Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Hi everyone! Hope you're all managing to stay cool if you're in the middle of a heat wave like I am. So sorry about the delays … for those who don't know, I'm currently working as an au pair for a very active eight year old boy. Needless to say, I've been very tired as of late and finding time when I'm not exhausted to write a chapter has been trying. I suppose there is a bright side to this, as I'm going to do something I've never done before: post two chapters at once. I decided since I had the time, energy, and inspiration, I was just going to keep at it! I hope you enjoy this final chapter and the epilogue and thanks, as always, for reading.

Sherlock, upon finding the taxi stuck in what was supposed to be a road but resembled a parking lot, thrust twenty quid at the driver and got out, running down the sidewalk towards the hospital. The inhaler was clasped tightly in his hand.

By the time he reached the ICU, John's newest home, Sherlock was sweating and out of breath.

"I have," he breathed heavily. "The antidote."

The nurse at the entrance to the four-bedded room glanced at him, obviously unaware of the situation.

"Excuse me?" she said. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock glared at her, getting his breath back a bit.

"Doctor John Watson," he said. "He's ill with an unknown strain of influenza. I have an antidote."

Sherlock held up the inhaler but the nurse still looked confused.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Is there someone you would like me to call or maybe - "

"Oh, forget it!" Sherlock exclaimed, pushing past her.

"Excuse me, Sir, you're not allowed - "

"Don't care!" Sherlock said, rushing over to John's bed. He threw back the curtain, hating the view of his blogger motionless and relying on a machine to breathe for him.

"It's alright, John," he said, uncapping the inhaler. He was aware that the on-duty nurse was currently calling security.

"I don't have much time," Sherlock continued, disconnecting the breathing tube and pulling the tube from John's throat. "But you had better do your part and not die while I do this. I am not going to jail for attempting to save your life."

Alarms sounded and monitors began flashing but Sherlock calmly lifted John's head off the pillow, put the inhaler to his lips, and pressed down, releasing the medication. He gently laid John's head back, pocketed the inhaler, and ran out of the room before the two burly security guards who were on their way could detain him.


The next couple of hours were murderous for Sherlock. He knew he couldn't go back up to John's room while the nurse was still on duty. She was working a twelve hour shift and wouldn't be off until seven o'clock, which meant Sherlock had time to kill.

He sweet-talked Molly Hooper into sitting by John's bedside – the breathing tube had hastily been reconnected with no apparent signs of permanent damage – and texting him updates. The young pathologist had been more than thrilled to do as he wished, although she was sad that John was in such a critical state.

While waiting for Molly's quarter-hourly reports (complete with vitals), Sherlock tried to occupy himself in the lab and morgue but he couldn't focus. Yes, he had solved the case and Jenn would be going to prison for a very long time. Yes, he had found the antidote … but he didn't know if John was going to live. Sherlock knew that if John died because of this infection, he would shortly follow.

Sherlock was strange like that. Death did not bother him. He could see dead people all day and not feel a twinge of emotion. However, put a cold, grey John Watson on the table and Sherlock would slit his own wrists with the same scalpel that would perform John's post-mortem.

Sherlock couldn't live without his friend and he certainly couldn't live with knowing he was the one who killed him by bringing him to hospital.

While things were squared away with Mycroft in the case of Sherlock's untimely death, the detective did write out a suicide note on his phone, saving it as Confession.

I, Sherlock Holmes, admit to killing Doctor John Hamish Watson. Rather than impinge the over-stretched legal system and avoid a court case that would assuredly clear me of the charge (that no one would likely believe existed to begin with), I have seen to it that justice is served. A life for a life. Farewell.

It was simple and to the point. Mycroft would understand and that's all that really mattered.


Sherlock had long since put away his mobile with the suicide note and was starring blindly through a microscope.

"Sherlock?"

He jumped when Molly's hand came down on his shoulder and he glanced at her quickly.

