"Police! Put your hands up!" Lestrade and a few other police barged into the room.
The men standing around Sherlock on the ground stood up with surprise. They were surrounded. Lestrade caught a glimpse of Sherlock's blood on the floor and called in an ambulance urgently. John's arms were released as the grasping hands let go in surprise, he rushed to the man on the ground.
"Sherlock, Sherlock look at me, stay awake alright?" John had taken his coat off and was pressing it firmly to the open wound, but even if the blood stopped, Sherlock would asphyxiated on his own blood. Suddenly, a hand came up to rest on John's neck, a light, gentle touch. But no words followed as breath was slipping through the dying man's hands.
"Where are those bloody paramedics, damnit!" John yelled.
Two seconds later, they rushed in, they pushed John away gently, but he didn't notice because all he could do was stare at his hands, covered in Sherlock's blood and realized that he might not make it out of this one.
They were frantically trying to keep him alive in the back of the ambulance, they knew that if his heart stopped beating there would be no blood left to start it back up. It was chaos. They were rushing into the ER, doctors surrounding the gurney, rushing him to the operating room as quickly as possible. This is the hardest time, the time in between knowing your friend is dying and knowing people are trying to keep him from leaving this world too soon, and that maybe it is his time and there is nothing they can do. In the movies, this is when the heart broken family, friends, spouses sit in the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room, waiting for news, waiting to hear whether or not the person they've waited on has made it or not. But this wasn't a movie, and John wasn't heartbroken because he knew Sherlock was too stubborn and too strong to die like this.
"I'm scrubbing in." John said suddenly, before they left with the gurney. The attending stopped quickly as he saw the gurney being pushed down the hallway.
"Dr. Watson that isn't wise, it's always harder treating someone you know." He said.
"I said. I'm scrubbing in." And with that John followed the attending to the OR and was gowned up.
"Alright, here we go." He was only assisting, he had to be in that room. He wouldn't let anyone open Sherlock up without him being there to see every little incision, every droplet of blood that was whisked away, because that would mean that Sherlock was dying with no one he knew around him.
It took 6 hours, 14 minutes and 27 seconds. John was at Sherlock's side for every minute of it. By the end of it, John's eyes were red and bloodshot, his hands were tired, but it was worth it. Because every time something happened, John was there to be the first to know it. He sat in the ICU in a small cushioned chair pulled up to the side of the bed. He sat there quietly, soon dozing off into a much needed slumber. It was only after he felt the tug of his shirt sleeve that he woke up.
"Welcome back." He croaked to Sherlock.
"I didn't want to die. I got my wish." He whispered back. "I couldn't break my best friends heart twice in one lifetime, not again. Not ever again." Sherlock closed his eyes for a second.
"When can we go home?" He said after a short pause.
John could only laugh. "It's only a short walk, Sherlock… Should we make a break for it?" He asked.
"Definitely." Sherlock answered.