Gasping filled the room, then silence. Everybody in the room looked at John, but he seemed not to notice. He just stood there, like he was frozen. John could do nothing but stare at the boggart in front of him. The boggart that looked like his best friend, bleeding from several wounds on chest and head. John couldn't think. He could just stare at his dead friend, lying in a puddle of his own blood. Tears started to run down John's face. He began to shudder and his breathing turned into sobbed hiccups, which almost made him hyperventilate. Every sound in the room was dull to him, exempt for the boggart screaming at at him with his friends voice "This is your fault! I cried for you to help, for you to come to me! BUT YOU WEREN'T THERE! YOU LEFT ME TO DIE! Ignored my fear, my despair! And when you finally came...
It was too late! I WAS LOST! *YOU _FAILED_ ME*!!!" John's knees threatened to give in, when he heard a voice behind him "Come on, John. 'Riddikulus'. It isn't real." It was the same voice but nicer, softer. Two hands grasped John's shoulders as an attempt of calming him. But even though John knew it was his friend, the real one, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the blood covered scenery in front of him, afraid that his biggest nightmare might not be just a nightmare, but reality. His breath was still ragged and he had to swallow around the lump in his throat a few times before he could mutter "I-I can't",and broke down on his knees mumbling "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sherlock", over and over again, even though Sherlock almost desperatly tried to calm him down, until he lost consciousness due to being physically and emotionally drained.