I do not own Sherlock, BBC do.
Warning- Character Death, M/M AU
Note- It would make a lot more sense to watch the video ' Sherlock BBC- Sherlock/John- Pieces of A Dream. This is the fanfic behind the video. I know it's badly written sorry.
A/N- If you want to find the video just search LonelyMarshmallow in youtube.
Nothing happens to me
It always came as a remainder those words. He often had to repeat it just to make sure that he'd actually said them, they seemed like blank, empty. John Watson sat at the table, eyes cast ahead and glazed over. He'd been like this since he moved back into his old apartment, broken, forgetful. He often mistook the memories of 'him' as reality. Sometimes a single look out the window or a glance at something 'he' had held would remind John of the man he'd almost called a lover.
One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes would be the one who put it there
The gun in his hand, a single bullet. The laughter of his friend, the hollow echo of feelings untold. Sometimes John would stare at places he'd stared at before just so Sherlock would look at him again. But it never really happened.
Between laughter, John had said 'this is great' and he'd really meant it. But he could never recall how he'd sounded, he never remember the sound of their laughter in his cold, and harsh way of dying*. It had been a beautiful moment that came with thorns.
John fell for Sherlock, Sherlock fell for John. Dreams came to them, images of holding each other, a brief touch of hands; walking side by side and looking at each other knowingly. But neither of them wanted to fall for the other.
Sherlock stopped speaking and wordlessly looked at John when he thought the other man wasn't looking, but John always knew.
And then it came.
"I love you." Sherlock told him after they shared a long look at each other.
John looked at the gun in the draw. Sarah.
A look of betrayal, the lock of her eyes with his. The look that was meant for Sherlock only. Sherlock lifted the gun and without hesitation, shot Sarah in the back of her head, killing her instantly.
"Don't make people into heroes, John, heroes don't exist and if they did I wouldn't be one of them"
Sherlock looked back at him, John had the gun in his hand.
He didn't want to hurt Sherlock. But what choice did he have? Sherlock had overstepped the mark, he had killed someone. A woman that had done nothing wrong. John struggled to pull the trigger. But a single look from Sherlock encouraged him to squeeze it just that little bit more.
For a few moments Sherlock had never felt so alive.
John died in that moment, curled up every-night waiting for the sound of laughter that would never come.