Author's Note:
Short chapter because I like to be mean and be dramatic. For those who were asking, the reed thing in theory should work...but extremely unsanitary The leaves on top block out air flow and even though Sherlock is breathing the lung is punctured and it gradually deflates. With the reed inserted into his lung where it's punctured, when the leaves are removed oxygen is allowed back into the lung, thus it inflates. The changing of the read, was more for dramatic effect and in all reality only one reed would probably be needed. I may or may not have stolen the idea from a movie, although they used different items that weren't so crude.
Thomas hadn't gone to help hunt. He had just wandered around aimlessly in a scared, grief stricken state. It was dark and he was lost and alone. He hadn't eaten all day and despite sleeping most of the day, he was tired. He collapsed and was about to sleep when in the moonlight he noticed an almond patch. Daddy had said these were okay to eat. Would he get in trouble for eating before the next mealtime? But he was so hungry. Maybe just a few, no one would notice right?
It had been a while and John, despite his worry for Sherlock, was getting nervous about Thomas. Kevin has returned and not said a word which meant the boy was out there wandering around. He stood slowly, sliding his jacket under his husband's head and slowly standing. He wandered into the trees behind camp and finally spoke. "Thomas?" His voice was level, even, hiding the fear he was actually experiencing. It was then he spotted a foot and relief flooded him. "Thomas." He moved and picked the boy up gently, holding him close to his chest. "Let's get you some food, mate." He placed a soft kiss on the boy's forehead and started back toward camp.
"I weren't eatin' nuffin'!" Thomas squeaked, as if his hand had been caught in the cookie jar. He blinked confused. Not in trouble? Go get food? He nodded and wrapped his arms around his dad's neck. "Is...is Daddy gonna die?" His brown eyes were large and scared. His little chest started heaving and he buried his face in John's neck as he started to cry again.
"Oh, Thomas, you are fine." John held the boy closer to him and moved toward their food hold, grabbing the basket of almonds and fruit before moving back to the shelter. He sat slowly, keeping the boy in his arms, and shook his head. "Daddy will be fine," he whispered softly as he took several almonds in his hand and pressed one to the boy's lips. "Here. Eat." He smiled warmly.
Thomas nodded, but fear and worry still lined his face. He looked at Sherlock's still form with a frown and then back to John. He ate the food at his lips automatically.
Talking. There was talking and movement near him. Sherlock groaned as he forced himself to wake up. He needed to comfort John. Oh, the boy was next to him now too. He reached out a hand and patted Thomas' weakly. "I'll be fine T.C." He coughed, pulling his arm back to his side. Why had that been so much effort? "John? Water, please." He coughed some more, eyes closing as if that would make the pain in his chest go away.
Thomas shrieked and jumped to his feet. "Zombie!" He managed to calm himself down when he realized his Daddy was still okay. Still human. All thought of food was forgotten and he promptly curled up against Sherlock's side.
John moved as fast as he could manage, grabbing the pan and lifting it to his husband's lips. "Keep yourself calm," he whispered, moving a hand to run through Sherlock's hair. Pale, weak. The sight of his partner made his stomach twist. God, he had done that. He pulled the pan away slowly to let his husband breathe and get some rest. "New reed? I want to try and clean the incision a bit and try to stitch up the second one I made, is that all right?"
Sherlock opened his eyes and then drank the water slowly . He closed his eyes again and gave a slight nod. "...be good..." He managed to wheeze out. He was quiet and still for awhile. "John...do..." He coughed. "...do you really think I will get the children killed?" He had considered it as a possibility when little Sandi was born. It was why he had gotten an office. Would that be enough? Assuming he lived long enough to worry about in the future.
John had set the water down and moved to grab a new reed, the vine and knife, before he heard Sherlock's question. Right. The fight. He had shouted it. "No," he whispered, moving back to his husband's side and hovering over him with a warm smile. "I know you won't. You got yourself an office, you are doing fine." He smiled and grabbed the extra pair of boxers he had in the shelter from Sherlock, slowly pulling the reed out and pouring some water on the fabric in his hands. "I don't think you will," he repeated as he cleaned around the wound before slowly putting a new reed into his husband's chest. Now all he needed to do was find a good way to stitch Sherlock's skin back together. Wasn't there a bird skeleton down by the fire pit? "Be right back, love." He smiled and stood, nearly jumping in joy when he found the bird skeleton. He ripped off a leg bone, the biggest one he could find, and plopped back next to Sherlock with his husband's knife. "You're doing fine. You are perfect," he whispered as he took the knife and started sharpening the bone.
Sherlock tried to move so he could see John, when his husband left but it was too difficult. "...sleep 'smore..." He muttered. At least when he was asleep, the pain in his chest didn't hurt. Would he be able to wake up next time? He had to. He had promised John.
Thomas finally uncurled himself from Sherlock, eyes red and puffy. He watched John, keeping quiet and still for once.
