Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Sherlock characters. Thanks to all the actors, writers, etc that make the original series so worth writing about!
The text said everything and it said nothing.
'He's wasting away, but trying to stay strong. His loyalty never waivers. Hurry brother mine – MH'
He thought about that compact body, the one he had held in his arms, that he had touched and stroked, kissed and comforted when the nightmares became too much. Now he closed his eyes and saw the bones protruding through the scarred but beloved skin.
Lying on his bed in Tehran, he felt he might as well have been on the moon, so distant was he from the one person on this earth he would willingly die for. With a groan he curled into a foetal position, the night air suddenly cold on his naked body.
One arm drifted towards the bedside cabinet, and from the draw he pulled the faded green t-shirt – John's favourite – and he buried his nose into it, inhaling the fading scent of his lover. Fading, as the man himself was fading.
"Oh John!" the words were torn from his throat, like the desperate cry of a wounded beast. "I cannot come to you my love, not yet, not while your life is still in danger!"
One more, just one more on this continent, then at least he could return to Europe, closer to home.
He closed his pain-filled eyes. "Be strong Beloved."
A/N: In the original ACD canon Sherlock Holmes travelled widely during his enforced exile. One of the places mentioned was Persia, now known as Iran, so I sent Sherlock to its capital city.
