Thank you to my friend Lilli. Without her persistence I never would have watched Sherlock, and now I'm thankful I did. This story is for you.
I don't own anything and I only played with the characters before putting them carefully back.
If you're offended by m/m I would suggest you turn back now!
Gasping for breath you strain against him. Sweat slicked bodies crash into each other again and again. Every movement sends shock waves of pleasure to the brain. You try to remain standing, but your legs shake with the sheer pleasure of feeling him inside. Nothing else exists, just the two of you trying to become one as breathy moans escape your lips.
"There's never been anyone like you," you tell him moving back to meet his gentle thrusts.
As his teeth sink softly into your neck drawing a trickle of blood, he whispers seductively in your ear, "Your soul is mine, forever, always."
He's marked your body for the world to see. They will know you are claimed, he will know by him.
The gesture makes you cry out, spilling yourself against your stomach. Weakly raising yourself it changes the angle, causing him to push deeper. A few rushed strokes and a strangled cry signals his own release. Grabbing your waist with slippery hands, he fills you with his essence, forever joining your souls. Your legs give and you fall to the bed as he lays boneless on your back, both trying to steady rapidly beating hearts. Feeling him soften inside you as the passion flows from his body, he wraps his arms around you tightly. You reach back with a shaking hand and caress his head which is nuzzled in your neck. He licks the blood from your neck and all you can manage is a small groan. Closing your eyes you start to feel the stirrings within you. His words breathe softly into your ear, "It's all your fault. You could have saved me you know."
Confusion takes over your mind as you pull away to face him. Impossibly weak arms tear you from his body as he slips out making you groan in pleasure. You want to run your hand over his sweet face and kiss those impossibly soft lips. Turning around sighing deeply you open your eyes. No words of comfort pass your lips. Instead a scream rips from your lungs. Before you is not the John you know with his soft eyes and beautiful face. What lies with you is something that wears your lovers face in a vision of death. It clasps it's cold dead hands around your arms. Hollow black eyes stare through you as you fight it's grip to get away. Your heart is thundering in your chest as it tilts his head and leers. You scream again as your foot gets tangled in the sheet trapping you there. It crawls towards you as you twist violently crying out, trying to get yourself free. Stretching fleshless hands, it caresses your face. A wave of despair washes over you and you stop struggling as it slowly creeps up your body. A feeling of cold dread makes you shiver where it touches your naked trembling skin.
"I'll always be with you Sherlock, even in death." It hisses as it's decaying mouth reaches for the vein that's throbbing out of control in your neck. Shutting your eyes against the tears that flow it's rotting mouth sucks on your flesh. You feel it's jagged teeth lightly scrape your skin. "You let me die. You're mine forever, always," it breathes with rancid breath in your ear. A cruel mockery of words spoken earlier.
"I...I'm sorry. I never meant..." the words leave your lips in a gasp out as it rubs it's dead flesh against you. The air has left the room making you feel suffocated. Your lungs struggle for any wisp of air they can greedily suck in. The world drifts away and you feel the familiar presence of your sanctuary beckoning you. Inside is a barrier against the pain this thing causes as it continues to ravish your body. Feeling yourself harden to it's putrid touch, you turn to open the doors. A small note in your handwriting catches your attention. You rip it off and hastily read the words out loud, "Come back later. Under repairs". The note flutters from your fingers as you fall.
"No," you cry out as you fall faster. A pain shudders through you and forces you back to the waking world when you hit the floor face first. "Ow shit!" You swear, and wipe the sweat with shaking hands from your face. Your eyes are still tightly closed, afraid you'll see the man or the demon that stalks you in your sleep.
Achingly hard you open your eyes hesitantly and look down to see the evidence of your dream. You run a shaking hand over the place where he bit the skin of your neck. You remember the whispered sweet nothings, promises of undying love as he left you weak in his arms. You remember the way his flesh peeled from his body, the way his hands felt cold wrapped around you and the way your body responded sexually to that.
