John lay on the cold asphalt, looking up at the sky. He could just make out the light twinkling of stars in the blackness that stretched out above him. He blinked slowly, the soft twinkles of light blurring. He tried to move his hand. His left hand. He could feel his cold fingers trembling on the ground outstretched next to him. The muscles in his shoulder contracted, his arm, and then his hand, but he could barely move his hand. His arm relaxed in an exhausted exhale as he gave up on the effort. His chest rose and sank with his laboured breath. John's eyes looked up at the sky once more. He felt a strong pull from his chest towards the heavens and he inhaled, holding his breath. The darkness of the sky held him paralysed. The faint light from the stars shining down as bright to his pupils as if they were working lights. John clenched his jaw as a wave of pain and nausea flooded over him. The pinpoints of light in the sky grew blurry, his vision grew cloudy. His eyelids slowly fell, silencing the cry of life the stars were screaming to him. His lips seperated slightly as he exhaled and his body relaxed.
Frantic footsteps flurries down the alley. The flapping of fabric swept through the air and landed in a rustle on the cold ground. Shaking but sure fingers fluttered against John's skin, searching along his neck and chest. Solid hands pressed against the blood still seeping from John's chest, pooling on the pavement beneath him. Soft streams of pleadings were whispered into the air.
After a time, the hands gave up their ministrations and their urgings and instead drew John close and held him tightly, fingers carding slowly through mussed dirty blond hair. A drop of the sea landed on John's cheek and slowly rolled down his pale skin until it met with the blood dripping from between his lips and running together down the side of his head. The hands holding him trembled and John's body was rocked back and forth gently. Firm lips pressed themselves to the crown of John's head. Tightly shut eyes dripped tears onto John's face. The hands clutched the body close, unwilling to consider release. The bright stars sighed down up them, their light carrying small tears as it quietly began to rain upon Sherlock Holmes and the body of John Watson lying in an alley in London.