Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock! A very short Johnlock fic. - Reviews are very welcome.
Bravery
Have you ever done anything you believe to be brave?
I thought I had until I walked into the lab at St. Bart's and saw Him. My beautifully pale skinned, curly haired God … but he did not belong to me and now he never would.
He died.
He fell to his death as I watched helplessly from the pavement below. I replay those moments over and over every time I close my eyes, reaching out to prevent his fall. Feeling nothing but emptiness.
"Keep your eyes fixed on me" His strong, knee weakening, baritone voice haunts my entire existence.
I'm so alone, eternally alone!
I raise a bottle of foul amber liquid to my lips, choking as it burns on its way down. The room is spinning and the shadows lurking hauntingly in the corners become HIM. He is clutching my jacket, pulling me from my chair and spinning me around under the stars. My fingers caress his dark mop of perfectly formed curls but all too soon he merges back into the darkness. The whisky losing its effect.
"Where's my miracle!" I half shout half slur at the yellow face mocking my pain.
On cue my dead detective perches on the window sill, his ghostly face pressing to the glass and his eyes – Oh those piercing eyes, drilling into my very soul.
"This is too much" I cry in despair.
I close my eyes and burn the image of my phantom into memory. I reach my shaking hand over to the table and feel for the service pistol.
I raise it to my temple.
"Shut up!" I shout at the ghost banging at the window. "I'm being brave, just like you" I pull the trigger and all is dark and peaceful once more.
"John - I'm sorry, I tried to reach you" Sherlock's deep voice is broken as he cradles the lifeless body of his partner in his arms.
"I'm too late!" he whispers. He leans down pressing his lips to John's forehead. "I'll be with you soon my brave soldier" as he reaches for the pistol.