(So the last chapter...followed by a brief epilogue. It's not as bleak as it seems. Promise.)
Let Me Show You The Ocean.
"I told you."
The voice was dark, unfamiliar and like poison seeping through his skin,
"Pirate."
And then a scream, high pitched and cowardly. Scorching pain in his chest made worse by the sudden movement of his body as whatever held him up forced itself forward with an unbridled growl and more salt water trickled over the wound. End. Please just let it end. A small whisper in his head which repeated one name over and over, the smallest inch of him still unwilling to fall into blackness even if it meant this pain would go with it. John. The noise he made was sick, a word incoherent from the dark blood gurgling from his lips and dribbling down his chin into the water. Even now information from outside still assaulted him, they were scared now. His attacker and the other man. Running back along the beach, sword or knife in hand. Stabbed. Yes, he had been stabbed. Ran through even. The faint remembrance dawned slowly, the dark tone. The doctor who had set his arm, the raised flesh of the cauterized 'P'. How could he have been so stupid? Ah, sentimentality. This chemical defect which plagued him now. this most horrific most beautifully obscene love. He tried to say his lovers name, to try and quieten the desperate shouts of his own or the clawing hands itching over his skin. Begging, pleading, Unable to allow the truth to dawn upon him. But soon enough it would come, whether or not Sherlock wished it to. Whether or not for the first time in his life he had truly felt the need to survive and now there was nothing he could do about it.
Sharp searing pain wracked him, sending his body into harsh convulsions. It was a hand pressing over the wound, no doubt an attempt to stem the bleed yet accomplishing nothing but rubbing salt water into raw and torn flesh and muscle. Gone as soon as it had come, being overridden by the sound of uncontrollable sobbing. For all he was and ever had been he wanted to be able to open his mouth and say I love you. To just remind this creature of the wonderful, indescribable way their bodies had moved. How their eyes had met the first time John had appeared from beneath the surface of the tank. Wild blue, storming, striking him down from the first. Assaulting his complacency his cruelty. Questioning everything he was sure of and turning it inside out. Ripping into his chest and laying Sherlock's own heart on his sleeve. More than anything he wanted to speak, to not be spewing blood like some dying, aging man. New salt touched his skin, a mix of tears. John's dripping down from just above and his own sliding, creating tributaries which became rivers along his cheeks.
"Please."
God it was so broken, so completely devastating.
"Don't, don't leave me I can't...This isn't..."
A pause, a deep silence that bought with it the ability to force open his eyes and looked upon the blurred outline of the creature he had fallen in love with. The acute need to be able to apologise for offering everything and having it ripped away so soon. But he wasn't able. Just a blink, and with each one the picture became less and less definable until the effort of keeping his eyes open became just too much.
"Sherlock. Sherlock please. I'm begging you. This isn't...We're going to see everything, you're going to show me everything you know. All the wonderful things you've seen. Let me...Let me show you the ocean. It;s amazing. The shore at twilight, the depths when the sun is just rising. Our whole lives Sherlock. This...This..."
Another crushing sob broke him off and Sherlock was selfishly glad of it, tears flowing as freely as the blood. The pain was lessening now, a bleak numbness presenting itself in its stead. He had no doubt that John would survive, go back to his life before this. Perhaps Sherlock would become some distant memory, after all he had never bothered to find out how long John would live, how plausible it would be for them to exist together without death coming between them when the other was not ready to follow. His body was ready now though, his mind fighting it for all it was worth just for a few more seconds surrounded by John's arms and then the merman's supple lips pressed to his own. Blood smeared on tanned skin now, not from sight but memory. And there they were, the first time they kissed. The very moment Sherlock knew how this was supposed to end.
"I love you."
And so he had lived, he had loved and even more amazingly he had been loved in return. There was no real reason to wait. No need to offer a goodbye even if he had been capable. Goodbyes were definite, finalising. There was nothing final about this, about the pure love of two souls stretching in a bright light before him. Guiding him home.