"John, why on Earth did you want me to bring this thing?"
Sherlock held out the video camera with a slightly disgusted look on his face, as if the device repelled him. He had no idea what John would be wanting with such a thing in his hospital room, but he had sounded quite insistent about it. John just grimaced back at him, clearly uncomfortable.
"Well, there's just some things I've been thinking about." Johns hands fidgeted under the thin blanket as Sherlock eyed him suspiciously. "I've thought of some things I want to say in case… well… in case… well you know."
Sherlocks brow furrowed as the penny dropped.
"Oh come now John, don't talk like that." He couldn't keep the scoff out of his voice. "It's just a minor setback, they'll go in this afternoon and fix it all up. You'll be back at the apartment in no time at all. About time too, the cases have been piling up and I could really do with my best man back on-"
"Sherlock," John caught his gaze as he cut the detective off, hopelessness and despair shining out of his eyes. "Please, just… just do this for me, okay?"
There was a moment of stillness in the room, with only the beeping of Johns heart monitor breaking the silence. Sherlock pressed his lips together in a thin line as he studied the look of sadness on his friends face. Even though his skin was pale and pasty, and his hair had been replaced with bandages from last months failed surgery, in that moment Sherlock could have sworn the man looking back at him was not a man at all, but a child. Afraid, lonely and anxious.
He swallowed a deep breath before giving a curt nod, and switching on the camera, aiming the viewfinder at John. He watched on the screen as John swallowed dryly, gathering his thoughts.
"Well, lets see." he rubbed his face nervously before giving a small smile at the camera. "Hi, everyone, just… making this to tell you all the things I've been meaning to say for a while now. Um, lets see, Ill start with Harry…"
Sherlock sat next to Johns bed while he talked, his face set in a motionless scowl. Hearing John talk about each person he knew as if he would never get the chance to talk to them again saw the return of the uncomfortable knot in his stomach, as well as a new sensation. An ache, deep in his chest, as if his heart were under an immense strain. With every word John spoke, the ache grew deeper, and as he talked about Lestrade and Molly, Mrs Hudson and Mycroft, Sherlock found it more and more difficult to keep the camera steady. He couldn't help but feel the moment to be very intimate, and he realised that there, in that room, was the closest he and John had ever been, and would probably ever be again. He shook his head as Johns next words snapped him out of his thoughts.
"And finally, here's a message for you, Sherlock."
Their eyes met over the camera as Sherlocks mouth grew slightly slack. Johns face was a portrait of pain, and Sherlock found himself once again gazing into the face of a child.
"Sherlock, you… you, are the greatest man… I have ever met." Johns eyes, which had stayed locked on the viewfinder during his entire monologue, now fell to the bed sheet in front of him. "I cant really, put into words what you have done for me… and my life. These past few weeks being in and out hospital I've found myself thinking a lot about… the day we met and…"
John raised his head in surprise as Sherlock snapped the recorder shut, fighting hard to control the tears welling in his eyes.
"Really, John, don't be so dramatic." He tried to keep his voice steady, but John could clearly hear the shake ringing out through the room.
"You'll have the surgery today, and be back in the apartment by next week. You don't have to go through the whole rigmarole of leaving a message. People only leave messages when they actually -"
"Sherlock, stop." Johns own voice was shaking as Sherlock sniffed, swiping a hand under his nose in an attempt to hide the emotion on his face. "Please, let me… just let me do this. Please."
The detective turned toward the doctor, eyes wide as he bit the inside of his cheeks, fighting the onslaught with all his might. Johns own eyes shone with tears as he spoke.
"We both know there's a… very real chance that I… that I might not… make it through today. Not after what they found." He swallowed dryly before continuing. "I want to say this now, so… so you know, just in case. You are… the most brilliant man… most brilliant person, I've ever met and… that I've had the chance to be a part of your world is something that I find myself most grateful for. No one," he let out a breath, "no one… would have ever completed me like you have."
