Thanks everyone.


It hurt.

Everything hurt.

But he was alive. He was still alive but he knew that he wouldn't be long, he was near of end.

Sherlock, I hope you made it.

He dragged himself against the wall, leaning on it. In the darkness he couldn't see much, but he could feel the tacky blood. Hole in his side. Broken arm, broken leg, broken fingers. Blood loss was heavy. He was dizzy and he wanted to just sleep.

Sherlock.

He couldn't think straight.

He couldn't feel the coldness of the ground.

Sherlock was only thing what he could think. Hope that he had survived. He smiled but there were tears in his eyes. He knew that even if Sherlock would make it, he didn't, there was no time left to him. He closed his eyes.

"I promise John, we'll be home soon."

"Don't make promises what you can't keep Sherlock."

Everything had gone wrong after that. He could still hear Sherlock screaming his name. And he had left behind, dying. Or in Sherlock's case, thinking, that John was already dead.

Once more he opened his eyes, looking the place where he was going to die. The moon sailed through the clouds, illuminating the abandoned buildings what were buried in the snow.

Beautiful.

Dying. Once he had been afraid of it. He had been too close. This time he was just accepting it. He had given new opportunity and he had used it to its end. Now was just time to let go.

"Sorry Sherlock, see you later." He muttered and closed his eyes from the darkness. He drifted in sleep from which he knew he would never woke up.