Left Behind

John has an incurable disease and is dying. Sherlock is the one left with his grief, something he finds is difficult to do


1. left behind

Running through the streets of south London is always so exhilarating, but then I realise that my partner isn't with me. I quickly remember that John had been complaining of a sore head all day but I'd thought nothing of it, just a simple migraine, that knowledge now fills me with worry as to where John is. I run back to see where he's gone. John is leaning against the fungus covered wall, gripping his head and softly whimpering in pain. I run over to him immediately, placing my hands over his, trying to get him to answer my questions, "Are you alright?!" I ask, "John, tell me what's wrong! Tell me what hurts!" In reply I recieve a strained, "M-my head, it--It hurts, it hurts so much!" Tears fill my doctors eyes, hastily blinked away but the action causes the reverse effect, a single tear drop runs down the tanned and wrinkled face. Keeping my hands over John's, I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb. "John? Come on, we have to go back home." John doesn't seem to register what I had said, his hands slide out from under mine, falling uselessly limp by his sides. I'm so worried as to what's wrong, John's eyes close and his head lolls to the side beneath my hands. I try shaking him gently but I only gain an incoherent mumble in return. "Can you walk, John? John, please answer me?" John merely stays the same, swaying slightly on his feet. I come to the obvious conclusion that no, John can't walk. So, I pick him up in a bridal style fashion and carry him to the main road. Once I had hailed a cab and reached 221, I carry John up the stairs, placing him on the sofa. Kneeling in front of the sofa, I once again try to waken him, this time, finally, with some success. "John? Can you hear me?" I try to make my voice as soft as I can, considering John has a headache. "mmyeah?" A mumbled recognition is all I had needed to know that John is at least conscious. After a few more minutes of probing, John sits up groggily and I retell him what happened. "Do you have any idea what might have caused that? Symptoms that it reminds you of?" I thought that maybe it was just the flu or a common illness. Soon I find out how wrong I was. John shakes his head, an action he immediately regrets as his face crumples in renewed pain. "Wait, you're sure you don't know any illness that has headaches and blackouts as symptoms?" I find it very hard to believe that that was the case. "No, there are many illnesses with those symptoms, just none that go along with lumps" John whispers, too tired and strained to do much else. "What lumps? Where?" I reach over and place a gentle hand on John's head. John places his icy cold hand over mine and guides me to the back of his head where there were two fairly large lumps. "What are they?" I don't even want to hear the answer. "I've done as much research as I could and I don't know. No one knows what it is." John's sighs in resignation as my brain clicks in realization. "You've known about this for a while," It wasn't a question but I receive a slight nod in confirmation, "Do you have any options or areas left to research? Anyone you could go and see to get checked out?" John can't look me in the eyes, his head facing the ground. I bring my hand from his head to his cheek, then to his chin, I gently raise his face to look me in the eyes. John's eyes fill with renewed tears, the sight of which causes my own eyes to tingle with the feeling of my own tears. I know by John's face there and then what the answer was. "It's an unknown illness, it's un--in-incurable within my lifetime." John's voice cracks on the last sentence, tears falling freely. My heart breaks seeing the man I love (unknown to him) break down, so I sit on the sofa and gather him up in my arms and hold him as my own tears broke loose. I sit in St Bart's hospital labs, staring down the view point of the microscope. I usually enjoy sitting analyzing evidence, only, this isn't evidence. This is John's blood. DNA. Illness ridden blood cells. I sit back on the uncomfortable stool and scrub my hands over my face. Just as Molly comes bustling in through the doors I yell in anguish, "A cure. A cure. There's got to be a CURE!" In my anger, I pick up a spare glass beaker and throw it at the wall opposite, the crash deafening in the silence of the room. Molly's shocked squeak alerts me of her presence. "Are--are you okay? Anything I can help with?" I should brush off Molly's timid offer but I truly am desperate. "Please come look at this and tell me what you see." Molly immediately scuttles over and peers into the microscope. After a minute or two I become impatient and heave a sigh. Molly knows that it means that I'm bored without me having to tell her, so she leans away from the microscope. "What is that? I've never seen it before." Her answer only makes me groan and put my head in my hands. "I DON'T KNOW! THAT'S THE PROBLEM!" Molly takes a step back at my outburst, somehow it makes me....guilty. "Sorry, it's just....it's John's." "John's what, his DNA?" I merely nod in confirmation. Molly looks at me in a state of shock and disbelief. "No, no it can't be, John's not sick." I stand up to leave and grab my coat. I turn back to face Molly when I reach the door, "Unfortunately he is." "Why, WHY?!" I yell at my computer screen, useless peice of crap doesn't tell me anything I need to know. John is lying in my bed, too tired to climb up the stairs. For the past few weeks since I