A brief oneshot inspired by a comment made in Sherlock.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
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Please, God, let him live.
That was her mantra as she pressed harder on the gas pedal, ignoring all speed limits as her siren blared obnoxiously.
Please, God, let him live.
She had gotten the call less than ten minutes before. It was their day off, ironically, and Carlton had walked into the middle of a robbery. She didn't have many other details other than Carlton had been shot and taken to Santa Barbara General. Vick was notifying Marlowe but she had told Juliet that Juliet herself was still Carlton's medical proxy and she might have a choice to make.
Please, God, let him live.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, she arrived at the hospital. Barely remembering to cut off the engine, she leaped out of her car and ran inside.
"Carlton Lassiter!"
Her chest heaved as she leaned against the reception desk and waited impatiently for the nurse to tell her what was happening.
She couldn't lose him.
Not now.
Not ever.
Suddenly a doctor in bloody scrubs turned the corner and her heart sank.
No…
"Juliet O'Hara?" he began carefully, his eyes full of defeat and apology.
"I need to see him," she interrupted, shaking her head desperately. "Let me see him."
"I am so sorry, but the surgery was too much. He didn't make it."
Her knees buckled and she went to the floor, gasping silently.
Please, God, help me live.
Finis.