AN: Hello everybody:) I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while but if it makes you feel better I have been writing ficlets! So yay! I'm in a really good mood today so this angsty-ness doesn't fit how I'm feeling. But a prompt is a prompt and I already had this one written up:)
It's not the longest but its not the shortest:)
I love reviews like Mycroft loves cake:D (and prompts, prompts are good too)
Erin:)
Prompt by: Merthurr
Pain:
I could feel my feet protesting as I repeatedly slammed them into the hard ground. My throat ached from lack of hydration and a stitch burned in my side. I kept my eyes on the consulting detective sprinting in front of me. Then my gaze flickered to the shady figure darting around the corner. I knew we had to catch the guy, if we didn't more children would die, so I pushed myself forwards, catching up with Sherlock. We ran round the corner, feet pounding in synchronisation and our breath came out in gasping pants. I blindly reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand as we kept pace behind the criminal. Suddenly the man disappeared into the dark London night. We carried on running, hoping that the man had tripped and fallen. I was so focused on the man that at first I didn't hear the little click that could only mean one thing. A loaded gun.
I pulled Sherlock to a stop and frantically looked around, feeling my leg buckle and the ghost of pain shoot through my shoulder. I could almost feel the sand against my back as I fought back a yell. It came out as a pained gasp. Sherlock turned to me, blue eyes wide and grabbed my arm tightly. His lips were moving but I couldn't register what he was saying. Suddenly a shot rang out and I dropped automatically pulling Sherlock down with me. I heard the shatter of glass and the streetlight went out leaving us in the blackness, listening intently to the tinkle of the glass as it landed on the ground. My eyes began to slowly adjust to the gloom and I saw the barrell of a gun peep out from the shadows. Yelling his name I pushed Sherlock out of the way and felt the bullet rip through my arm. Screaming in agony I fell to the floor, twisting so that I wouldn't land on my injured arm. Sherlock crawled over to me and grasped my face with his trembling hands.
"John." He croaked, peeling the sleeve on my blood soaked shirt. It must have been bad because Sherlock, the man who whipped bodies and used severed heads in experiments, went ghostly white and looked like he would throw up.
"Has he gone." I coughed, trying desperately to fight the waves of blackness that tried to pull me into unconsciousness. The pain seared through my arm spreading like fire as I felt the sensation burn my shoulder and leg.
"Yes." Sherlock said, sorrow clouding his features. I felt a drizzle of water spit onto my body and I hissed as the water splattered painfully against the gunshot wound. The liquid dripped across my body chilling me to the very bone. I looked up to see Sherlock peeling off his coat and draping it over me.
"The blood." I protested.
"It doesn't matter, all that matters is you. The ambulance is on its way." Sherlock said sincerely, meeting my eyes and pulling me so that my head was resting in his lap. The water dripped down his face, gliding across his cheekbones before plopping onto the hard ground. My arm suddenly began to hurt even more and the pain nearly blinded me. I tried to focus on Sherlock and his voice that was getting more and more distressed but it was too late. I was sucked back into the memories.
The screaming. The stained sand. The blood congealing on my front. Nobody to help. My leg aching. Pain ripping through my body starting at my shoulder. I'm going to die here.
I pulled in a deep breath and I was back with Sherlock, away from the horrible place where sand rubbed my skin raw and snuck into the wound, infecting it. I rolled my head to the side slightly and watched the water drag the blood along the side street like a stream. It was peaceful. I could just relax. If I just shut my eyes all the blood will be gone. Just shut my... Eyes. Slipping away. It's peaceful. Shut my eyes. This is a nice place to die. JOHN. Who's yelling? JOHN! This is my dream place. JOHN, COME BACK TO ME PLEASE! Sherlock... Sherlock... "SHERLOCK" I yelled, opening my eyes, blinking away my tears as I reminded myself why I has been living for the past year or so. Sherlock Holmes. The man that was worth any amount of pain.