I DO NOT OWN ANY SHERLOCK CHARACTERS! I just adore writing for them!

Never To Be Held Properly

The smacking sound reverberated around the square, like the sound of a gun firing off. I gasped and felt myself shaking from head to foot. Something seemed to change in me and my legs began to move, but wham- I was on the ground. How did I get there? There was pain in my head, exploding like a thousand bombs- I scrambled up to his feet and ran toward him, the motionless figure lying on the pavement, pushing past people. I felt the vastness of this situation clawing at my chest.

"He's my friend, let me through." I mumbled.

There was chaos around me, I pushed past the sea of people and saw him. Dyed in crimson. His beautiful face so motionless and broken. There was blood everywhere, dripping onto his scarf and soaking it red.

"Oh God no." I said. My knees smacked to the hard pavement next to him.

Sherlock, lying motionless.

My hand scrambled to meet my friends wrist. I grabbed it and felt desperately for a pulse- but there was none.

Sherlock was dead.

I shook my head in disbelief, hearing the noises around him as though from under water. Everything was happening so fast. I felt people pulling my arms upward away, from Sherlock.

"Oh God no." I repeated, watching as a team of medical men rushed out with a stretcher.

"Sherlock." I muttered numbly.

They took him away, away from me. There was someone who was holding me back still, and I wrenched away from their grasp. The noises were becoming louder, as though the volume had just been kicked up three notches. There was yelling and sirens. I saw crimson everywhere, the corners of my eyes going black… probably from the shock, I thought vaguely. I didn't know when I had done so, but I was sitting on the curb, and there was something in my hand. The phone. It was still connected to Sherlock's number. I put my ear numbly to the speaker and listened. There was static, filling the receiver. After a moment I chucked it across the street, almost hitting a passing car.

"John!"

I turned at the sound of my name. Lestrade was running toward me, panic filling his voice as he approached and looked at the horrendous scene around him. I didn't reply, but just sat there.

"What's happened? John? They said in my mobile that Sherlock-"

Lestrade cut off at the look on my face. I let out a low moan and buried his face in his hands, his name… it sounded like a curse.

"Is it true?" Lestrade's voice cracked.

I didn't reply, my head was spinning and my vision blurred.

"John? What's happened?"

Glancing up I saw Lestrade's face, pale as a sheet.

"He…" I gulped, feeling a long stream of tears welling at the corners of my eyes.

"He…" I tried again. "He… j-jumped."

I buried his face in my tired hands, wanting some peace from the rattling noises in my brain.

"John… I… why?" Lestrade asked incredulously

"He… he said…" I shook my head.

I'm a fake…

Sherlock voice rang in my head.

It's just a trick… it's just a magic trick.

I covered my ears; not wanting to hear his dammed voice saying those lies to me.

"He said he was a fake." I said numbly.

"He-"

"But he wasn't!" I hissed. I stood up so fast that Lestrade jumped out of the way. I was heading towards the entrance to Barts. "He was not." I yelled, feeling tears streaming down my face.

"JOHN!"

I ignored Lestrad's protest to come back and let my feet carry me through the doors and down the stairs to a sign that read MORGUE. I turned the corner.

Sherlock sat up wearily, looking around the dark room, feeling slightly dizzy. He shook his head, scoffing the limitations that his body provided him. His head shot up as he heard approaching footsteps and laid back down, closing his eyes. He heard the door open at the other end of the room and then a soft voice.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and watched as Molly Hooper turned on the lights. Sherlock sat up once more and Molly looked at him, a horrified look passing her eyes.

"Molly." Sherlock said coolly, feeling his heart still pounding. "Looks like everything is intact. I think I broke a couple ribs with the fall but everything seems to be alright." Sherlock said, surprised to hear his voice shaking slightly.

"Sherlock." She said, worry crossing her voice.

"Yes, now to business." Sherlock sat up, shaking slightly. "We must clean this up. And I must go."

"Go? What are you going to do?" Molly asked.

"I have to find them. The snipers. The ones hunting my friends." Sherlock spat, menace filling his voice.

"What about-"

"John mustn't know anything about this. Do you understand? Under no circumstances can he know that I survived-"

"But it will kill him."

"He will be fine." Sherlock lied.

"For how long?"

Sherlock didn't answer, but simply motioned to a rag nearby. "I must get going. We need to clean this-"

There were more footsteps approaching. Sherlock looked around, as did Molly.

"Someone's coming." Molly hissed, "Lay down. I'll go see who it is."

Sherlock laid back on the stretcher already knowing who it was. The uneven footsteps gave away it's owners. Sherlock heard voices, slightly muffled outside and Molly's voice-

"John no- you can't-"

Then the door banged open.

I pushed past Molly, who was trying to hold me back. She started crying.

"John no- you can't-"

"Molly. Let me through… I have to… I have to see him again." I hissed, feeling the tears running down my face. I pushed past her and on shaky feet I practically ran toward him. I saw him, lying on the cold table.

