The smell of blood. It's making its way through John's nose. He had smelled it before. Many times before. He is in fact an army doctor. Or was. But this is different. This isn't anyone's blood. This is Sherlock's blood. His best friend is bleeding out on the hard concrete of an alleyway. John is frozen in place. As a doctor, he would always be fast to act, but this is Sherlock.
Call Lestrade. Call an ambulance. Do anything. He is going to die.
"J-John," Sherlock cries out, clawing at the hole on his chest.
John snaps out of his trance. Taking a second to scold himself, he runs to his friends side. Dropping to his knees, he notices his hands are shaking and he doesn't seem to know what to do with them. What will make this better? What will make it not hurt so much?
Quickly, he removes his jacket. Sherlock cries out as John presses it against the wound. In seconds the jacket is soaked. Too much. He is losing to much blood. He is going to die.
"Stay with me, Sherlock," John begs, surprised at how much his voice is shaking. "Please, Sherlock."
"John.." Sherlock stammers. He coughs and a speck of blood seeps out of the side of his mouth.
"It's ok," John comforts. But he is unsure of who is trying to comfort more. "I'm not going to let you die."
"I-I'm..", Sherlock whispers. John has to lean in close to hear him. "I'm s-sorry."
Sherlock's voice sounds so broken and that, that scares John. Maybe more than the blood seeping through his fingers. Sherlock's blood.
"No, Sherlock. Don't do that. Don't," John cries.
Sherlock eyes have a haze over them and they keep dancing between John and the night around him
John picks up Sherlock as gently as he can. He presses their foreheads together and hears Sherlock sigh. "Stay with me, ok? Just stay with me, Sherlock."
And John holds him until he takes his final breath.
A/N Please let me know what you thought!