Author's Note: I know I should be writing River of Time, but I've recently become obsessed with Sherlock, so I just had to write something about it. Sorry if I use language that you don't use across the pond – I'm from America so some of it may seem weird. Unfortunately, I don't own Sherlock.
Time seemed to slow when he fired the bullet. I had been turning it over in my mind, trying to think of any and every way we could save ourselves, but nothing could have prepared me for the actual explosion. I'd half expected Sherlock to do something incredibly clever so that he wouldn't even have to fire the gun, but the way he looked at the bomb-covered jacket told me otherwise. Once I heard the gun fire, I let my instincts take over. I forced myself up and jump towards Sherlock, planning on pulling him out of the way. Instead, I found myself tumbling into the pool, Sherlock's body covering mine. Reds and oranges flashed into view as I sunk to the bottom of the pool. Pieces of shrapnel and debris rained into the water, grazing my arms and legs.
I started to swim for the surface when my leg hit something. I almost gasped when I saw him on the floor of the pool, red liquid mixing with the water around him. The gun lay next to him, his hand still clutching it. I was vaguely aware of a numb pain in my arm, but I didn't care. I swam back down, my heart beating fast, and wrapped my arms around Sherlock's limp body. The gun began to slip from his grip as I struggled towards the surface, my lungs screaming for air.
My first breath once we broke the surface was full of ash and heat. Moriarty was nowhere to be found, but I doubted he'd been killed in the explosion. I dragged Sherlock to the side of the pool, which was now ruined and torn apart. Blood was soaking through his shirt and jacket on his right side. I pulled out my phone, praying to God that it hadn't been ruined in the water. The screen was cracked, but it flickered feebly to life. I dialed the ambulance, placing the phone down next to me so that they'd trace the call and pulling my friends jacket off. I tore the sleeve of his shirt off to reveal a gaping wound from the shrapnel and pulled off my jumper, pushing it against the hole in his arm.
It seemed to take hours for the ambulance to come. I'd expected Sherlock to be unconscious from the amount of blood he'd lost, but his eyes remained open, studying me as I put pressure against his wound.
"John..." He whispered, but his voice came out raspy and left his lips glistening red with blood.
"Don't." I said back, knowing the effort it took to talk could drain him even more. The wail of an ambulance echoed through the night at last. I heard the footsteps and surprised shouts at the sight of the wreckage as paramedics ran over, pulling Sherlock out from under me and putting him on a stretcher. They tried to help me up and tend to me, but I waved them off. The pain in my arms and legs was becoming more prominent, but if Sherlock could stay conscious and aware while he bled half to death, I could handle some shrapnel to the arm.
I was led to a separate ambulance, despite my asking to be in the same one as Sherlock. The ride to the hospital was brutal, what with my wandering thoughts of what had become of my friend, the growing pain all over my body, and the group of paramedics surrounding me. I looked back through the windows of the ambulance, searching for a sign as to where Moriarty had disappeared to. The pool had been completely ripped apart, leaving only a huge crater and piles of rubble where it had once been. Only an hour ago I'd been forced through the doors, bombs strapped to my jacket and an ear piece stuck in my ear. Moriarty's high voice still rang through my mind. Only when the ambulance stopped and Sherlock was carried into the hospital did my racing thoughts seize. Now they were focused on one thing.
Sherlock.