John POV

I was awoken by horrifying screams, but it took a few minutes before my blurred vision could focus on the sight of Sherlock's thrashing body. For a second, lying in my bed, all I could do was stare at him, and then his mouth opened and he released a noise like nothing I'd ever heard. It was a howl, a bone-chilling scream of agony, and then he was silent. His mouth remained open, and his eyes were wide, but I knew he could not see me as I rushed to his side.

Suddenly, his entire body convulsed, tearing wires and tubes out of his body, and I begged for someone to help me hold him down before he caused himself damage. Greg, who must have been sleeping in the hospital chair between our beds - I hadn't seen him appear in my peripheral vision - appeared and we managed to get a hold of his arms. Frightened by the fit, Greg began to shout,

"SHERLOCK! STOP IT! STOP! WAKE UP!" The pagers and alarms were frantically going off and doctors were running in, adding to the chaos and shouting over our screams for help. His entire body arched off of the bed and bent at an impossible angle, his back looking as if it would snap in half, and his eyes widened to a point of panic that I'd never seen. His mouth opened in one last bellow, louder than anything I'd ever heard, and he looked at me with pleading in his previously empty eyes. It was as if someone were torturing him. It made no sense. No-one had any idea what was happening. And then he collapsed back into the covers, his entire body still and limp, and the doctors were rushing to save him.

Everything was silent around me as I watched them work. Greg was being ushered from the room by a nurse, and someone was trying to take me away, but I refused to go. I threw myself at him, pushing through doctors as my whole world collapsed,

"Oh God. God no, Sherlock-" I grabbed his hand, shrugging off the doctors that tried to pull me away. "Sherlock, no... wake up! Sherlock!" He had no pulse. Oh God, he had no pulse. Everything slowed down as the doctor's tried to force me away from him, but I struggled against them frantically. They were descending down on his limp form with defibrillators, shouting for everyone to clear, as they desperately tried to bring him back from the edge.

It couldn't be real. I just hadn't woken up, that had to be it. I was still asleep. It had to be a nightmare, how could he be dead? How could Sherlock be dead? The two words didn't go together. The world needed him. I needed him. I had feelings for that man that I couldn't even bring myself to describe. He was everything. How could he possibly die? Not now, it didn't seem real. There was nothing wrong with him. He was physically fine! There was nothing life threatening about his health. There was no bullet wound, no overdose, no fall, and his stab wounds weren't life-threatening.

Nothing was physically wrong with him, ignoring the healing wounds, it was all in his head, so how could it be killing him? Were they tearing him apart from inside? Ripping his mind up in their battle for dominance and killing him in the process? Was there even enough of him left in there to be Sherlock anymore? That seemed the most horrific explanation possible. Without his mind, he wasn't Sherlock, or at least he wasn't the Sherlock we were fighting to save. I couldn't bear to think of that stupendous mind being turned into nothing, like paper being shoved through a shredder. It couldn't happen... not to Sherlock.

I was frozen to the spot. Lestrade was desperately trying to pull me away and give the doctor's room to work, but he only succeeded in getting me to the doorway before I managed to resist. I tugged myself free of his grasp,
"I'm not leaving him." He put a hand on my shoulder, choking as he spoke,
"You're not leaving him, John. He's leaving us. God knows, he might have already left us days ago. You have to realise, John..."
"What, that he's dead? Greg, he's not even cold. He's not dead. Sherlock is not dead. He can't... he can't be."
"I know how much he means to you-" I scoffed,
"You have no idea... you can't possibly understand what I feel. I don't even understand it myself!"
"You love him."I blinked at him and pulled away, looking back at Sherlock,
"I'm not gay." I stared at the pale face, almost entirely blocked from view by doctors and framed by a sodden, dirty mop of curls, and I silently pleaded for them to wake him up. I felt like a ghost, stood watching them attempt to save him, and feeling like I would fade away without Sherlock there to anchor me to the world.

"No, but that doesn't mean you don't love him. John, he's your other half. He's the centre of your world. And now he suddenly seems more human, and you love him for that-"
"I don't want him to be human, because if he's human then that means he can die. And he can't," I choked, "he just can't." Greg squeezed my shoulder,
"I'm sorry, John."

We both looked up in anticipation as a doctor approached, and my knees buckled when I saw the look on his face. Lestrade only just managed to catch me.
"No. Oh God, don't let this be real. This can't be real." I dropped my face into my hands, numbness spreading through my body. I wanted to scream, to cry and to shout from the rooftops. I was vaguely aware of the doctor asking if there was anyone I could call, if I had a wife or family member, he even asked Lestrade if I wanted a priest. I told him to piss off. How can people find comfort in religion at times like these, knowing that it was God who took their loved ones? I didn't need religion. I needed Sherlock, and he was flatlining just a few metres away. I felt like cursing God for forcing me to live in a world without Sherlock. I don't care if I have to live with a hundred different personalities all popping in and out. If it brought him back, then I would embrace each of them as the man I cared more deeply about than anyone else in the world.

I couldn't take it in, and suddenly I was running. I raced to his bedside, desperate to get through the crowd of doctors who were declaring him dead, but Greg chased after me and caught me. There was a moment of wrestling as he tried to escort me from the room, and I desperately reached and called for Sherlock. There was no response, and Greg tugged me away. It was only as I finally began to realise that he was gone, and I allowed Greg to lead me, that I heard a voice croaking my name.

"John." I had never heard such a sweet noise as that single rasping word. Greg released me instantly, dropping me in shock, and we swivelled around to see Sherlock watching us walk away. His eyelids were drooping slightly and his voice was hoarse and rasping from screaming, but it didn't matter. He lifted a hand, his entire body weakened and aching, and simply said, "John." I couldn't stop myself from running to his side, and the doctors moved out of the way instantly, the crowd parting like the red sea,

"I'm here," I burst into tears, grabbing the outstretched hand in a vice like grip and gasping out, "I'm here, Sherlock."
"Where were you going?"
"Nowhere, I'm not leaving you again. I'm never leaving you again."

He looked up at me and, for the first time in too long I was truly seeing my Sherlock and realising that Greg had been right,

"And neither am I. They're gone. They're all gone." I felt my heart leap even further, if that was possible, because it was better than I could ever have hoped for. I choked on the tears; seconds ago I had been faced with losing Sherlock, and here he was, and it was truly him.

"Thank God." I huffed, half laughing and half trying to look furious, "Don't you ever do that to me again, you bastard!"

He smiled weakly and I couldn't help but think he was the most wonderful thing that I had ever seen. His piercing eyes met mine and he whispered,
"You're holding my hand, John. People might talk." I chuckled through the grateful tears, pulling him into a gentle hug, resisting the urge to crush him in my hold,
"Let them talk. I don't give a damn what people think, these past days have been absolute Hell, and I'm going to enjoy having you here to the fullest."
"You don't have to worry. I'm back, for good. It's me, I'm never going again." I pulled him tighter and muttered,
"Good because I don't intend on ever letting you go."