John took his last lung full of air and pulled the trigger...
There was silence, John looked around he seemed to still be sitting in the same spot in 221B Baker Street with a gun in his hand that was now shaking frantically. What had happened? Was this supposed to be heaven or worse yet hell? Or was John's dying mind playing tricks on him as he slowly fell into the clasps of death? NO: He was very much alive, still!
Quickly John checked the barrel of the gun: Empty. This could not be, he always kept his gun loaded should any of Moriarty's web come looking for him. His gun made him feel safe, it always had because he knew that as long as he had it with him he could defend himself and his friends.
John collapsed to the floor in tears of agony he just wanted death or Sherlock and since it was very unlikely that he could have Sherlock anymore death was the second best option and he couldn't even get that! Through his sobs and cries of pain he did not hear the click of the latch on the door and the creak of a man stalking up the stairs into his flat to stand directly behind him.
Two hands wrapped around the army doctors shaking frame and John found himself leaning into the embrace, eyes shut. Could it really be him? John paused to ponder whether his detective had come to him from the dead to comfort him or if this was just an illusion his mind had made? But it couldn't really be him, could it?
Suddenly a soft voice whispered into his ear, at first John thought it was soft and comforting but he did recognise it from somewhere and if not Sherlock's then whose? Then John realised, all the colour drained from his face and his heart skipped several beats. This voice belonged to a man he would never expect to meet in heaven. He could hear the smirk in the man's voice as he leaned down to john's ear and whispered softly 'couldn't let you die could I Johnny boy, my games not over yet, the fairy tale continues...'
