Yeah yeah yeah, English isn't my language so shoot me now or just look through the fingers. Or if there is beta who wants to do the job, let me know.
One shot.
WARNING! The main characters' deaths.
Got inspiration from my own story There is still nightmares, what is far more fluffy than this one.
#
It had never should ended like that. Never. Sherlock was fought through the three years to keep John safe and alive.
But there they were, in their old flat, Sherlock holding John in his arms, bullet hole in the window, and the hole in John.
John, his blood bleeding through Sherlock's fingers and he couldn't stop it.
"You're alive." John smiled through the pain, his eyes locked to his friend. Sherlock couldn't say anything, he looked back and John nodded, noticing how much it hurt Sherlock, how sorry he was. John sighed and pushed his head against Sherlock's chest and closed his eyes. Sherlock curled himself around John. He didn't hear the ambulance or police cars coming up the street or saw the lights. He didn't hear Lestrade's and Mycroft's shouts.
His world was focused around John. John in his arms he rocked back and forth, like shooting a child.
"No nightmares anymore John." He whispered when John's body suddenly felt much heavier.
He never noticed how his brother stopped on the doorway.
He never noticed how Lestrade tried to speak to him, asked him let go of John and finally gave up. They let him be with John.
#
Two days later Sherlock shot Moran.
The bullet hit through the heart.
After that Sherlock disappeared.
But Mycroft found him week later.
Sherlock, curled on John's grave, holding John's dog tags. He had just died there. Maybe the reason was cold and lack of food and water and the exhaustion.
But Mycroft knew, Sherlock's heart had broken the day when John had died.
