|John Watson internationally smuggles tea (imhisblogger) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2012-07-17 13:17:00
|Entry tags:||john watson, lexi branson|
Who:John Watson and Lexi Branson
What:John goes to sit with Sherlock and figure out what to do with the body.
24 hours at least Sherlock had been in that park alone. John felt like an incredible failure as a friend. He should have been there with him, he could have helped. He at least could have made sure that Sherlock didn't die alone. He could have made it hurt less, or tried to keep him warm. Anything was better then nothing. Even if that nothing included shooting Jim Moriarty. Sherlock was more important to him than any revenge, none would bring his friend back. Nothing could ever make it better. He walked toward that park in silence, if anyone had said anything to him he hadn't noticed and didn't respond. He couldn't trust his voice. This was the second time he'd lost him, he couldn't do it anymore. What had he done to deserve to have his best friend and heart trampled on twice?
Was it his time in the war? Did he deserve it somehow? He'd done nothing since then but try to help people as a doctor and where did it get him. Burned. It was still raining from the night before, the sky was grey but the air was warm. Blond hair matted against his face, his shirt stuck to his skin. John didn't even feel it. Without Sherlock his world made very little sense anymore. Without his best friend he never felt more alone. Sherlock understood him on levels many had never bothered to try until this world.
John wasn't sure how to process any of that. And it didn't matter. Upon seeing Sherlock's limp and pale body wrapped in his familiar trench coat, everything froze even his breathing. He stopped and stared, his lips dry and his eyes hard. It took all his will power to approach the body. He barely made eye contact at all with Lexi. Looking down at Sherlock's face all he could do was drop down beside him. "Sherlock.." His hand touched his face and down to his wrist to check for pulse upon pure habit. Blond brows knit together as he gently lifted him into his arms and held him. Just sat there and held him, not caring if the blood got on him. He was still wearing some of Moriarty's as well from shooting him so close.
"You promised you wouldn't leave me."