A/N: Hello there, Midgardian! Thanks so much for reading this :D I hope you like it haha cx This is a (Johnlock *wink*) one-shot based off the song Gone Gone Gone by Phillip Phillips. Disclaimer: I don't own the song, or Sherlock. :( If I did, I would be a billionaire (but I'd still be writing fanfictions lol) I won't beg for reviews, but any favorites or comments will make me love you forever ;)

I sprint along the wet, darkened sidewalk, my feet pounding against the concrete. Each step sends a jolt of pain up my back, but the adrenaline keeps me going.

Behind me, a criminal chases after us. In his hands is a gun, aimed and ready to shoot. Ahead a few steps, Sherlock, breathing heavily as we run for our lives.

Several times I nearly slip on the rainy sidewalk as Sherlock swerves unexpectedly, each turn leading to another alleyway. I know he knows where we're going, but I'm not sure he knows how to get there fast enough. I can feel myself slowing down after a few miles, my heart pounding so loudly it counts the minutes.

Right when I'm sure I'll pass out from the exertion, ahead of me Sherlock loses his footing and slides on the slick pavement. He gets up quickly enough, but that's not what stops him. I don't see the criminal pull the trigger, but I instinctively duck and cover my head just as he fires.

Sherlock was lucky the first time: the bullet hits his shoulder. It slows him down, but it's not crippling. However, the second shot lands in his back. Sherlock cries out in pain as he falls to the ground.

The instant I reach Sherlock, I drop down and kneel beside him. Sherlock murmurs my name, but I can tell he's about to pass out in a matter of minutes.

The criminal, whom I'd momentarily disregarded, catches up with us in seconds. He lifts his gun to shoot me, but I whip out my handgun I kept concealed in the back of my trousers. I pull the trigger without hesitating, and he goes down.

"Sherlock," I say. I have to repeat his name several times before he hears me.

His eyelids are sagging, and he's already turning pale. There's a crimson stain on his shirt spreading from his bullet wound. "John," he says, straining his voice. "you need to leave. Get away from here. That man has backup which will get here in a few minutes."

"Sherlock, I'm not leaving you," I say firmly. "I don't care if they come. I'm staying right here."

Sherlock grips the fabric of my pants. "Get out of here, I don't want you to die. Run, don't stop going until you're safe."

"I'm not going to leave you. I won't just let you die here," My voice cracks. "Just hang on a bit longer. I'll call the police. Get an ambulance."

"Please, John," he says. His voice is weak. "Do this for me."

I begin to protest, but I decide otherwise. Instead, I take his hand in mine. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

"It's not your fault," he promises. "It's...it's my fault..."

"No, Sherlock!" I shout, but he's fading too quickly. "Don't you dare leave me."

In his last moments, he squeezes my shaking hands. "I-I love you," he whispers. "Goodbye, John."

"No, no, no...Sherlock..." I can't hear my own pleads. I don't feel his bloody hands release their final grip from mine. All I can see are his vacant eyes, his pale, lifeless face. "Please, no, don't be dead."

And then there are sirens. All over and everywhere and consuming me with their wails, blinding me with their flashing lights. Someone takes me by the shoulders, and I'm screaming for him. They take Sherlock. They hold me back as they strap him to a gurney and wheel him in the back of their vehicle. I strain against someone's grip, and they yell.

I shout his name until I can't make a sound; after that I struggle. Strain against their arms and voices telling me to calm down, that I'll be fine. I know I won't, that I never will be. This will never stop.

I feel myself in a bed. The voices have sufficed to only one, and the single one is soothing. Suddenly, it sounds familiar: it sounds like Sherlock's deep baritone voice, the one I love. I open my eyes, and there he is.

I shout his name, reach up and hug him and I don't let go. He hugs back tightly, whispering my name as he places gentle kisses on my face.

Burying my face into his shoulder, I listen to the steady heartbeat that, I realize, I'd only dreamt of its stopping. Relief floods through me as I come to my senses: it was a dream. Only a dream. Sherlock is alive; he was never shot.

"John," Sherlock says quietly. "What happened in your dream?"

"I- you-" I take a deep breath, hoping it will hide the shakiness in my voice. "We were being chased, and you were sh-shot in the back…and there was so much blood, Sherlock, you were dying. You asked me to leave you, to save myself, but I couldn't do it. I-I couldn't leave you. I just…I love you so much."

Sherlock wraps his warms arms around me, holding together my trembling body. He presses his lips against mine, and I can feel his tears on my face. "John," he whispers. "I promise, I swear to you, that will never happen. I will never, ever leave you."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

Sherlock smiles, his gray eyes twinkling. "Yes, John. I won't go. I'll stay right here with you, until the very end. I will do it, I promise. For you."

Thanks for reading this! I hope you liked it :D Again, any favorites or reviews would be really awesome, and I'm open to constructive criticism! This is the first Sherlock story I've had the guts to post, and I've been worried about getting their personalities right. Well, thanks again, and have a smagical day! ;)