Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or its characters.
John Watson stopped in the doorway, leaning against the wall for support. In the hospital bed layed his friend, hardly recognisable. Sherlock was pale and weak, an oxygen mask over his face. His heartbeat was irregular and he was not doing very well. John sits next to his friend's bed, taking his cold hand.
The doctor can't stop the tears, knowing what was going to happen. Sherlock had been on a case and then he had been shot in the chest. The doctors couldn't do anything to help the man. John had been at work, getting the call and he had rushed here. He didn't want to accept it, but he had to.
Sherlock Holmes was going to die.
"Hey, Sher, how are you?" He asks the unconscious man, his voice shaking with tears. "Obviously not all right." He gives a forced laugh. "I'm so sorry." He whispers, resting his head against the bed. Soft, frail fingers brush his hair and he looks up hopefully. Sherlock was smiling at him weakly, his eyes tired and dull.
"It's okay, John, and it's not your fault." He confirms quietly, his voice small and almost gone.
"I'm gonna miss you, mate."
"I'm going to miss you too." John grabs his hand tighter. Sherlock lays his head against the pillow, tired and exhausted. "I'm so tired." He breathes, closing his eyes briefly.
"I know, but it will all be over soon." John says, hating how true this sentence was. He held back his tears, wanting Sherlock to think he was okay. Really he was breaking and dying on the inside.
"John, you're my best friend."
"And you are mine." John notices tears in Sherlock's pale eyes and he begins to worry. "What's wrong?"
"I'm scared, John. I don't want to die."
"I know, I know. I don't want you to die either. Please don't cry, Sher, or I'm going to start again." It was too late though. The older man already had tears falling down his cheeks and they just wouldn't stop. The two sob together for a few moments, not wanting to the other.
"Promise to see me again." Sherlock weakly says, slipping away.
"I promise." John answers, watching his friend. Sherlock smiles and closes his eyes, his hand slowly slipping from John's. The doctor watches as the heart meter goes flat, meaning his friend is gone. John sinks to the floor, only wanting one thing.
To die.
John sits on Sherlock's old bed, tears all gone. He thinks of all of their adventures, laughs, pranks, and good times. John knew he had to do it now so he could be with his friend. No, his best friend. If he did it now. If he sucked it up and did it, they would be together until the end of time.
He looks at his hands, running his fingers over the smooth surface. He grabs the bullet, popping it into the chamber. He cocks the gun, putting it against his forehead. He may not believe in God, but he sure as hell believes in Sherlock. He closes his eyes, gripping Sherlock's belstaff coat in his hand.
Then he pulls the trigger.
He had kept his promise.
Sorry that it's so short and the terrible feels. Also, don't forget to review!