A/N: this is a small one shot set in conjunction with the final chapter of Years, Months, Weeks, Days. I would recommend reading that first, but this probably could stand alone!
The funny thing about death is that no matter how prepared you are for it, it always comes as a surprise. So when you don't suspect it to happen, it almost seems inevitable.
From a medical point of view, he knew he was a goner. He could feel 5... no 6 broken ribs, a collapsed lung on his left side and a searing pain in his right thigh, broken then. The less said about his left leg the better, he couldn't even feel that.
When he was in the forces he had always imagined that his dying thoughts would be about his Mum, Sister and Father. So when he got shot, he was surprised when all he could think about was Jam and how he would never taste it again.
When he first met Sherlock he imagined his dying thoughts would be cursing the day he ever met the man. So when he stared death in the face, strapped to that bomb, he was surprised when all he could think about was the fact he had left the bathroom light on when he last left 221B.
The day he became a father he imagined his dying thoughts would be of his wife and child, alas 'children' was not meant to be. So as he lay, broken, in the middle of the road, he was surprised when all he could think of was a certain Consulting Detective and his violin playing.
Indeed, as he felt the life slip away from him, he imagined what he thought to be Sherlock shouting out to him, begging for John to stay with him, and as that faded out, it was replaced by a solo violin.
It was a tune John had only ever heard snippets of, a couple of seconds before Sherlock realised he was listening. He had always wondered who it was for. Now his subconscious filled the gaps, joining the disjointed snippets together.
Forming a melody that played him out of this world.
A happy man.
(the tune can be what ever you want and is supposed to symbolise John in Sherlock's mind)
