What's my price and will you pay it if it's alright?
Take it from my dignity,
waste it until it's dead
Throw me back into the gutter
'Cause it's alright
Find another pleasure fucker
Drag them down to hell
Cast out... Buried in a hole
Struck down... forcing me to fall
Destroyed... giving up the fight
Well, I know I'm not alright
[=-=-=-=-=]
Burning.
It burned like a raging fire erupted from his flesh.
Pain.
When the sensation set in, that's when he knew what had happened.
Sherlock flew to the cold, concrete floor of the dark warehouse, landing face first without any notice. There was a slightly pain in his wrist, and of his nose. If it weren't for his certain circumstances, the pain in them would most likely be more than just dull.
"Sherlock!"
He heard a voice call his name, but everything was muffled. It was as if the world had been set into slow motion. He turned his head as quickly as he could, seeing John run as if he were on the moon towards him. He watched as the red dot on his chest slowly lifted off of his friend's chest before disappering into the darkness. He blinked slowly, the pain taking over his whole body at this point.
Sherlock tried to keep his composure, trying not to let his eyes close. That would be a bad decision. He felt the blood running down his face from when he first came in contact witht he hard floor. John was crouched down in front of him now, life returning back to it's normal state.
"Oh God... It's alright, Sherlock. Everything's going to be okay."
John said this quickly as he surveyed him, but Sherlock could barely understand. He clapsed his hand over the wound that the bullet had made, applying as much pressure as he could to stop the emmense amount of bleeding that was occuring.
Sherlock only caught a glimpse of John before he moved out of sight to tend to the bullet wound. He looked around the warehouse from his spot face down on the floor, and saw James heading out of the door. He flashed him a quick smirk and a wave to the bleeding man before exiting silently.
"Hello? Yes, um-, my friend. He's been shot."
John's worried voice filled his mind, distracting him from Moriarty. He wasn't too sure what was happening. Everything was numb to him. He wasn't sure how he was still managing to think, let alone stay concious.
"They're on their way, Sherlock. They're coming for you. You'll be alright. Completely fine."
John's voice slowly faded away from his mind into nothingness as Sherlock's eyes finally decided to fall close, dragging him off under the veil of unconciousness.