Sherlock couldn't contain his despair as he felt John clasp his hand, and the tears flowed freely down his face as he clung to his companion. The pain and desperation he felt tearing him apart reflected clearly on Johns face as he continued, their eyes locked.
"I joined the Army because I wanted to feel something Sherlock. I didn't find any satisfaction in civilian life, and I thought maybe… maybe being on the battle field would change that." He pulled his eyes away, squeezing them tight "And it did… it did for a while until I was injured…" he let out a humourless laugh. "Let me tell you, at the time I thought… I thought it was the absolute worst thing that could have happened to me. The thought of returning to London and living an ordinary life… it scared me Sherlock. It scared me. But then Mike introduced us and…" He shook his head, wiping the tears from his cheeks as a smile grew across his face. A desperate choke of laughter forced its way out of Sherlocks lungs at the sheer ridiculousness of the chance encounter. The men smiled warmly at each other as John spoke on.
"He introduced us and my life… my life just… I finally started to live, Sherlock. You… you brought me to life again. I know we… I know things were strained some times, but… I want you to know that… there was never… there was never even a second that I… that I regretted or… or wanted things to… to change."
His words were hardly making it out of his mouth as John sat in his bed, hunched under the weight of what he was saying. Sherlock couldn't stop his body shaking as desperate sobs rattled themselves out of his chest, which felt as if it were wrapped in a vice. Both mens faces were scrunched up in agony as their hands drained to white around each other. All the years of friendship, and the experiences they shared together were boiling over, encasing them in their own universe of desperate sorrow, fear and anguish.
Sherlock leant forward in his chair, his elbows coming to rest on Johns bed, and the two friends sat for an immeasurable moment, heads bent together as the tears dripped slowly onto the sheets. Their ragged breathing and harsh sniffs mingled with the unsteady beating on the heart monitor, a sound both reassuring, and ominous.
"John…" Sherlocks usually smooth voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed dryly, sitting up to face his companion before going on.
"John…" he felt the tears threatening to overflow again as he struggled to continue. Johns face, still wet with emotion, had aged from a child, to a tired old man, helpless in the presence of his death.
"John, I'm…" his voice was barely over a whisper, "I'm so.. I'm so sorry…"
"No!" John shot forward, all the helplessness gone from his features, replaced with the determination Sherlock had always admired him for.
"Sherlock, don't even try that with me. Everything you did, everything you said during our time together… We had our ups, we had our downs, but I… I wouldn't have had it any other way, you hear me? I wouldn't have had it any other way."
Sherlocks face was in his hands as he was once again over come with tears. Every harsh word, every crass look he had ever shot the doctors way flew into his mind, and racked his body with guilt. He was aware of the sobs coming from Johns bed, but he couldn't bring himself to look at his friend, he just felt so ashamed of himself. All those years… all those years he spent belittling who he now understood was the greatest man he had ever met. He just let himself shake, letting the mangled cries of pain choke their way out of his arid throat.
Eventually the two men grew still, the silence broken only by the occasional sniff, or a stifled sob. Even the steady beep of the machines had melted into the background. Both sets of eyes were stung red, and the bed sheets between them were stained with moisture. Not a word was needed to be said, and they sat in silence, just appreciating one others company for what could possibly be the last time.
A soft knock at the door broke the still air, and their eyes met.
It was time.
Sherlock stood next to the door as the nurses busied themselves with John, transferring him to the gurney that would whisk him away. Johns face was a cold mask of indifference, giving nothing of the ordeal just passed, mirroring the shade in Sherlocks face exactly.
In what seemed like no time at all, he was ready to go, breathing deeply as he felt the wheels below him start to turn. As he passed through the doorway, he locked eyes with Sherlock, his best friend, and saw reflected in them the courage he had always admired.
Too soon, Sherlock was gone from his vision, and he was left to stare at the ceiling as the nurses wheeled him closer and closer to his fate.