After spending several minutes sharpening the bone John glanced at his husband. Asleep. Peaceful. He swallowed hard and grabbed the vine, slicing it in half before taking the smaller, thinner piece. His husband was asleep and starting this would surely wake him up. He bit his bottom lip and cut a piece of vine off. Now or never. The longer he waited, the worse his husband got. "I love you," he whispered as he placed a soft kiss on the center of Sherlock's chest. He took w deep breath, steadied himself, and gently pushed the bone into once side of the incision, quickly pushing the small bit of vine.
Pain. Searing pain. Like someone was stabbing him in the chest. Sherlock woke up roughly, but he lacked the strength and energy to scream or thrash against whatever was happening. Eventually his gaze focused on John and he dimly recalled something about stitches. He tried to relax but ever since the chest pains started it had been next to impossible.
Thomas watched nervously, biting his bottom lip even though he wasn't supposed to. He couldn't take it anymore and ended up yelling at John. "Stop it! You hurting Daddy!" He began crying afterward, curling himself in a tight ball.
"I'm trying to fix him," John replied with a calm he didn't realize he had. God, Sherlock's eyes were so expressive and it was clear he was in pain. "Sorry, Sherlock. I'm sorry." He stabbed the bone through the other side, then the vine, and quickly tied it off. One stitch down. Two to go. "It's okay. Love, it is fine." He bent at the waist and gave his husband a quick kiss. "Two more and you'll be fine."
"...'sfine..." Sherlock muttered. His eyes closed but he wasn't sleeping. He was just trying to relax some more. Tired. Weak. Useless. No. He couldn't think like that even if it was true. He couldn't even comfort John when his husband needed it the most. He sighed at his thoughts. Sleep seemed his only chance at respite. Maybe when John was done he would be able to fall back into his slumber.
Damn it, this wasn't going too well. John cleared his throat and ran the bone through his husband's skin with a small wince. "When I proposed to you while I was in Afghanistan I actually had a ring," he whispered as he ran the vine through the needle marks and tied it, his fingers slipping a bit from the blood. "And I forgot it when I left for the hotel. But you had those rings so I just never told you." He laughed softly and moved to place a gentle kiss on his husband's cheek. Maybe he could manage to distract him for a bit.
John was talking. Sherlock opened his eyes, doing his best to keep focused on his husband and the words being spoken. Distraction. Perfect. He gave John a weak smile. "What did it look like?" He coughed a few times and then stilled. If he tried not to move too much it wasn't so bad. His husband was doing his best and he was just laying here letting his thoughts consume him. John was trying and damn it so should he.
"Simple gold band," John replied with a smile, pushing the bone through Sherlock's skin for the last time. "I was in the village and somebody had it for sale. We settled on a price and I decided that I was going to marry you." He smiled softly and finished the final stitch before sitting back. There. Finished. Right as the sun was going down. "Your rings were better, though."
"Wanted to get you something nice," Sherlock admitted with a small cough afterwards. Keep the conversation going. Don't think about the agony gripping his chest. "We should enroll Thomas in a school, once we get back to London. His grammar is atrocious." He smirked and then added, "I won't be able to concentrate on cases if he keeps talking like that." Shit. Too much. A round of painful coughing followed shortly after speaking.
"Shh," John said softly, moving to sit behind his husband and place the man's head in his lap running his fingers through his hair soothingly. "We can do that. And then you can publish your story for Amy." He nodded and bit his bottom lip, studying Sherlock intently. "Tomorrow. Maybe Mycroft will be here tomorrow."
"Have to finish it first," Sherlock muttered. "I'd tell you the next part, but…" He trailed off as coughing overtook him again. "Going to sleep some more." He tried to relax as best he could, his eyes sliding close. "Stay with me?" He asked before his body went still and his breathing evened out.
Thomas had been emotional mess all day. He had cried and slept most it away, so he just stayed curled in a ball a long while. Eventually his muscles got sore from the cramped position and he straightened out his limbs. He stared at Sherlock a long while before turning his sad brown eyes on John. "Never had school...it fun?"
John forced himself to relax as he watched his husband. The constant sleeping was worrying him. Sherlock never slept this much and it was clenching his gut, making him sick to his stomach. "Don't die," he whispered before Thomas stole his attention. School. Well, he was young so it wasn't a surprise. "It can be. You will learn so many new things." He smiled a bit, it was tight and forced and he didn't feel like talking. "You'll like it."
Sherlock's body was fighting infection and the only way it could do, is if his body rested. But it was a losing battle. He was weak and the constant stress on his damaged lung was taking its toll. He would eventually get worse, despite his body's best efforts to repair itself.
Thomas gave a slight nod. He shifted to stare at Sherlock again. "Dun die…you hafta be my Daddy…"
John couldn't sleep tonight, he decided with a small nod. He needed to stay awake, watch Sherlock and make sure his husband was okay. It would be tough but he couldn't just let Sherlock die. "Thomas, you can go to sleep." He smiled warmly at the boy. "Sherlock will be better when you wake up." He nodded and looker back down at his husband. They needed to be rescued now or he would be leaving the island without his husband.
"Been sleepin' all day," Thomas muttered. He was starving, his little tummy rumbling told him that. He hadn't really eaten all day. He just couldn't bring himself to eat. His stomach was in knots. He had to watch his Mum die. Watching his new Daddy die too, was just too much for him to handle. He sniffled and ran down to the shore to throw rocks at the water.