Shuddering at the images you push the hair from your eyes and wipe your nose. You whisper sadly, "God, why can't I forget?" Your hand comes away coated in your deep red blood. The crimson colour the same as...something that's...just out of reach in your mind. Using the bed you haul yourself unsteadily to your feet, you climb back on the mattress and fall on your stomach. Burying your face deep in the pillow, long wracking sobs assault your body as you pray for the nightmare to end.
Well now. I never thought I'd hear the great Sherlock Holmes saying that.
"What?" Your reply is muffled by the pillow.
You know, asking God. The big man in the sky...
Turning your head slightly you say through a tear choked voice, "Are you seriously going to mock me at a time like this?" Sighing and closing your eyes tightly you try desperately to erase the images from your mind, but they've been burned into your consciousness.
Right, sorry...had another one then?
"If you're referring to another useless dream where you're the undead John...then yes," you say irritated. Turning onto your back you stare up at the ceiling and blow out a long held in breath.
Right...um...sorry.
"Will you stop saying sorry." You hear yourself say the words, but your mind tells you that you're talking to no one, this is madness, it reminds you... you tell it to shut the fuck up and turn away from John.
You...er...look good. I miss that view.
Imagining the smile that's probably on his face right now you want to laugh...but you don't. He's referring to your ass. He's always saying how much he loves touching your strong back, it's why he loves being behind you when you make love. You prefer to see his eyes when he comes, to know you put that light in them.
What I wouldn't give to touch that sweet peach again, but you know...dead and all that! so... Oh shit Sherlock... um... sorry.
It's too late, the word has escaped your confinements...dead...dead...DEAD! You feel a dark veil cover your naked sweating body and you cry out. It's sucked into your mouth and you can't breathe. Gagging on it you panic and thrash on the bed. You feel a tightening in your chest as you fight to sit up but pain tears through you like a thousand swords, each slicing into your flesh. It's too much, you can't do this anymore...you can't pretend...
Sherlock?
His voice is a distant whisper in the wind. You're standing on the rooftop begging him on your phone to turn away... not to look. You don't want him to see you fall from grace. You tell Moriarty you won't sacrifice the people you love so he can play his game.
You can say that now...love. You love John... you've always loved him. He changed you, he slowly chipped away at your cold exterior and found your beating heart within. Now you would rather die than let any harm come to him.
Risking a glance down you don't see him. Your heart soars, finally John's done what you've asked, and not rushed headfirst into danger. Smugly you turn to look at Moriarty and tell him it's over, he's lost. Moriarty laughs, you don't care. As long as your John is safe, you don't care. He's strong, he can go on without you. What you fail to realise is Moriarty is not laughing at you, he's laughing at John who is standing behind you. He raises his gun, smiles sweetly at you and a single shot rings out. Closing your eyes you wait for death to shepherd you...but she doesn't arrive. You hear a familiar voice cry out and fear grips your heart, you turn around as if you are in slow motion and watch the bullet strike his chest. Your heart shatters into pieces as his eyes meet yours and he crumples to the ground. You cry out as the world catches up and race to his side falling to your knees beside him. Gently you lift his head and cradle it in your lap. Pressing on his chest you try in vain to keep the life saving blood inside his body. It's thickness seeps through your fingers as his breathing starts to wheeze and slow. You beg him not to leave you, he has to stay. In a weak voice with blood bubbling from his lips he tells you, he'll be with you always. A last gasp of air as he whispers he loves you, then his body goes limp. Screaming you shake him, beg him not to go, to stay with you. You ask him what you're supposed to do without him as you lay his head gently back down. You stand and wipe the tears from your eyes when you hear Moriarty laughing. Facing the man who took your whole world, you beg him to take you too. Your tear soaked face meets his eyes and he laughs uncontrollably walking away. New tears fall as you look back one last time to see John's body lying there. Walking to the edge of the roof you tell yourself there's nothing left to live for. You stop at the edge, your toes balance with death. Closing your eyes tightly you tell him you'll see him soon and let yourself fall. Strong hands grab your coat and pull you back...
Damnit Sherlock! Bloody well answer me will you!
His voice! You hear his voice! You turn excited expecting to see him. Darkness greets your sight and your heart sinks when you realise he's not there. Your heart hurts with his absence...
Sherlock?...it's okay. Come back to me. Come on. I love you... Please come back to me?
