John awoke with a start, covered in sweat. His screams bounced back to his ears and he clamped his mouth shut. He pushed his face into his hands and took deep breaths, attempting to calm himself. A few minutes later, he rubbed his eyes and scruffed his nose, sniffling. He looked at the clock on his bedside table. In bright-green numbers, it read 11:30.
Standing, John stretched and looked out into the street. Thankfully, the weather matched his mood. The rain came down onto the streets of London like tears. A young woman hustled down the wind slicked streets, her coat scrunched in her fist as she attempted to stay at least somewhat dry.
John made no attempt to stay quite as he took the stairs back down to the flat, pulling on his jumper. His feet danced on Mrs. Hudson's ceiling, prompting her to get up and see what was going on. The two met up on the base of the stairs.
"What are you doing, John?" Mrs. Hudson asked as the army doctor pulled on his jacket and buttoned it up.
"Going for a walk." John replied, and sat down on the step to tie his shoes.
"At this hour? And just look at that weather! It's pouring John!" Mrs. Hudson objected.
"I noticed, Mrs. Hudson." John stood up and twisted the door handle, pulling the entrance to 221 B Baker Street open.
"John?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"I'm fine." Answered John, wiping tears from his eyes before they could fall. Before Mrs. Hudson could reply, John stepped outside and slammed the door shut.
The rain soaked John Watson before he could think of what to do. Then he came up with an idea. Go see Sherlock. He needed some sort of consolation that Sherlock wasn't a killer, that he would never strangle him. No matter how late it was.
Seven blocks down the street, cross, sixteen more blocks, turn left, four blocks, cross the street again. John mulled over the route he would take. He needed to walk, to burn steam and to just mull everything over in his head. Sherlock was all the doctor could think about as he walked the seven blocks. Cross the street. Rain was coming down so hard, it was almost sleet. John nearly fell flat three times during his walk to the crossing point.
The light changed, and signaled for the cars to stop crossing, and for the blogger to get that much closer to his destination. A two level bus was nearing the place where it was required to stop, but the ground was icing over. The cold and rain was creating a frozen lake on the street and sidewalks.
The bus driver was tired; running lines where nobody ever got on all night will do that to you. He noticed the red light, and the pedestrian starting to cross the road. He floored the brake, but the ice plus the buses momentum kept the vehicle going forward.
It was dark out, and John's eyes were blurry with tears and rain. He didn't see the bus, with it's failing brakes, rushing towards him. He heard the horn, then he felt it.
The bus driver layed on his horn. Hear it, please just hear it. I can't stop, but you can move. The bus driver put all of his will into making the man move. He didn't the man's face was familiar, Doctor John Watson, the blogger for that Sherlock Holmes. His face peered up, his eyes wide and tear-stained. His Sherlock was gone, the man he had believed in. He had every right to be depressed. The bus driver moved his steering wheel as fast as he could, but it did nothing
.
The edge of the bus hit John, taking the air from his lungs. The bug swirled as the driver tried ever more franticly to not hurt the doctor. The other end of the bus smacked into John, and he went flying. The bus was stopped by a vacated store-lot, and Doctor John was laying on the pavement a few meters away, blood pouring from wounds in his head. Both his legs were bent at an odd angle, and one arm hung loosely at his side.
The bus driver fought his way out of the crashed bus, and ran over to the bleeding form of the doctor. He pulled out his phone and dialed the cops. Moments later, a police car and an ambulance arrived. They put the dying form of John on a gurney and wheeled him into the ambulance. With bright lights and a roaring siren, the medical vehicle sped up to the hospital.
The worker in the back sat down, the energy drained out of him. When they arrived, the other medics pulled John out, and while two of them pushed him to a room, the second two stayed behind.
"Why weren't you doing everything you could do to save him?" The first medic asked.
"Because he was already dead."