There is nothing I can do, except to grieve.

One fine day, I headed back to 221B Baker Street, I saw John lying down on the floor, unconscious. "Sherlock… Get rid.. of this pain.. for me.." "No.. John.. No.. I can't do it. I don't want to see you die.." "Give.. me.. the.. anaesthesia.. please, Sherlock.." John's face was pale, He is trying to utter every word before he dies.

"No.. John.. I will stay here with you, till you end your life." I hugged him tightly. His weak hands splayed across my back and I sobbed. "John.. Let me take you to the hospital.. Please."

"No.. Sherlock.. I rather.. end my life here.."

John's cold hands were slowly getting weaker. He is not uttering any words but I feel that he is soon going to leave me. "John.. Hang on there." I told him. He nodded slightly, and slowly his weak hands pointed to the kitchen. "water.. Sherlock.." He uttered for water. I nodded and headed to the kitchen and got him some water. Feeding him the water, he leaves a small smirk on his face.

An hour passed and I know he is getting weaker and weaker. But despite that, I am trying to ease his pain so he will rest in ease. He is resting on my neck and he is trying to hang on. I can feel his cold shudders and the slowly leaving me state. "John?" "hm—?" "You okay..?" "Yea… sure.." I saw him looking at my worried face. "I won't.. leave you, Sherlock.." He then continued lying down on my shoulder and I patted his back.

"Oi. John.. Oi…" He left me.. He left me.. No, It can't be true. His cold hands left me few seconds ago, and there is no longer anymore pulse.

Goodbye John.