It's scary how much he is shivering. Even with the blue scarf wrapped around his neck, hands covered with the thick gloves. He gurgles. I already know he has coughed up blood. I stride across the room, hands behind my back. Sherlock turns over to his side, blood leaking from his heart. I did this to him. I'm…a monster. Before I can control myself, I am on my knees, looking into the blue eyes. For a second I regret this. Who else shall I torture? Who would care enough to stop me?
I am patching the bloody wound with only a needle and some thread. He is coughing. The blood that comes from his lips is disgusting. Sickening. The wound is patched as good as I could patch it. It is silent for a few minutes. Drops of blood fall from his lips. I want to kiss them away. So I do. I kiss them all away because such ugliness doesn't deserve the beautiful lips of Sherlock Holmes. He coughs again, wheezing. I then realize I was holding my breath.
I don't know what to say to him as he looks me in the eyes. One of his bloody gloved hands is holding my suit jacket. Since I don't know what to say, I say nothing. And because I say nothing he says something.
"T-Thank you." The thank you's effect doesn't last longer for a minute. Sherlock lets go of my jacket and lets his head hit the concrete. "Tell John that I love him. Because I do. And because I do, I have given my life."
"Silence speaks louder than words dear Holmes. Tell him yourself." I know he doesn't understand what I am saying. I pull out the gun I had saved. For desperate attempts at murder. Bang! A red flowers blooms against the stone floors with the trigger. "And blood yells."
—-****—***—-****
It's only an hour later. I am watching as John is kneeling over Sherlock's body. Crying. His whole body is shaking from tears. As he cries, I walk up behind him. Gun loosely in my hand, I prepare to pull the trigger. "You know Holmes wanted me to tell you something. Something about him loving you." John's back straightens. Fear registers and he becomes silent. "But I figured he could do it himself." As John turns to face me, I pull the trigger. He falls, another red heart next to Sherlock's. "It wouldn't matter. Because blood yells."