Hi, everyone. Here's something that obsessedwithstabler and I cowrote. This is our first time writing Jawnlockkkk!
Disclaimer: We don't own Sherlock. We're going to go cry now. We don't own the cover image either, but whoever created it is awesome.
John Watson had heard gunshots before. The ear-splitting gunshots combined with the sound of bombs exploding were the soundtrack of his time in Afghanistan.
Despite the familiarity of a gunshot, John winced when the distant shot rang out and echoed in his ears.
The sound that bothered him the most was a stifled moan followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.
"Sherlock!" he screamed, dropping on his knees beside the fallen consulting detective. The bullet had lodged itself in the left side of Sherlock's abdomen merely a second ago but dark red blood was already staining his shirt.
Sherlock let out a pained sound when John's strong hands firmly applied pressure to the burning wound. He closed his eyes momentarily.
"Sherlock, no. Keep your eyes open!" John demanded, trying to keep his voice calm. "Say something. Pay attention to me."
"It'd be easier... to pay attention... if you'd be interesting," he breathed. "Don't be dull."
John fought the urge to roll his eyes. Only Sherlock would protest against boredom while he was bleeding profusely out of a wound in his side. "Deduce something about me."
Sherlock bit his lip against the blinding white hot pain that had begun in his side but now seemed to travel throughout his body. "You're not wearing a ridiculous jumper," he noted, forcing himself to maintain a strong voice. "You've just shaved and tried to cover up where you cut yourself with a blade."
"That's it. Keep going." John took a moment to glance at the wound. It was difficult to tell the depth of the wound, but judging by the amount of blood and the location, he could assume it was more than just a flesh wound.
"Your hair is parted differently. You've obviously taken more time to get ready than you normally would. You wouldn't do that for an investigation. You're clearly meeting with a woman tonight." His voice had become weaker but took on a slightly disgusted tone when he mentioned the date.
"Or I would just have you think that." Sherlock's eyes closed and John felt a fresh surge of panic. "Hey!" He lightly patted Sherlock's cheek. "Open your eyes, Sherlock!"
It took a long moment but the clear light blue eyes opened a sliver. He was losing awareness. The formerly blinding pain in his side was becoming numb. John's concerned features grew blurrier with every moment. "J-John..." His normally husky voice came out as a mere whisper.
"I'm here." Swearing softly, John carefully lifted his best friend into his arms. Sherlock's dark head lolled against his chest. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Sherlock's lips moved but his words were inaudible. Sirens blared and red lights flashed as an ambulance pulled to a stop on the curb.
John briefly resisted when the medics tried to pull Sherlock out of his arms. He stumbled blindly to his feet and followed after them as they placed Sherlock in the ambulance. When one medic started to protest, John gave him a look that quickly silenced any protest. Then he climbed into the ambulance and sat down close to Sherlock's head. A few moments later, the medics were working on Sherlock and the ambulance pulled away from the curb.
"Sir?"
John looked up and realized one of the medics was talking to him. "What?" he bit out.
"What's his name?"
"Sherlock Holmes."
There was a brief, stunned silence on the medic's part, but he quickly recovered. "And yours?"
"John Watson."
"Relation?"
Relation. The mere word sent John's brain into a tailspin. What were they? Flatmates? Coworkers? Best friends? How could he sum up the entirety of their relationship with a single label? He couldn't. Without conscious effort, he laid his hand on Sherlock's arm and gripped it tightly when Sherlock moaned weakly.
"He's my friend," John finally concluded. His words were insufficient, though. What they had went beyond mere friendship.
The medic nodded and made a note before cutting Sherlock's shirt away so he could examine the wound.
Unable to look, John turned his head and focused on Sherlock's face. "Don't you dare leave me," he growled softly.
Sherlock forced the corners of his mouth into a small smile, letting out a pained groan when the ambulance hit a bump in the road.
He fought to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids were a dead weight. Darkness lingered, slowly closing in as his eyes slipped shut.
The last thing he felt before the darkness claimed him was the sensation of John's lips against his temple.
Don't leave me, Sherlock.
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