Sherlock had always assumed his death would be an overdose. He thought he'd die in his flat alone and Ms. Hudson would find him the next morning and likely scream for half an hour before she even bothered to call somebody. He pretty much had his death planed out, that was until John Watson. From the moment Sherlock met the soldier he knew he'd do anything for him. even die, especially die. Life was never something Sherlock took much value in, but it took knowing John Watson to realize that maybe there were some people worth living for. And maybe John Watson was that person for Sherlock, and maybe Sherlock wasn't that person for John Watson but that hardly mattered at the end of the day.
Turns out Sherlock had been right (as he usually was) about how he would die. Somehow Sherlock felt it, maybe it was the tingle on the back of his neck, maybe it was the way all the hair on his body stood on end, maybe it was the way Sherlock had felt on edge all day, waiting for something to happen. And something did happen, on the way home from dinner, They could see the door leading to their flat, leading to safety. Sherlock had picked up the pace, John has complained that his legs weren't as long as Sherlocks and he should slow down.
They say before you die, your life flashes before your eyes in slow motion. Sherlock didn't know who 'they' were but they got it wrong. Sherlock didn't see his mom or dad, he didn't see Euros or Mycroft. He saw John.
He was beating the hell out of a dead body the first time he'd met doctor Watson and he was immediately intrigued by the man. The first thing Sherlock noticed wasn't the limp or the way John's eyes flickered around the room. No, the first thing Sherlock noticed was the slight tremor in John's hands a clear sight that he was anxious at the very least and at the most going through withdrawals of some sort but he wasn't on drugs, Sherlock could easily tell that much and he hadn't so much as moved from the doorway yet. He was a soldier, he was discharged due to an injury to his shoulder yet he had a limp and no real medical reason for it. Yes, Sherlock had thought, he would do just fine.
It took Sherlock half a dozen steps to notice the man following them.
They had run through the streets, and alleyways, and rooftops of London, and they'd only known each other for half a day. Half a day and Sherlock was already breaking his number one rule. Don't get attached. Less then a day and John was already following him around the city chasing a taxi cab. They had ended up back at Baker Street, gasping for air and laughing harder than Sherlock cared to remember. Sherlock knew John would stay with him. Of course, he did, he didn't need to be a genius to be able to tell that. His point was only proven further when the man came to return Johns cane. The one he used for his limp that he'd forgotten at the restaurant where they ate.
The same restaurant they were walking home from now. Two more steps and Sherlock knew the man following the was an assassin.
Sherlock would have done it, he would have jumped from that rooftop if it meant keeping John Watson safe, he almost did anyway if the text from his brother hadn't come through, Sherlock knew what he needed to do and he knew he'd do it for him, for John. So he lied. He told John that it was all just a magic trick, willing the man to read into his words cause Sherlock Knew that this was the last conversation he'd have with John for a long time, possibly forever. The worst part wasn't the way John shouted his name when he fell. It was the absolute brokenness in his voice when the group around Sherlock's body didn't let him through. That was when Sherlock really understood that the only person that had always been there for him was John Watson, that's when he understood a lot of things. And still he stood and watched John begging him to be alive, and he didn't say anything. Because if he did john would no longer be safe and Sherlock couldn't live with that.
It took another step to realize that John was the target, and another to understand that they didn't have time to make it to the door, a last step and Sherlock realized they were out of time.
Sherlock never saw John happier than at his wedding. He'd never saw him smile quite so freely. Sherlock had to leave early that day. He wouldn't see John for months after either. Even though the drugs Sherlock as miserable.
"Vatican Cameos," Sherlock said, grabbing John's arm and spinning him out of the way, easily trading places with him.
Sherlock thought he was dreaming when he saw John the first time after the Wedding. He was high enough he very well could have been dreaming.
Johns' eyes went wide as he started to look around.
