Who:John Watson, mention of Sherlock Holmes, and mention of the rescue team to be added later. When:Following the shooting! Where:Niagara Falls Warnings: um...angst
"John. You can stop being an idiot now and get up."
He heard his voice, but it seemed so very far away. He wanted to answer more than anything in the world, but he couldn't. For a moment it felt like time just stopped as he lie there staring blearily up at his best friend through barely open eyes. He was talking, possibly screaming. John couldn't tell anymore. He wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out and comfort him, but his limbs felt like bricks. It wasn't fair, he was supposed to help him not hurt him. Even in his last few minutes on Earth he felt like he'd let Sherock down. He could feel moisture touch his face as Sherlock broke down but he couldn't even manage to tell him it would be all right. He was tired. His eyes matched the rest of that heavy feeling in his body. He tried to talk, tried to tell him it wasn't his fault but he could only mouth the words.
Even in his final hour all he could think about was Sherlock. He reached for his hand but his motor skills were failing. All he could do was open his palm and flex his fingers a little in Sherlock's direction but the man was distraught, he hadn't noticed. That only sparked more determination. He kept trying.
People always asked basic core questions about what dying was like. If it hurt, if it was scary. But being shot was none of those things. It'd all happened so fast it felt like nothing at all until his body fell to the ground. Even then his brain was still trying to catch up and could not. With the last of his energy his hand finally reached Sherlock's own, his fingertips brushing his friends and grasping at them weakly. He still tried wordlessly to tell him everything would be all right. His shirt was drenched in his own blood and his face was bruised, his body broken thanks to Moriarty's men but he still had the energy to comfort his best friend.
He found his mind wondering about regrets, he had so many of them. Moriarty was still alive. Sherlock was in tears, countless people had suffered emotional trauma because of him. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. He wasn't ready to leave Sherlock's side. He still had so much left to do. Sherlock still needed him. His hand that held Sherlock's fell limp into the mossy greenery around them and his eyes slid shut. He finally stopped suffering and breathing.