I can't find the words to express my joy. I am astonished that so many people liked the story. There is no way to say a proper thank you to you all. This chapter is going to be a little bit shorter than usual, but I promise a longer one for the next update. This is going to be VERY angsty, I tried to rewrite it to make it less painful but in the end I decided to go on with the original plan… I hope this is not too much (and anyway, I'd like to let you know that I love happy endings). Please, go on letting me know what you think. As usual, sorry for my mistakes.

It's the pain that wakes him up. A stabbing pain is clutching his upper abdomen and chest, so sharp that he realizes that he can't breathe properly because his diaphragm hurts too much to expand.

There is just silence all around, a deep hush only interrupted by the cadenced sound of his teeth chattering. It is still raining and his clothes are drenched in frozen water, his dark coat having become so heavy that it feels like a boulder on his shivering body. He tries to open his eyes but his vision is cloudy and the droplets of rain slowly slipping on his face make him unable to focus.

As soon as a feverish chill shakes his body, he feels the urge to throw up again. He tries unsuccessfully to roll onto his side, his stomach painfully tightening. He is still lying on his back when he feels the acrid taste of bile and blood into his mouth. Every time his stomach heaves, the ache kicks up a notch; it is becoming worse and worse, and he is only vaguely aware of the fact that there are tears crossing his face. All of a sudden, he feels his airways shutting and he starts coughing and wheezing, his breathing fast and shallow.

He knows that if he doesn't manage to sit up he is going to choke. He pushes his hands against the ground and desperately struggles to lift himself up, but as soon as his head and upper body leave the pavement a wave of dizziness overwhelms him and he falls back again.

"Don't try to contact me."

While the world starts slowly disappearing, John's words echo in his mind.

He is going to die before having had the chance to apologize. Could he have the opportunity to talk to him one last time, he would tell him how badly he tried to get better to keep the right to be his friend, to make John able to stand the sight of him; he would give anything to have the chance to say thank you to the only man who ever tolerated him, to the only human being who ever made him feel less unworthy, less undesired, not completely wrong. He would tell John that he never expected to actually experience happiness before meeting him. He would tell him that he is utterly thankful for the time that John spent with him even though he didn't deserve his attention.

Could he see his only friend one last time, he would die without regret.

"Thank you John" he whispers "I'm sorry. Thank you John. Thank you. I didn't deserved that much. I am so grateful to you. Thank you."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO O

When Sarah recognizes the ID on his mobile's screen she frowns, a questioningly look on her face. She is a GP, why the hell is someone paging her from the A&E?

"Dr. Sawyer speaking."

"Sarah, it's Linda Farrell. I'm calling you from the A&E."

"Hi Linda."

"I'm sorry to inconvenience you but I think I just admitted one of your patients. The name is Sherlock Holmes. By the way, is he the real one?"

Sarah's heart starts pounding in her chest.

"What happened?"

"Someone found him unconscious in an alley and called an ambulance. He was hypothermic, he must have been outside in the storm for hours, and he was in septic shock. The CT scan shows a gastric perforations and a hemoperitoneum with a massive blood loss. He coded twice, but we managed to stabilize him enough to be rushed into the OR. I saw your records, that you diagnosed him with pancytopenia and that you were performing test to discover the cause."

"God. Oh, God." she whispers "Did he ever regain consciousness?"

"Never. I didn't find an emergency contact on his file, so I decided to call you." she paused "Are you okay Sarah?"

"I don't know. I know him. I used to date his flatmate. He's a sort of friend."

"I'm sorry then. I should have been more careful to deliver the news."

"You didn't know. By the way, I think I'll go to the OR to check the situation. Thank you Linda."

It takes her less than ten minutes to reach the surgery department and to change her clothes. She breathes deeply, inhaling the strong scent of iodine, and enters the OR. She forces herself not to look at Sherlock's sleeping face behind the sterilized towel, lying there helpless, a tube down his throat pushing air into his lungs.

She hesitates for a moment, than she reaches the anesthesiologist, being careful not to go too close to the operating table. She doesn't think she could stand seeing more.

"Dr. Boyle. Mike."

The anesthesiologist turns back and greets her with a doubtful smile.

"Sarah, what are you doing here?"

"He is one of my patients. I tried to persuade him to be admitted but… I don't know, maybe I should have forced him. Anyway, how's he doing?"

"He's not stable. I am administering epinephrine and I already gave him seven units of erythrocytes and platelets, but he's still bleeding a lot. They are going to perform a total gastrectomy because they aren't able to control the bleeding. He's septic, and his vitals are awful. I'm not sure he's going to make it, I'm sorry."

Sarah just nods, unable to talk. She goes and she sits on a stretcher placed in front of the entrance of the OR, cradling her head in her hands. She knew it was serious, she should have done something, she should have forced him to be admitted. She was his doctor, and she chose the easier way. He gave her his trust and she failed him. She had never felt so guilty before.

She puts her hand in her pocket looking for her mobile. She doesn't care for doctor-patient relationship anymore, she has already made so many mistakes with him, one more won't make any difference. The only thing she can do for Sherlock right now is to call his only friend.

He is not going to die alone.

She realizes angrily that she must have left her phone on the desk upstairs. She doesn't want to go too far from the OR, but she doesn't know John's number by heart. She is trying to decide what to do when she notices that Sherlock's belongings are stuffed in a plastic bag just below the stretcher. She opens the bag and grabs his mobile, quickly searching John's number.

She doesn't expect him to hang up twice.

Her hearts is pounding even faster now. What the hell has happened between them?

She dials the number again.

"Hello, this is John's Watson mobile. I am not available right now. Please leave a message, I'll call you back."

"John, this is Sarah. It's about Sherlock. I will explain you everything but now there is no time. I need you to come here. We are at St. Claire's. Please John, hurry up."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO O

Mary listens carefully to the message on her fiancée's answering machine. She is lucky: John is showering and he didn't hear his phone ringing. He came home distraught and guilty, talking about Sherlock. He almost called him to apologize for his behavior, but Mary managed to make him change his mind.

She is well aware that this is a war between her and that damned detective. She told John that Sherlock is unable to love, but she perfectly knows that this is not the true; it has always been clear to her that Sherlock adores John. The way he looks at him demonstrates such a deep devotion that it would be touching if it wouldn't be directed to the man she is willing to marry soon. Furthermore, the fact that John clearly reciprocates the feeling is something that she cannot accept. John's heart is big but there is no room for both of them; there must be a loser in this game, and she is determined to win the match.

"He was fine a couple of hours before, nothing too bad can be happened" she tells herself. She doesn't feel guilty at all when she deletes the message and starts writing a text in response.

John is hers now; the freak must learn the lesson.