A/N: 21 reviews?! *grins* I should be this brutal more often.
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Uncertainty coursed through him, making his hands flutter uselessly. It was an unfamiliar emotion to Sherlock, one he had trouble stuffing away. Okay, calm down, he told himself sternly. John got you into watching 'crap telly', didn't he? You've seen CPR performed, it's not a complicated procedure. Even if the serialised version isn't entirely accurate, it must still do something!
Taking a few calming breaths, Sherlock pulled the pillow from under John's head to minimise cramping of his airway, then rhythmically pumped on his chest.
"Come on, John," he muttered. He paused his ministrations to see if they were having any effect, but John was unresponsive, his eyes horribly vacant. Sherlock attempted a few more compressions, then sealed his mouth over John's, forcing his own breath into his friend's lungs. "I am not letting you prove Mycroft right," he growled, hands forcing John's blood to pump around his system. Alternating once more between compressions and breaths, Sherlock was surprised to find the salty taste of tears trickling into his mouth.
Lock it away, lock it away.
"Come on, John," he repeated, more to himself than anything. "Come on…"
Without warning, John heaved a shuddering breath. Using one hand to push himself into a sitting position, he used the other to wipe his mouth. "Urgh, what the… Sherlock, did… did you just kiss me? What the hell?"
Sherlock impulsively threw his arms around John's torso, knocking the newly restored breath back out of him.
"Okay, what is going on?"
"Yes, right." Sherlock sat down on his chair, smoothing his shirt front and pulling down his cuffs. "Your heart ceased to pulse and you stopped breathing. I administered CPR."
"You saved my life."
"You don't need to sound so surprised."
"By giving me CPR."
"John…"
"I'm sorry, it's just… where did you even learn CPR?"
He grinned suddenly. "I watched crap telly."
"You performed CPR methods you learned off the telly…" John flopped back onto his pillows disbelievingly. "How am I not dead?" he asked the ceiling.
"Technically, you were, at least for approximately forty-six seconds." John just shook his head incredulously. "I wouldn't mind some gratitude," Sherlock told him, a little miffed. "Unless I was mistaken and you don't like living."
"Yes, sorry, thank you, Sherlock." He smiled warmly, shifting himself onto his elbows.
"I know you would have done the same if circumstances dictated it."
John nodded once in the affirmative. "Of course.
"Though I would try to do it without kissing you."
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A/N: CPR is as close as I'll go to ever writing slash, lol. And of course John wasn't going to stay dead, I'm not that brutal.
Hope you all enjoyed the fic! This is (was?) the last chapter, I'm afraid. I won't really go into what happens past this point, at least not in a story format. Suffice it to say, John is no longer in danger from the poison; it'd take him a few weeks, if not months, to regain his strength and health, but he'd get there (basically, same as his earlier recovery period, sans the relapse). Mycroft's still running clean-up. Also, I realise that there are number of things that cropped up during the story that warrant an explanation. Well, you've got excellent imaginations, I'm sure, you can come with something. Because mine is being rather lazy at the moment. If there is something that's really bugging you, though, feel free to voice it in a review or a PM and I'll do my best to scrounge up a reason for it. :P
Now, I probably won't be writing much for a while – maybe a one-shot or two if luck will have it – as my HSC exams are coming up fast. My last exam is on Thursday the 8th of November (I have an exam on the last possible day, typical), and I should be posting new multi-chapter stuff that weekend. I've already got the shell of the story planned – it will involve Moriarty, Sherlock dealing with emotion (because it's fun) and John being an absolute BAMF (which I imagine will be a ton of fun to do :).
Until then,
-pixie.