John ran his fingers through his graying hair and pushed himself out of his chair. It took far too much effort; the side effects of growing old. He grunted and groaned as his bones creaked, and his weak muscles had to be forced to cooperate. Looking over at Sherlock, he sighed softly. It wouldn't be long before John wouldn't even be able to get out of bed. He had decided that it would be best to not tell Sherlock about his test results. It wasn't as if they could change much anyway. Smiling softly, he asked, "Since I'm up, do you want some tea?"
Sherlock glanced up from the book he was reading, sliding his reading glasses down his nose. "Tea would be good." They were both growing older, even the detective's dark hair was starting to go gray around his temples and crown. He watched John go into the kitchen with what looked like a bit of difficulty, but that could be put down as old injuries acting up. He had his fair share of days where his joints ached, so it wasn't too surprising, really.
John fumbled with the kettle, filled it with water, and turned it on to boil. While he waited, he pulled down two cups from the cupboard, retrieved the sugar from the back of the counter, and shuffled over to the fridge, grabbing the milk. He brought everything back to the counter, and leaned on it with both hands, exhaling shakily. His hip hurt, and it was only going to get worse. Even the strong medications the doctor had prescribed for him weren't working. Of course, that was to be expected when your body was betraying you, and tearing itself apart.
Not hearing John putter around made Sherlock get up and shuffle into the kitchen to stand behind his partner. He placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder, butting heads gently. "Penny for your thoughts?" He frowned at the blonde, watching him for a moment before checking on his experiment as a means of appearing busy so as not to corner John if he didn't feel like talking. The detective had learned by now trying to get John to talk when he didn't want to was a lot like poking a hungry bear.
John straightened up and turned to look at Sherlock. "Hmm? Oh, I'm just a bit tired." He said, voice entirely neutral now, and not showing any of the pain which was racking his body. He took a few steps toward Sherlock, and looked at what his partner was looking at, "How's the experiment?" He inquired, as means to change the topic.
Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat, sticking a slide under the microscope and adjusting it. "Well enough. There was only a marginal change since four hours ago and I had anticipated more. Perhaps it has not been given enough exposure." He got up, bustling around their kitchen to finish the tea for them. Clearly John was miles away. He turned to smile at his partner, putting a hand over his, "tea and crap telly?"
John blinked hard and focused on Sherlock again. He managed a smile for his partner, "Sounds lovely." He said, squeezing Sherlock's hand, before he hobbled over to the counter and grabbed his cup of tea. "I'm not sure what's on at this time of night, but we can always put a DVD in if there's-" John suddenly had to lean on the counter, squeezing his eyes shut and biting back a groan. After a moment, he was able to breathe again and gripped his cup tightly, "-if there's nothing else on." He finished, not looking at Sherlock as he shuffled back toward the sitting room.
Smiling at the return of the affection, grabbing his tea and going into the sitting room. He had gone over to look at their film collection when John's words stopped abruptly and Sherlock looked over in concern. This thoughts immediately went to possible reasons he could have stopped, those sharp blue eyes looking over his partner quickly, analyzing. Something was definitely wrong. It wasn't a heart attack, there were no other symptoms. What was it? "Perhaps we should get you to A&E." Five years ago, he wouldn't have bothered suggesting it so late at night, but they were older now- there were more health risks.
"I'm fine." John insisted, shaking his head and taking a seat, wincing. Going to the A&E would only mean more money, pain, and inconvenience, and there was nothing they could really do for him, anyway. "Find anything you want to watch?" He asked, looking up at Sherlock and sipping at his tea, "We haven't watched any of the old Bond films for ages. Or perhaps we could watch a fantasy film, like the third part of The Hobbit?" John kept up with the suggestions, trying to keep Sherlock's mind occupied. "You pick."
Sherlock kept his eyes on John stubbornly, but conceded by looking back to their collection with lackluster attention. He settled on one of their favorite movies, they had watched it on their one year anniversary and it held rather a bit of sentimental value. Putting it in the DVD player, he took a seat next to John, pulling a blanket around them and picked up his tea. His attention wasn't on the film very often, mostly just watching his partner out of the corner of his eye.