Sherlock would have traded places with her. For the rest of his life he'd regret that he didn't. Not for her, but for John. john had to live through the loss of Sherlock once, he'd live through it again but after losing mary? Sherlock recognized broken. Sherlock understood broken. Not with fancy deductions. Broken was something Sherlock knew. He knew what it looked like on a person when your reason for living no longer existed, he knew what guarded eyes hid. Sherlock watched his best friend break that day. For the rest of his life, he'd never forgive himself. Good thing it was almost over.
The gun went off before the shooter even realized Sherlock had switched spots with John
'Anyone but you' Sweet Molly Hooper, the girl that Sherlock never ever could deserve. It was only fitting that shed deliver the words that would destroy Sherlock.
John found the shooter and took him down easily enough.
John had hated him, Sherlock was sure he'd never be forgiven. He could feel Johns pain and confusion and hatred behind every hit that john through at him. Sherlock was okay with that. He's known for a long time he'd do anything for this man. So if this is what John needed this is what he'd do.
Sherlock fell
John Watson was a good man. Even if he made mistakes he was still good. Sherlock had held him all night the night he finally forgave him, the night he'd fallen apart in front of him. Sherlock had seen it coming, and he was there to pick him up. They stood there for a long time before John finally allowed him to move them into his bedroom. Sherlock was going to leave him there. Even if he didn't want to, but John had caught his hand and whispered stay. And Sherlock did.
Sherlock's vision blurred.
He remembered getting shot, he remembered how to survive it but this felt different. He was already so cold. This was wrong and no matter who tried to scream at him in his head all he could hear was John above him.
"Christ Sherlock.' John was above him, leaning over him, putting pressure on Sherlock's chest. "You're okay, its okay."
"No." Sherlock choked on his own blood.
"Shh, don't try to talk," John whispered before yelling. "Somebody gets help, call an ambulance." Sherlock could hear the hysteria creeping up in Johns' voice and that's when he knew.
"Its real this time John." Sherlock forced the words out and lifted his arm which felt so so heavy, to rest on John's face.
"No. its okay, you're going to be okay." something wet landed on Sherlock's face and he realized John was crying.
"John, i, "
"No, no your not going to do that okay? We're not going to do this." and then "Please, somebody do something"
"John, its okay, I, I lo-"
"No, it's not. It's not okay." John was weeping now. And Sherlock stroked his thumb over johns Cheek.
"No." Sherlock felt his lips twitch up into a half smile. "But it is what it is," he said and he was awarded a chuckle from John. It was hallowed and broken by sobs but it was close. "John really i,"
"I know Sherlock. I know. Of course, I know." Sherlock could feel John's hand on his.
John watched the light disappear from Sherlock's eyes. His hand, that was touching his cheek just a moment before fell and hit the concrete hard.
"No. no. no." John whimpered brokenly, pulling Sherlock into his lap. A crowd had formed and John wanted to scream at them. To ask them all what was wrong with them. A man just died, a good man. The best bloody man John would ever know was dead and all they could do was stand there.
"Sherlock! Sherlock." John sobbed into Sherlock's shoulder, whispering I love yous to the man who could no longer hear them.
"What is all this going on I heard a gun go off? John, is that you dear?" Ms. Hudson's words were cut off by her own loud shriek as she realized what had happened and John tried to convince himself to get up, to move. To go to her. T goes to Rosie. But he couldn't move, he couldn't leave Sherlock lying here like this. He gripped the lifeless body tighter and rocked them back and forth.
"Sherlock, please, you heard me once before, hear me now. Don't be Dead. Sherlock please please Don't be dead."
"John? Hello?" John startled and looked up at Lestrade. Gregg Lestrade who had never lost faith in Sherlock Holmes. Gregg Lestrade who never made a big deal out of Sherlock never knowing his name. Gregg Lestrade who had dropped everything, on multiple occasions to help Sherlock with the most ridiculous things. Gregg who never gave up on him. Gregg who sat in front of John with bloodshot eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"Has anyone contacted Mycroft yet?" John asked dully. Gregg only nodded.
"What happened John?"
"We were on a date."