I hope this NEVER happens :(
OH MY GOD
I CAN’T EVEN
Reblogging because I felt like writing a ficlet thinger.
John opened his eyes to find a blurry figure looking down at him. All he could see were blue eyes. Or were they green? He had never been able to tell.
“Sher…” he whispered. The again, he had heard that one saw apparitions during the last few minutes before death.
He felt something wet drop onto his cheek. A tear. But it wasn’t his own. He wanted to reach up and wipe away the tears that were falling form the eyes of the man holding him.
“You’ve come…to take me…away?” he managed to ask through breaths that were getting shorter and shallower by the minute. Sherlock said nothing, simply holding JOhn close, ignoring the fact that he was getting blood on his beloved coat.
“No, I’ve come to take you back,” he whispered, too afraid to talk louder lest the other man should slip out of his grasp. He was, even then, only half there.
John laughed slightly before shuddering into a dreadful silence. The shadows were creeping in from the corners of the room, seeping in through the walls, making their way to where he was being held by Sherlock.
Sherlock drew back and gazed down mournfully. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He stroked John’s cheek softly, noting the recent tear stains and increased number of lines around the eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, another tear falling from his own eye and landing on John’s cheek. “I am so, so sorry.”
John said nothing, merely looking up at Sherlock from under half lidded eyes. It wouldn’t be much longer now.
Sherlock brushed John’s short hair softly. “How would you describe me?” He had to know. “How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?”
“Late…” John replied weakly, managing a small smile. Even now, Sherlock managed to be his normal egocentric self.
Sherlock let out a small humorless laugh. “That too. Could you ever forgive me?”
“Done it…before…haven’t I?” It was now getting harder and harder to get the words out.
After a moment, Sherlock looked him straight in the eye, holding his gaze as he always had done. “I love you.”
The darkness was already beginning to engulf Sherlock’s face. He had to say it now. If he didn’t, Sherlock would never know. Never know how much he mean to John. How much he owed Sherlock.
“Sherlock Holmes…” he whispered, his voice barely above a faint breath, “I…”
But that was as far as John Hamish Watson ever got before drawing his last breath, burying the words he should have said years ago deep within a heart that had ceased to beat.
WHY WOULD YOU WRITE THAT. OH GOD. BRB CRYING.
The picure made me practically cry, but the ficlet, that, if it was possible would kill me.
Excuse me I’m off to drown myself in a bath of my own tears.
oh you fuck