John smiled when he saw the opening credits and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, just as he did when they were younger. He watched the film, but it was hard to pay attention when something just didn't feel right in his body. It was different then what he had recently been experiencing, but John couldn't explain it. About halfway through the film, he sat up a little, and said quietly, "I...I need to go to bed. I'm sorry. You can still watch this, if you want." He cast aside his part of the blanket, and slowly, shakily stood. This was too soon, wasn't it? He couldn't be going downhill this quickly. It shouldn't be possible. The worst feeling, John deciding, is knowing that your life was ending soon, and that nothing can be done to stop it. Leaning down, he kissed Sherlock on the forehead. "I'll see you soon, love." He said quietly, before he headed down the hallway to their room.
Sherlock kept a hand on John's knee while they watched, his brow creasing in worry and confusion when his partner got up and left. He wasn't in the mood for watching the rest of the film after the doctor had left, though he hadn't been paying too much attention anyway. He didn't move from his position for a long time, staring blankly into the coffee table in thought. The detective only moved when his back twinged in agony and he had to stand up to rub it out. Looking blearily at the clock, the time read 3:27am and he shook his head before quietly going to their room. Upon seeing John, he didn't want to disturb whatever sleep he was getting, so he reluctantly went back into the sitting room and stretched out on the sofa and resigned himself to a backache in the morning. How the hell had he continually done that when he was younger?
John awoke only a few hours later, his sleep having been punctuated with frequently waking up from the pain, and feeling as if his heart wasn't cooperating as it should. Finally, at around 6:45am, he rolled out of bed, and looked over, seeing that Sherlock wasn't in the bed with him, he stood, with much pain, and headed out of their room, down the hallway, and into the sitting room. He spotted Sherlock on the sofa, and shuffled over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Love? Are you alright? Why didn't you come to bed last night?" He said softly, gently shaking him. "Do you want breakfast?"
Sherlock roused at the hand on his shoulder, looking about in confusion. Where was he again? Oh, right, he'd slept on the sofa. He sat up and gave a nod, rubbing idly at his back. "Didn't want to wake you, luv." His face scrunched in fatigue as he made to stand up, his tired bones cracking as they shifted into place correctly. "I'll get it, John. Eggs and toast alright?" He pulled his discarded dressing gown on, ushering his partner to sit down before seeing to breakfast himself. He needed to check on an experiment anyway. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and got out a skillet and some eggs.
John resisted at first, but then sat down at the dining room table. "I have cancer." He blurted out, before he could stop himself. Why had he done that? Why did it just slip out, as if he were commenting on a shirt, or talking about the weather, or their plans for the day. John sighed and bit his lip, immediately following it with, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to worry you, and there isn't anything that can be done about it anyway, so I thought-I thought..." He couldn't finish, and instead folded his hands on the table, studying the numerous wrinkles and age spots. He couldn't look Sherlock in the eye, not now.
Sherlock had been thankful that he hadn't been holding anything more than a glass, because it had slipped from his grasp and shattered at his feet. O-oh, so that explained it then. Terminal, most likely. He looked at John sadly, stepping around the broken glass to get to him. It felt like someone had taken hold of his heart and squeezed. Not John.. He placed his own shaking hand over this partner's, beseeching him to look at him. "H-how long?" When had his voice gotten so shaky? It felt like his world was caving in around him and he needed answers.
John grasped Sherlock's hand, and stared at it, running his other hand slowly along it, feeling its roughness. He blinked hard several times, before he managed to look up at Sherlock, and said quietly, "At this point, it's...anytime. I could go on for a few weeks, or I could go to bed tonight and not wake up. The doctors aren't sure." He exhaled shakily, and brought Sherlock's hand to his lips, kissing it softly. He rested his forehead against Sherlock's hand, willing himself not to cry. He had to be strong, for Sherlock, "So if there's...if there's anything you want to do together, we...we should do it soon." He said softly, looking up at Sherlock. The man looked positively terrified, and it broke John's heart.
