"Please will you do this for me?"
"Do what?"
"This phone call...um..it's my note. Thats what people do, don't they? Leave a note"
"Leave a note when?"
"Goodbye John"
"No...don't"
"SHERLOCK!"
"Sher.."
John ran, faster than he ever thought possible. This had all happened before. But something was different this time. There was no cyclist, no onlookers, no paramedics. The place was deserted. The only living thing was John.
Sherlock's body lay curled on the pavement, on leg tucked beneath him, his hand splayed out as if reaching for help, for John. The doctor took it, feeling for a pulse, he always felt for a pulse in his dreams but he never found one, this time was no exception.
Holding back a sob, John gently pushed Sherlock's shoulder until the man was lying on his back. His hair was so thick with blood that it stuck to the pavement, the blood soaking into John's pants as he knelt beside the lifeless shell that once held the soul of his best friend.
His eyes were still open. So dead, so empty. John reached over and closed them gently. Like he was sleeping. If it wasn't for the blood then John would have happily believed he was. John placed a hand over his eyes, his body shaking as he cried and cried, tears mingling with blood upon the cold pavement.
Taking a deep breath, he wrapped his arms around his friend and pulled him close, resting the detective's dark head against his chest. John kept his arm around Sherlock's shoulder, his cold, dead hand laying against John's shirt. John wasn't sure how long he sat there, rocking, cradling the corpse that was once Sherlock Holmes.
Why, Sherlock? Why did you have to die? Why did you leave me?
Where you go I will follow.
...
Take me with you.
Lestrade tapped away on his computer, sipping is coffee occasionally, bemoaning how mundane life had been lately. Cases kept piling up, unable to be solved, someone's private joke up there no doubt. For the thousandth time that month, Lestrade wished Sherlock was still here. But the man was dead, he'd sacrificed his own life to save the lives of others, he died a hero. Greg was so very proud. But he continued to miss him every day.
"Sir?"
Lestrade looked up into Sally's concerned face. "He's back Sir, Mr Holmes" She left the room quickly, still refusing to be in the same room with Mycroft Holmes if she could help it. Lestrade stood, reaching out to shake Mycroft's hand, who simply stared at it and closed the door, sitting in the chair opposite. Lestrade hadn't seen the other man since the phone message. He hoped he was doing alright.
"What can I do for you?"
Mycroft took out a file, opening it and placing it on Greg's desk. "This man is an assassin, believed to be one of the one's targeting either you, John or Mrs Hudson. He returned to London a few days ago." Greg took the file, reading it over. "Whats that got to do with me though?" Mycroft took a deep breath. "His car was involved in a hit and run a couple of days ago. I need you to find out all you can about the car and to interview the witness."
Something wasn't right, why wouldn't Mycroft put his own men onto this? Why was he even involved?. "What aren't you telling me?". Mycroft stood, preparing to leave. "The victim of the hit and run was on Doctor John Watson. Mycroft left the office, leaving Lestrade with his head in his hands.
Shit, not you too John. First Sherlock, now you. You better be alright mate, don't you dare follow that idiot detective.
"Sherlock"
"What?"
"Oh, now you're speaking to me"
"I was resting"
"You were sleeping"
"Resting my eyes"
John chuckled. "You were exhausted Sherlock, I stood in front of you and said you had a case three times and you didn't even open an eyelid."
"What case?"
"There wasn't one, that was just to see if you were sleeping or not, you big git"
He turned to stare at the pyjama clad form stretched out on the couch. "I was not exhausted John." Another disbelieving laugh. "Would it kill you to admit that I was right for a change? Just once?" Sherlock turned to regard John with a curious look. "Probably". John rolled his eyes. "Of course it would, you always have to be right, always have to have the last word."
"Of course."