Well, that had gone over well. John watched Thomas for a moment before dropping his gaze back down to his husband. "I have never loved anybody like I love you. Don't leave me. I don't know how I'll live with myself knowing I killed you." He bent and placed a kiss on Sherlock's forehead.
Sherlock slept until the next day, groaning every now and then. He shivered even though there was perspiration on his forehead. Fever? Probably. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight. Shit. How long had he slept? Still hurt to breathe. Still declining health wise, but it was to be expected he supposed. "John?" He croaked out weakly. God his throat was sore. "More water please?" Just that had been exhausting. He was certain he would be able to sleep once more if he closed his eyes again.
John grabbed the water, careful so it wouldn't slosh over the sides, and pressed the pan against his husband's lips. He wasn't doing good at all. "Strong. Stay strong." He pulled the pan away and cleared his throat, trying to keep the tears from his eyes. It wouldn't do to cry at all. That's not what Sherlock needed. "Maybe today. Maybe Mycroft will find us today."
"That'd be good." Sherlock coughed a bit, followed by a shiver. "C-cold," he muttered and tried to snuggle into John but it was too much strain on his body to try and move anymore. Hopefully his husband was right and Mycroft would show up. He wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to hold on. "John, I love you." Another fit of coughing followed by a violent shiver.
"Here," John reached into the boy's shelter and grabbed Sherlock's coat, draping it over his husband. It was warm outside...Sherlock being cold wasn't good at all. "I love you, too." His voice broke because this was his fault, they wouldn't be here if he hasn't acted like such a selfish person. Like the coward he was. "Do you remember in Scotland when we shagged in the boat once we took it to shore? It's my favorite moment from that trip."
Sherlock clung to the coat as tightly as possible, trying to cover his entire body with it. "W-wanted to shag you in the b-boat but you s-said it would r-rock too much." He coughed some more, ignoring the metallic taste in his mouth and forcing himself to swallow it so John wouldn't see it. It would only worry his husband further. "Keep t-talking to me? Don't want to s-sleep." He was afraid if he did, he wouldn't wake up this time.
"I had a picture of you in my bulletproof vest in Afghanistan," John whispered, rubbing his hands roughly up and down his husband's arms to try and warm him up. "Some nights when we slept on patrol in the desert I would pull the picture out and wank to it." He smiled sheepishly before he noticed the red tint to his husband's lips. Blood. Shit. No, that meant... "Please don't die," he said brokenly. "I can't be the person who killed you."
Sherlock managed a weak smile at John's words but then it faltered. "I-I'm f-fine. Won't d-die on y-you. Mycroft will be h-here soon. He is j-just t-taking his t-time." He expected the coughing fit after talking, but this one had lasted much longer than any of the previous ones. "T-think I n-need a new r-reed." The coat wasn't helping to keep him warm and he shivered again.
New reed. Right. John leaned forward and slowly pulled the reed out, wincing as he grabbed the new one. "Here." He slowly pushed it into his husband's chest, biting his bottom lip. This wasn't good and somewhere, deep down, he knew that his husband wasn't going to live and he suddenly let tears roll down his face. This was his entire fault and his husband was suffering because of it.
Sherlock's hand shook the entire time but he managed to reach John's face to wipe away a few of the tears. "Don't c-cry my dear doctor. I'm not d-dead y-yet." He managed the faintest of smirks. Eventually his hand felt heavy and he had to drop it back to his side. Only it felt like that moment was fast encroaching upon him and his husband knew it. "P-please, need y-you." Was he being selfish for such a request? If John had given up already, why was he still fighting?
Not dead yet but suffering, weak. John nodded and cleared his throat, blinking several times before licking his lips. "S-Sorry," he hiccuped and took several deep breaths. "I'm here. Right here. I am going to stay with you." He had to, he didn't have a choice. Leaving would be rude, childish. Even if it was hard to watch. This was his punishment for doing this to his husband. "You are the strongest man I know. You will be fine, I know you will. You're not meant to die on some island."
Sherlock was about to reply but a fit of coughing racked his body before any words came out. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain that shook his entire upper torso every time it happened. When his eyes opened, they were unfocused. "John, it's c-cold in the f-flat. Tell Mrs. H-Hudson to turn the h-heat on." The fever was starting to take over as he slipped into a delusional state. His body was going to shock.
Shit. No. "Sherlock, we are on the island," John whispered brokenly. This was the end, wasn't it? This was when his husband died because he killed him. "C'mon, focus. You're okay. You will be fine." He closed his and gently pulled his husband further into his lap. "I love you."
Sherlock tried to feebly get away from his husband. "J-John what are you d-doing? I have case to w-work! S-stop acting like an i-idiot!" Damn it, why was it so cold in here? "I can't w-work in these r-ridiculous conditions! Where is my v-violin?" His eyes cleared briefly, focusing up at his husband. "I'm s-sorry John, I t-tried…" His eyes closed, the shivers that had taken over stilling along with his chest.
