A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! I really love to hear from you guys. And o dear, o dear, this is gonna be a hard one to read (it was a hard one to write as well)...

Chapter 6: Give up

I know you, you'll never
Give up on me, give up on me
Even when I let you
Give up on me, give up on me
Oh, when I'm out of place,
When I'm losing faith
You're the one that never lets me roam
You'll never give up on me

Give up - Birdy

John wasn't a drinker. Weeks could pass by without feeling in need for alcohol. Yet this was the second night in a row he was drinking, this time a much too expensive bottle of whiskey from the minibar whose bill would eventually go to Mycroft. When he got back to the hotel room he had immediately knocked back his first and poured in a second, much too full glass.

The note Mycroft told him about this afternoon laid on the side table next to him, visibly damaged. To tell the truth, John wasn't sure he wanted to read it. He hardly couldn't bring himself to it. He felt numb, his head was too full. No new information could be added. He was too tired to think. Yet he knew there was no escaping it. his curiosity would eventually beat the resistance.

After another large gulp of whiskey, John had gathered enough courage and started to read:

Dear John,

There are not enough words to express what I want to say to you. I feel we still have a lot to tell each other. We are not finished talking yet. Although there are a number of things I would rather say to you face to face, and there are certainly an equal number of things that would be better if they were not discussed.

First, please know that everything has been tried to prevent this, not to have to leave you again. But there was absolutely no other way, Mycroft can confirm that. I hope you will understand that someday.

Please, try to stay strong. There are enough people who are going to need you. And even if you think that's not the case, think about your future daughter. She needs her father.

Second, I want to thank you. When I first saw you at Bart's, I knew you were interesting, but I never dreamed that you would be the best thing that happened to me. I am extremely grateful to you for the role we have been able to play in each other's lives. Flat mates, partners in crime (how ironic that may sound), best friend ...

Yet, those words do not cover it. You mean so much more to me, more than I dared say to you. But I don't think it will solve things if I would've said it anyway, so I think it will be best to leave this subject undiscussed.

Last, there will probably be some practicalities you need to sort out regarding my belongings and our apartment (yes, it's still our apartment. Baker Street is still on your name too. I didn't have the heart to take your name off the lease). Mycroft will help you with that. As for other stuff, I believe everything is arranged. But should it be that there are still some decisions that have to be made, I trust you. I know that if the time comes and you need to, you will make the right choices for me. I trust you blindly, as I have always done and I will always do.

I hope Mary will give you all the happiness, since I am no longer able to do that. You deserve the world, John Hamish Watson.

Love,

Sherlock.

At the bottom of the note, there was something written down in a different color, probably added later:

Mycroft, would you make sure that John gets this when needed? See it as a final favor.

John stared at the note in his hand. Minutes passed by. He re-read it, desperately trying to remember every word of it, trying to understand what Sherlock had try to say to him. But he couldn't. His emotions got the better of him.

His cheeks were strained with tears, he hadn't even noticed he had started crying. He never cried. He tried to remember himself to breath and drew out a shaky breath. His hand found his glass of whiskey, but when he wanted to take a sip, it was empty. He must have drank it while reading, but hadn't noticed tht either.

He was fighting an inner battle with his conscience. Sherlock trusted him to make the right decision, but it wasn't really his decision to make. Sherlock had already decided and John really didn't want to go against Sherlock's wishes. He couldn't. If Sherlock would survive this he would not be able to forgive John, and that was something John couldn't live with. But he absolutely did not want to lose him. Not again, not definitive. It was an impossible choice to make.

Suddenly, a noise filled the room. John was startled by the sound. He looked around, but couldn't quite place it. Then he saw the phone on the desk. Who would call to his room and not to his mobile phone?

He cleared his throat and answered it. "Yes?"

"Why are you not answering your phone?" John heard Mycroft say. His normal, composed tone was completely gone. "I've been trying to contact you for fifteen minutes!"

"I…" John started, but he was cut off.

"You need to get to the hospital, right now. There's a car outside. He knows it's urgent."

John grabbed his coat and took off, leaving everything else behind.

When John came running, there was a lot of commotion around Sherlock's room. Mycroft was in a fierce discussion with one of the doctors, the other one standing next to Mycroft.

John looked into the room briefly. A number of nurses were busy with the administering medications or preparing things. He was able to catch a glimpse of Sherlock and instantly knew what was going on. This was bad.

Mycroft immediately turned around when he heard John, ignoring the doctor opposite to him. "He was declared legally incapacitated an hour ago. We need a decision on that to do."

John didn't give an answer. He looked past Mycroft into the room. "I need to see him," was all he said. He tried to walk passed the doctors, but one of them stopped him.

"Doctor Watson, I don't think that's wise."

But John didn't care. He pushed the doctor aside, entered the room and stood by the bed.

He looked at Sherlock's face, which was extremely pale. His eyes were shut tight.

John heard someone calling his name, but he didn't respond. He tried block out the people and the voices in the room. His focus was now completely on Sherlock.

"Sherlock?" John tried. He really tried to keep himself together, but his voice shook anyway. He didn't get any response.

He tried again. "Sherlock, can you hear me?"

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. John's heart sank when he saw the pained, almost desperate look in his eyes.

"J… John?" he managed to say between whimpers.

John was completely grounded for a moment. Then, he grabbed Sherlock's hand with both of his. He took a deep breath and started to speak, trying to keep his voice as calm and steady as he could. He knew he had to be very clear.

"Listen to me. The doctors have declared you medically incompetent, which means I have to decide if they can operate. If they don't, you will die. Do you understand me?"

Sherlock nodded, pressed his eyes shut again and let out a groan of pain. John's chest clenched painfully by the sound. With every bit of strength he had, he tried to continue.

"I need to know if you want me to let you go, because I can't make that decision for you, I won't." John was fighting back tears now. "But if that's what you want, I will. I will let you go."

For a split second, John was terrified he wouldn't get an answer. Then, Sherlock tightened the grip around his hand slightly. "John," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "John I don't… please," was all he managed to say.

That was all John needed. He grabbed Sherlock's hand as tight as he could and let out a quivering sigh of relief. "it's okay, we've got you. I've got you," he whispered.

John's head snapped up. He tried to make himself as tall as he could. He knew he had to give orders like in the army.

"Okay, go!" he demanded.

Everyone fell silent instantly, all eyes were now fixed on John. Even Mycroft was taken aback.

"Didn't you hear me? Go!"

Nobody moved, only glances were exchanged.

"Dr. Watson, you don't get to…" spoke one of the doctors hesitantly.

"Yes I do get to. Now come on people, let's move!" John practically yelled. Why didn't they move? He looked at Mycroft for support.

When their eyes met, Mycroft snapped back into reality. "He has final say," was all Mycroft needed to say.

The tall doctor standing next to Mycroft was the first one who started to move. "You've heard the man, let's go. We don't have any more time to waste."

Suddenly everyone started moving. The doctors immediately walked away. The necessary devices were disconnected and the bed was removed from the brakes. Two nurses were ready to take Sherlock, a third stood by the door to keep it open. They all looked at John. Only then did John realize that he was still holding Sherlock's hand. He quickly let go and immediately the bed was rolled out of the room. Mycroft hurried after them, looking over his shoulder to John.

"Are you coming?"

But John didn't answer. He stood in the middle of the room, unable to move. He started to feel sick. He turned quickly, grabbed the closest spit tray and vomited.