Mycroft had kindly found a way to get Mary out of the room for a short while, Sherlock for once was very grateful for his brother's presence. Sherlock pulled a chair close to the bed, taking off the cap that covered his now short, curly red hair. His quick eyes studied every uncovered inch of the body on the bed. John was so pale, so...lifeless. It scared Sherlock. John Watson had been in a coma for almost a week now.
"John...I hope you can hear me, though you will need to believe this was all a dream when you wake up. Because you have to wake up John. You just have too. Please. I..you're my best friend John, you're my only friend. At least, my only close friend. You..I need you to stay. Don't die John, don't slip quietly into the night." Sherlock wiped his nose, leaning closer to John.
"I 'died' for you John. I would do it again if it meant you would live. I would happily exchange places with you right now. Because this is all my fault. You were supposed to stay safe until my return. I know you ran after that man because it was what we used to do. Run all over London, chasing down adventures and murderers alike. The first case we solved together, we ran across London after a murderous cabbie. This is my fault. I hope you'll forgive me"
Sherlock ran his finger's through his close cropped hair, checking his watch. "John, I need you to wake up. Please, will you do this for me? Just open your eyes, please, just for me, just stop this. I don't believe in miracles John, but if you woke up right now? That would do me just fine."
"John?"
"Sherlock"
"Why are you still here?"
John looked up at the chair opposite, staring into the ice coloured eyes of Sherlock Holmes. "What do you mean? Sherlock, I live here" A small smile flitted across the detective's face. "Thats not what I meant. You have to go back. None of this is real. You know this. You just refuse to accept it." John looked confused. "Of course it's real, have you been experimenting on yourself again, because I swear Sherlock, after last tim-"
"No. Listen to me John Watson. This is not real. I am not here and you are not in 221b Baker Street."
"Ok, Sherlock you're scaring me"
Sherlock leaned back in his chair. Blood began to trickle down his face, his colour draining with it, his lips turning blue. "No.. no, stop this. Sherlock.. stop that right n-now" Sherlock stood, walked over to John and knelt by the chair, taking John's hands in his and placing them over his cold, blood drenched face.
"I died for you John. I would do it again if it meant you would live. I would happily exchange places with you right now" John tried to pull his hands away but Sherlock held them tightly in place. "I'm dead John, accept it and wake up"
"I don't understand"
"John, I need you to wake up. Please, will you do this for me? Just open your eyes, please, just for me, just stop this. I don't believe in miracles John, but if you woke up right now? That would do me just fine."
"Sherlock...I won't see you again. This.. was so real. Please don't make me leave"
"John, I have always been there, watching over you. You just haven't observed. But I want you to be happy, safe. That's why you need to say goodbye and wake up. Please do this for me. I am not asking much."
"I..I..don't want to go"
"I will always be..here"
He tapped John's chest with one long finger and pushed. The flat shattered into a thousand pieces and John felt himself falling.
"John..John?"
"Sherlock!"
Mary's eyes teared up once more. John was tossing on the bed, the machines beeping frantically. He was waking up and the poor man had been dreaming of his lost friend. A nurse grabbed her shoulders and steered her out of the room so the doctor's could do their jobs.
Mary sat in a chair outside his room, her head resting in her hands, hoping, praying John would wake up. "Is he going to be alright?" Mary heard a frantic voice ask the nurse who had just steered her outside. The man had curly ginger hair and looked worried beneath his black wrap around sunglasses. He must be a friend of John's.
The nurse assured him that things were looking up and to come back at another time when they knew more. The man walked backwards, running long fingers through copper hair and looked over at Mary for a brief second before turning around and leaving the corridor.
Mary couldn't help but feel she had seen this man before. But from where? She shook her head, focussing on John and not this familiar stranger. Sherlock turned to stare at her once more, wondering what John saw in her. It didn't surprise him that the only person able to wake John Watson was Sherlock Holmes.
Once he left the building he took out his phone, placing the white cap over his red curls. "Tell me more about the assassin. What did you say his name was again?"
"Sebastian Moran"