"John?" You manage to rasp out. "Is that you? I can't see you... Where are you?"
Oh Sherlock I'm here. Just... Open your bloody eyes okay. Can you do that for me? Open your eyes?
You try and force your eyes open. Your head is throbbing and the floor feels cold against your back. You lick your dry lips trying to make sense of why you're on the floor again. Something is grasped tightly in your hand. As your vision returns you turn your head groggily to see what your fingers are curled around... it's a gun. Pulling yourself into a slouched position, the room starts spinning and the gun falls to your side. Grasping your head groaning you wait for the room to settle. Confusion overwhelms you because you hate guns, "senseless killing contraptions" you call them. So why were you holding one? Rubbing your eyes you stare at it, lying there all black and shiny. You shut your eyes against the pain in your head, and try to remember. You remember voices... You remember seeing John. Wait. No. That can't be right?... He's dead... You swallow hard at the word and a fresh set of tears cascade from your eyes. You touch the back of your head, and your fingers come away covered in your blood. You stare hard at your fingers, something stirs at the edge of your conscious. Your mind tries to put the pieces together, you're good at this, you can do this Sherlock. Gun... John... blood... Your mind repeats over and over. Then bang! The trigger of the gun is pulled and everything falls into place. Bile rises in your throat and you turn your head and throw up with the memory of feeling John die in your arms. You feel the wet sticky blood as its coats your hands. You watch yourself placing the gun against your temple. You hear the sound as the gun misfires sending you backwards. You strike your head on the bedpost, then nothing.
You bloody idiot! What the hell were you thinking?
I wish I was dead.
I can read your thoughts, you idiot.
"Oh, I forgot about that." Then I wish I could turn back time.
Why? So I get to watch you try to kill yourself...again! Is that your form of punishment for me being dead?
"No!" You scream the words at him despite the pain in your head. "It's so I won't have to watch you die again you bastard!" You scramble unsteadily to your feet and sit on the bed. Your chest is tight and you're fighting for air. Each breath captured, feels like fire searing your lungs.
Oh...
"That's it? Oh? That's the great John Watson's reply...Oh?" You get to your feet and try pacing, you want to be angrily pacing but your legs buckle and you sit back down. "You died...You bastard...You died..." Your voice trails off quietly as you run out of words to say. Clutching your chest you feel a sharp pain to your heart. "I can't do this John," then quietly add, "I don't want to do this without you."
I said I would always be here Sherlock, I mean that...
"No, it's not enough John. I need you here with me by my side. I need to feel you next to me. You give me strength I never knew I possessed. Without you...without you, the light in me is gone. I'm stumbling in the dark without you," you whisper.
This helpless feeling he's left you with is too familiar. The aching need that's tearing your insides apart, you've felt before. You need to rip this pain out, you want it to stop torturing you. There's only one way you tell yourself. One sure way to make all of this go away, to restore balance to your tilted world.
No, Sherlock. Please...You promised.
"You promised to always be here. You're not... here." You wave your trembling hands in front of you into nothing to prove your point.
Please, you're so much more than this.
"We all fall John," you say reaching out for the box beside your bed. You turn the little wooden box in your hands. Carved Angels adorn it's sides with wings...the irony is not lost on you as a shaking hand removes the lid.
What can I say?... anything... I'll do anything yo...
Interrupting him you ask, "Can you come back to me?" Your fingers wrap tightly around the syringe and the tiny blue bottle inside. Calm wraps you in it's embrace and your hands finally stop shaking. Lifting the bottle out and taking the syringe, you carefully draw up the precious liquid inside. Dragging yourself to a more comfortable position near the top of the bed, you sit there naked. Letting the cool night breeze wash over your clammy skin as you wait for his reply.
No...
Placing the syringe over the vein in your arm the needle grazes the skin. You allow the feeling to excite you for a second, then push down hard. Feeling the burning liquid flowing into your body your head falls back weakly. Discarding the needle after it's spent, you lie back. Head wound and nausea forgotten you let the drug course through your body and wash away your memories of him.
I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry too." Your words faintly spoken as an old friend lays a new claim to your soul.