Thinking about life without John made a lump rise into his throat, making it hard to breathe. He knew he couldn't do it- refused to do it. If it was John's time to go, it was his as well. He would be lost without his blogger in all aspects of his life. Any moment could be their last? Sherlock's mind was racing with all the things they still had yet to do and wouldn't accomplish. He ran a shaky hand over his face and was startled out of his thoughts when something hit his hand. Looking down on it, he realized it was a tear from his own face. "I..whatever you want to do, it will be done." Looking at John's familiar face and knowing he wasn't going to wake up to it for much longer Sherlock didn't know what to say.
John shakily stood, and looked up at Sherlock, before he slowly pulled his lover into a hug, burying his face in the man's shirt. "I just want you. I want you to be with me. Please, just don't leave me." He said, voice breaking as he clutched Sherlock tighter. John could feel trembling now, and wasn't sure if it was him or Sherlock, but John could only think of how scared he was. He would soon be taking a journey that would have to be done alone, into uncertainty. Worse yet, he would be leaving Sherlock behind. Poor Sherlock would be lost, John knew this. There had to be some way to help him. "Sh-Sher, you need to find someone else to stay with you, when...when I'm gone. You can't be alone." He sniffed loudly and buried his face more into Sherlock's shirt.
Sherlock clung onto John like a lifeline, face nestled into his partner's neck as he cried in earnest. He was certain he'd never been this distraught before- not even his brother's death had hit him quite this hard. Of course, you couldn't be with someone for more than twenty years without a bit of attachment. Pulling away from John, he put John's face between his hands, begging the blonde to look at him quietly before smiling sadly. "I'm with you through the end, John. You're not going anywhere that I can't follow." No one could replace his blogger- not ever. And if he had to follow him to death, then that was the obvious choice. The only thing he had left to lose was sitting right in front of him. Nothing else mattered.
John's face turned sour at both Sherlock's tearful expression, and his comment. John himself was fighting back tears that brimmed in his eyes, and he reached forward, wiping away the tears on one of Sherlock's cheeks, "No, love, you mustn't. There's so much you can do. What about helping Mrs. D'arcy next door? She's always got things she needs fixed. Or...or..." John succumbed to his own tears, and closed his eyes, trying to compose himself as the streams went down his cheeks. He was feeling weak. It couldn't be tonight. It just couldn't. He had to at least make it through the day, for Sherlock's sake. "We don't know what's waiting on the other side. You shouldn't have to step into...into the blackness. Not while you still have time left." He said quietly, looking up at Sherlock.
"John..Love. You are all I have left, and I'm not going to let you be alone. I made a promise, didn't I?" He had, a long time ago. When he had returned from his three year absence, he'd promised John he wouldn't leave him again. And once again when they were married- he couldn't just go back on a vow. "I don't want to know what life will be like without you. If I don't go with you, I know I will not be far behind." Leaning forward, Sherlock pressed a passionate kiss to John's lips, trying to make him understand.
John kissed him back, tasting the saltiness of their mixed tears on his lips. He pulled close to Sherlock, and kissed him for a long time, before he pulled away. Clinging to Sherlock, he exhaled shakily. He didn't feel as if he could stand anymore. "C-can we go sit in the sitting room? Or...or I could sit back down while you make breakfast. I just...I need to sit." He said quietly, pulling away from Sherlock, but taking a hold of his hand again. "Should we...should I write a note? For-for whoever finds us? Or should I call someone?" He asked, voice small.
Sherlock shook his head, wrapping an arm around John's waist. "Lets..Can we go back to bed, John? P-please?" God, he just wanted one more night with his husband and he would pray to whoever he needed in order for that to happen. He would help John get to wherever he wanted to go, but he wasn't going to leave him for one minute. Sherlock licked his lips which were suddenly far too dry, trying to come up with a correct answer. "I could..call Donovan. Or write a note for Mrs. D'arcy." Since Lestrade retired, Sally Donovan had taken his spot and even becoming somewhat like a friend to the pair of them.
"Bed sounds good." John said softly, putting his arm around Sherlock's back, and started walking in the direction of their bedroom. "Sally would...she would understand, and Mrs. D'arcy might not stop by for days." He swallowed hard, and drew in a rather shallow breath. "Oh Sherlock, I'm scared." John's voice was quiet, he wasn't even sure if Sherlock heard him. John just held close to Sherlock, and walked with him. "Do you need anything? You didn't get your morning tea." He noted.