"Sherlock…?" I said, feeling my knees going weak. I almost feel but Molly caught me and whispered,

"H-he's g-gone." She stammered.

"Molly-"

"John… there's… there's n-nothing you can d-do."

"Let me go!" I yelled, wrenching my arm from her grasp. I turned to him but Molly was still talking.

"John please."

"Go."

"What?"

"Go." I said again, my tone deadly. I looked right at her and she must have seen the sheer dread and horror in my eyes for she began to back away.

"It will j-just be worse. J-John please. H-he's gone. H-he's d-d-d"

"Don't you dare say it." I growled, my hands shaking so violently that I balled them into fists. "Now go."

She backed out of the room quickly, looking horrified.

I slowly turned to him, hoping to see him sitting up, one of his sly smiles on his face and say "April fool!" but when I saw him he didn't move. He lay motionless on the table, his face slashed a deep red. His beautiful black curls were drenched in blood.

"Bloody hell!" I yelled picking the nearest instrument and chucking it. "Dammit Sherlock!" I shook from head to toe. He still didn't move. I approached and pulled a stool closer to him and began breathing heavily.

"Dammit." I muttered, looking into his face. "You bloody fool." I spat. "why are you so stupid? Don't you know what's going to happen to me now?" I paused and took a steadying breath. "What on earth am I going to… to…" I felt more tears in my eyes but I pushed them down.

"You weren't a fake…" I began, shaking my head vigorously and feeling a single tear making it's way down my cheek. I sniffed and wiped it away harshly.

"You… you didn't lie to me. Not this time you didn't. Sherlock. You can't just tell me our whole relationship was… was a lie."

More tears before I said,

"What's wrong with you? You're bloody brilliant and you didn't even know it?" I paused. "Of course you did. You loved yourself more then anyone…" I chuckled slightly. "You glorified yourself… and now you do this…"

"I just want to know why? Because this is not acceptable…. So you stop it… you stop this Sherlock H-Holmes. Don't you know that I… that that I need you?"

I heaved a breath and grabbed Sherlock's hand on the table. "It was always you. Sherlock. Always… You saved me."

My thumb began to trace circles around Sherlock's hand, following the veins and lines on his weathered hands. Those hands I had so longed to hold, the ones that I was tied to the night before. Those hands had brought me into that moment. They squeezed mine tight and assured me everything was alright. Now… now that lay limp on this cold table. Never to be held properly.

"I'm…. I'm sorry." I chocked. "I didn't want to do this to you… because…"

Hold yourself together Watson.

"Because you are brilliant and if I had known that you would… that you would do this to yourself then I never would have stepped foot in that room."

The truth was, I was doomed the moment I meet him. This mad detective would be the one who drove me to madness.

I looked into his face, wanting to see those beautiful blue eyes again. But they remained stubbornly closed. I hissed under my breath. My face hot from crying I got shakily to my feet and let his hand drop to his side again.

"I… I owe you so much, Sherlock. I owe you my life. And now… I don't know what I'm going to do. It'll be so boring without… without you." I chuckled slightly, feeling the lump build in my throat. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I…"

Words weren't enough. I couldn't stand talking to the silent form laying beside me. I took a step forward till I was right beside him. Turning I looked into his face, wanting to find answerers behind that resolute mask. But I just found more pain. I bent forward and brushed the blood from his cheek. Feeling it's warming under my fingers. My eyes downcast, I brushed my lips against his. For just a moment I imagined it was real. That he was alive and was kissing me back.

"I'm gonna miss you." I whispered, pressing my forehead to his. I breathed in his scent, for the last time. All of my hope for a future with him vanished. It was now just me and his corpse. My tears stained his face and I drew away, sniffing.

"Goodbye Sherlock." I mumbled, brushing my hand against his before leaving the morgue. Molly stood outside, pale and scared looking. I didn't spare her a glance but walked out, each step I took was staggered by my limp.

Sherlock's eyes shot open, already tear stained- he sat up slowly, hearing John's uneven steps retreating. His heart seemed to have a hard time to start beating again. Sherlock lifted a hand to where John's lips had touched his and closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the memory of his touch. There was his voice, cracked when he said his name. And his lips, soft and gentle but oh so desperate. It seemed the more he tried to hold onto them, the more they faded. Sherlock swallowed hard and soaked in all of Johns words.

"I didn't want to do this to you."

Sherlock growled, clenching his hands into fists and feeling his nails biting into his skin. How could John think this was his fault? Sherlock knew all to well who was to blame. And now John had to suffer because of his blunder. Sherlock closed his eyes again and laid back down, wishing he was an empty corpse and couldn't feel the fires of emotion raging through him. Sherlock unclenched his palm and remembered John's soft touch, for that was it. It was all that he could hold on to.