holes in the wall with your gun. No matter what you never hated me. Got mad, yes. Got irritated, yes. But you never left John. You stayed...and I never told you hoe grateful I was to you for that...

"You can't die John, do you hear me? You can't. You ruined me. Took what I used to be and destroyed it. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worse...but...I want to find out with you. I want to see what will happen with you by my side John... I love you, you know? Not romantically or platonically but something more...but Mycroft says that it's always been something more when it comes to us... And, if you tell anyone this John I'll deny it, I think Mycroft's right. Me and you. You and me. We have always been more.

"So you can't die John. You can't leave me. Because if you do, so help me God, I'll go back to drugs. I'll go back to drugs and I'll stop eating and I'll start taking more risks again-" Sherlock's voice was cut off by a sob, soft and choked, but loud in the quiet room. "You can't die John. Alright? I won't allow it."

Slowly Sherlock ran out of things to say, his body drooped, sholders slumping and eyelids sliding closed. Within seconds, Sherlock was asleep, slouched in his chair, holding John's hand in his own tightly. Two sets of breathing sounded through the hospital room.