Sherlock got them both to bed, and oh god his heart was breaking in two the more John struggled. Fixing the blankets around his partner, he bent and pressed his lips to his before running a hand through the short graying hair. "Don't go without me..I'll be right back, love." He gave his partner's hand a squeeze before going into the bathroom and raiding the medicine cabinet, finding a bottle of sleeping pills that he'd recently been prescribed. Taking the bottle and a glass of water back to the bedroom, he crawled in next to John, putting his head on his shoulder, long fingers tracing over the old gunshot wound.
John swallowed thickly, eyeing the pills. "Is that how...how you're going to..." He couldn't finish his sentence as his voice choked a little. He brought a hand to Sherlock's on his shoulder, and squeezed it tightly, his eyes watering again. He ran his finger over Sherlock's wedding band on his finger, and smiled softly, "Happiest day of my life." He murmured, "Everything was lovely. So wonderful." He let out a sigh, finding it harder to breathe. It was as if, now that his secret was out, his body was alright with giving up. John was still holding on, though. He would fight as long as he could.
Sherlock hummed, smiling as he watched John's fingers trace over the ring on his own. "It may have been the happiest day of your life, but it was the beginning of mine." Nodding, Sherlock reached over for them, dumping the remainder of the bottle into his hand. One pill had enough power to knock him out for twelve hours. Ten would surely be enough to kill him..He downed them without a second thought, chasing the chalky mouthful with the glass of water and resuming his position pillowed on John's shoulder. "It was raining then. We were caught in a downpour on our way to the reception. I..couldn't take my eyes off of you, especially with your nieces and nephew." He paused, wetting his lips as he screwed his eyes shut before looking up at his lover. "My biggest regret is still being unable to adopt. You would have been the best father."
John watched as Sherlock took the pills, instinctively wanting to reach out and stop him, but John knew the reasoning. He swallowed hard, "And so would you." He replied, "You would have taught our children science, and deduction, and observing instead of just seeing." He drew in a shaky breath. "I remember the rain. And then, on our honeymoon, when we had that stupid fight about whether or not to turn on the heater in the hotel?" He let out a throaty chuckle, which was followed by a series of coughs. "Then we made it up later." He remembered, reaching over and stroking Sherlock's cheek. It took all of his effort, because his limbs felt extremely heavy. "And then we didn't have any arguments the rest of the trip." He shivered a little, even though he wasn't cold. John stared up at the ceiling, wondering how long it would be. Not long, surely, but if Sherlock went before he did...well, at least his husband wouldn't have to watch him go. He clung to Sherlock a little tighter, but was weakening by the minute.
His eyelids were getting difficult to lift, Sherlock was fighting to keep them open. While he still could, he sent a text to Sally that simply read 'Send coroner. 221B. -SWH'. He laughed tiredly, gripping the material under his arthritic fingers. "I remember. The make-up sex was always the best after I'd done something stupid." A tear ran down his eye, but the smile never left his face. "Sometimes I would intentionally pick a fight so we would make-up later. I still don't know whether you knew or not.." He let his eyes shut and he could feel himself drifting to sleep. "I love you, John Watson-Holmes..you have been astounding. I pray that I stay with you in the darkness." His words were slurred and his grip relaxed. He took a great sigh before letting himself fall to sleep.
John smiled when Sherlock mentioned that, "Oh, I knew. I figured it out." He mumbled, and moved his eyes over to Sherlock as he watched him type out the message to Donovan. When Sherlock's hand relaxed in his, he panicked, "Sherlock? Sherlock?" He asked, looking down at him, for he couldn't move. When he realized what had happened, that Sherlock was now sleeping, and would soon slip away, John lay there and cried silent tears. "I love you, Sherlock." He told him softly, "You mean everything to me. I can't thank you enough. You're brilliant." He drew in a shallow breath, and closed his eyes, knowing it wouldn't be long now. With his last strength, he squeezed Sherlock's hand tightly, and drifted off into the unknown.