Saviour

John walked into the living room of 221b Bakers Street.

"Sherlock, we've got a case and this time its in Manchester"

"Another one?! That's the 3rd one this week! It's too far, I don't want to do it." moaned the lethargic detective.

"Oh Sherlock, quit your moaning and get up off that couch. This time it's serious." Proclaimed the ex-army doctor as he flicked the remote to turn off the TV, put on his jacket and threw his phone at Sherlock, trying to encourage him off the couch.

When they finally managed to get into the cab and to the crime scene, Sherlock was fast asleep. John nudged him. "Wake up dammit" he violently whispered. As he awoke with a stir, Sherlock started to feel a slight pain in his chest. He ignored it. 'Don't want to worry John, I love him too much' he thought.

John exited the cab first, followed by Sherlock shortly after as he was too busy paying the cabbie. John was the first to ask the questions, which was rather odd, as Sherlock normally deducts things within seeing the scene for about 10 seconds. Sherlock was desperately trying not to make it obvious that he was in pain, but John didn't appear to be paying much attention.

"Excuse me officer, where can I find D.I. Jones?" John curiously asked.

"Oh, he's over there" the officer pointed towards the man with the short clean cut blonde haired man with a dark green trench coat.

"Thanks" John patted him on the shoulder and made his way towards him.

By this time, the pain in Sherlock's chest had been getting gradually worse, although he had somehow managed to keep up with everything that was going on.

Furiously shaking his hand, John had spoken to D.I. Jones, found out his name and found out what had happened. Patrick had told John that a woman around the age of 21 had found the young man, who was assumed to be around 19, at 11:45pm last night. Sherlock, who had now made his way over to where John and Patrick were, had managed to deduce everything that had gone on, which was the complete opposite to what anyone else had thought.

"It's obvious what has happened here," said the world's only consulting detective, who was trying to make it as discrete as possible that it was hurting for him to talk. " I mean, look at the scars that spread from his cheeks down to the palm of his hands. He was in a struggle, and it was bad. There's a possibility that this wasn't by accident. It's too much of a convenience due to how the scars form some kind of pattern along his arms." At this point, Sherlock was finding it really difficult to breathe and started to slow down with what he was saying. "I mean... Why would you just... leave a body here..."

"Sherlock, Sherlock, what's wrong?" John had noticed no matter how hard Sherlock had tried to hide it.

His vision was dying out, his chest, so painful, his head, so light. It was sudden, unexpected if it must, but he was out, on the floor in front of everyone.

John stood there, hoping for Sherlock to reawaken, he waited and waited and eventually realised that it wasn't going to happen.

"Sherlock! Please, wake up!" John screamed as he ran over to Sherlock's body which appeared lifeless after John had been dragged away from him.

John leant over Sherlock, crying, begging him to wake up and hoping that this was some kind of sick joke. Furiously, he shook him by the shoulders hoping that it would work. He pinched his ear, he tried everything before he knew what he must do. Determined, John angrily wiped the tears from his face, ripped off his long jacket and his suit blazer before tearing apart his shirt to reveal his chest, which didn't appear to be moving.

"Right," John thought out loud "Try not to cry now, just do what you can."

John started the process of CPR and no matter how hard he tried to fight back the tears, he couldn't.

"Don't die on me now Sherlock, not after all we've been through, not now" He said angrily through the tears. "27... 28... 29... 30...". As John had now done 30 chest compressions, he placed his mouth upon Sherlock's and started the breaths.

He had done all he could. Sherlock did not stir at all. John couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it.

The frustrated and empty John Watson punched the floor before allowing his body to drop onto his partners. "Sherlock, why, why did you do this to me. I'm sorry, I am so sorry I couldn't do anything to help you. You should have told me you were in pain instead of keeping it to yourself, you stupid, stupid man" Holding back the tears, John gave Sherlock one last hug goodbye and a kiss on the cheek before getting up and walking away.

Suddenly, there was a loud gasp for breath and a stir from Sherlock's direction. John turned suddenly, he thought he was hearing things. "That can't be Sherlock can it?" he looked and to his amazement, it was. Sherlock was actually coming too. John ran over to Sherlock and knelt down beside him, preventing him from getting up.

"Don't Sherlock, don't get up. Stay where you are. It's alright, I'm here now."

"Oh I do love you John" Sherlock whispered with a smile upon his face.

"I know you do, I'm glad your here" John leant down to kiss Sherlock, making sure he knew that he meant it. "Come on Sherlock, lets get you up and home"

"John"

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Thank you, thank you for saving my life, you truly are my saviour"