"What? Can't you see I'm working?"

Molly smiled sadly. She knew Sherlock wasn't working, she'd been watching him for the last fifteen minutes and he hadn't moved.

"Shift change has passed," was Molly's reply and Sherlock looked at his watch. It was now quarter past seven.

"Good."

He stood, pulling on his suit jacket.

"I brought you something to eat," Molly said, holding up a pre-packaged sandwich and a cup of coffee from Costa.

"Not hungry," Sherlock said, taking the coffee as he strode past. He left Molly standing in the lab without uttering a semblance of a thank you.


Sherlock had finished the coffee by the time he made it to the ICU. A new, brunette nurse was sitting at the small desk at the entrance to the room and she glanced up when she saw Sherlock. He said nothing to her, though she tried to ask him his name and if he was immediate family as visiting hours were over. Instead, he just jerked the curtain around John's bed closed behind him and pulled up the same seat Molly had occupied for the past couple of hours.

John was still on a ventilator. He didn't look much better, though his vitals were slightly improved. His body temperature had lowered and his blood pressure had risen, although Sherlock wasn't sure how much the ventilator impacted his blood pressure.

Sherlock never took his eyes off of John's face. There was nothing he could do to help his friend fight the infection, nothing he could do to make him more comfortable.

Hours passed and still Sherlock did not move.

It wasn't until dawn was breaking over the London skyline did something happen.

John's eyelids fluttered slightly and Sherlock perked up. Again, John's eyes attempted to open and Sherlock stood. Finally, they opened all the way and Sherlock saw his friend start to panic at the presence of the breathing tube.

"John, John, it's me." Sherlock said, leaning over so John could see his face. "You're on a ventilator, don't fight it."

John's eyes, while initially darting around rapidly in attempts to figure out his surroundings, settled on Sherlock and he calmed down. Sherlock smiled weakly at his friend.

"Are you," Sherlock cleared his throat, hating himself for how much emotion he had right now. "Are you alright, yeah?"

John nodded ever so slightly.

"Shall I find a doctor?"

Again, John nodded and Sherlock poked his head out of the cubicle, telling the nurse – luckily, it was a different day nurse – that John was awake. A few moments later, Dr. Williams arrived and after examining John, he removed the breathing tube.

"Your throat is going to be sore for a few days," he warned as he fixed the oxygen prongs in John's nose. John nodded, already feeling the negative impact of the tube. Sherlock couldn't care less about a sore throat.

"What's his prognosis?"

Dr. Williams smiled.

"I believe he's out of danger," he said. "There's still the recovery process but regaining consciousness was the turning point we had been hoping for."

"How long will I be in hospital?" John croaked. Sherlock gave him a disapproving glance.

"Don't talk." He turned back to Dr. Williams. "How long will he be in hospital?"

"We'll monitor him for a few hours," the doctor answered. "And if he continues improving, we'll move him out of ICU today. Again, depending on his improvement, he could go home in a few days' time."

Dr. Williams' pager went off just then and he glanced at it.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've got to run but I'll be back to check on you in a few hours, Doctor Watson."

With that, Dr. Williams left and Sherlock sank into the visitor's chair again.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked his friend.

"Ice chips." John whispered and Sherlock nodded, standing again. He asked the nurse where he could find some ice chips and after being directed to the main nurses' station, Sherlock returned with a paper cup full of ice.

"Here," Sherlock said, handing the cup to John. John gratefully put one of chips in his mouth, feeling the cold ice melt against his raw throat.

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked and John shook his head.

"I'm tired," he said, still whispering.

"Then go to sleep," Sherlock replied, taking the ice chips back from John. "I'll be here when you wake up."

John shook his head.

"Go home," he said, shifting in bed. "Get some sleep."

"I'm fine."

John didn't have the voice to argue and his eyes slipped closed.

I hope you didn't think I was really going to kill John. I could never do such a thing. Reviews appreciated :)