A shout causes him to change course.
Inching along the wall, John holds his gun defensively in front of him., wondering if Greg had heard the shout as well. Something rounds the corner, colliding with him. The gun goes off. With his eyes adjusted to the darkness, John briefly catches a glance of pale skin and dark hair before dread fills his veins and his arms instinctively reach out to catch Sherlock before he falls.
"Sher- oh my god."
The weight of what he has done has them sliding to the floor. Sherlock has a death grip on his bicep.
"No no no. Jesus, Sherlock. Fuck- I'm so sorry." Ripping off his jacket, John presses it down hard on Sherlock's stomach and uses his other arm to hold Sherlock to his chest.
Sherlock is staring up at him, his mouth moving as if he is trying to speak, but no words pass through his lips.
John feels numb. Emotions are trying to crash over him, but the wave just continues to grow higher and higher, refusing to crash down. He has to fix this.
"Lestrade!" He screams, eyes locked with Sherlock. His face is growing paler by the second and each breath comes out as a gasp.
"Please forgive me," John says, but it comes out as a wail, tears running down his face to match the ones on Sherlock's.
Distant footsteps echo darkened hall and without glancing up John yells, "Call an ambulance!', right as Lestrade rounds the corner and takes in the scene.
"Jesus, John-"
"Now!"
John presses his forehead against Sherlock's whispering a mantra of apologies and promises. They don't matter. Nothing can change what he has done.
I hope you enjoyed this little drabble! Comments are always appreciated!