found out about John's unknown illness, he has become increasingly worse; weaker both physically and emotionally. Said man must have heard my yelling as my bedroom door opens. "Sh'lock? You okay?" The gravely texture of John's voice is so beautiful, I have to take a breath to stop a wave of emotion wash over me. "Yes, fine. Just doing a bit of research." I clear my throat to take away the lump that had formed. John comes to stand beside my chair, peering over my shoulder to see what I'm doing. He sits down on the armrest, presumably standing became too much for him. "Are you still looking up cures? Sherlock, it's no use, just give up," John looks away from my computer screen and whispers, "I know I have." "John, I need you. I can't just give up on you!" I realise too late what I had said. John looks me straight in the eyes, shock mixed with...hope? in his eyes. "You--you need me?" John looks so stunned and nervous, it makes him look even more attractive. I nod, unable to speak for fear of any other unintentional words coming out. "You're tired, go back to bed." I try to get him to rest because I just can't bare to see him hurting, I know tries to hide his pain but I can see him better than anyone. "Only if you come with me," My brain skids to a halt, wait what??? John just looks at me expectantly. "You haven't slept in days, you've been on that computer hopelessly looking for a non-existent cure and I--I don't want my last memories of you to be, well, this." John whispers the last sentence, like he's afraid to he say it too loud. Somehow I completely understand what John is saying and stand up, putting the laptop on the armchair where I was sitting. John looks up at me and smiles, his eyes crinkle and teeth show a little and I really just want to kiss him but I know I can't. John leads the way to my bedroom, I never really thought this would happen, even though nothing is going to actually happen. John is surprisingly calm about sharing a bed with a man, where did the adamant "I'm not gay" mentality go? I go along with it anyway because this is probably as close as I'll ever get to being with John. When we are lying under the covers I feel John scoot over so he's closer to me; his and my breathing quicken, both seemingly deafening in the silent darkness of my bedroom. He rests his head on the front my shoulder almost on my chest and in a matter of seconds, his breathing evens out and is fast asleep. I try to do the same, but all I can think of is the warmth that I can feel from John and how his hair is slightly tickling my neck an-- NO no I can't be thinking this, I shouldn't even be here, this was a mistake; a glorious, glorious mistake. As I try to ease myself from under John's head, his arms come up, seemingly instinctively, to wrap around my waist, in a hold I can't get out of without wakening John; something I refuse to do. So, doing the only thing I can easily do, I lay back down and let John cling to me; not that I really mind anyway. Within minutes, the sound of John's breathing and his heartbeat against my arm lull me to sleep. The one thing I think of before letting sleep overcome me is; This could be one of the last times I feel John's steady heartbeat. "Will you remember me when I'm gone?" John's question makes me look up from my "useless" research on my laptop. How could he possibly think I could forget him? John will forever have a permanent wing in my mind, doesn't he know that? And it's not like he's going anywhere anytime soon, right? I know it's a pointless lie to try and convince myself that John won't---isn't---John isn't leaving. I try to tell John my useless mentality. "Nonsense, you're not going to be gone." John just looks at me. His eyes fill with emotion; pity? sadness? guilt? I can tell what he's thinking, that I'm just kidding myself and I need to face the truth; I know he's right. Maybe it's time to face more than one truth? I'd rather face this one than John's reality. I stand up and walk over to John, who turns around to look up at me with curiosity etching his face. "John, there's something I need to tell you before you---you---depart," John's light huff of a laugh calms my nerves, "I've wanted to tell you this since before you shot that cabbie for me all those years ago. I love you John Hamish Watson, I don't know what I will do without you." John's face contorts into what I think is shock-- no wait relief? John's hand comes up to my cheek, strong and yet gentle at the same time. "I can't lose you, John. I--" my breath catches as a lump in my throat forms, tears begin to stream down my face as I let myself come to the realisation that John, the only person I've ever loved, is dying. John's hand moves from my cheek to the nape of my neck, pulling me down into a hug. "I love you too, Sherlock. I'm so so sorry." John whispers into my ear, it just makes my tears fall harder. John and I stand there, my head in the crook of his neck, both of us crying as we know what is inevitably going to come within a few days. John eases back and brings my head up with his hands under my jaw. I look into his tear ridden eyes; they are still the most beautiful kind I will ever see. As John leans in I realise what is happening. John's lips are softer than what I thought they'd be, gentle with hardly any pressure. We stand still for what felt like eternity, till John moves forward slightly so that I have to take a step back. Immediately I see where this is going and walk backwards towards the sofa, never once breaking contact with John. As John settles half on me and half on the sofa, I can finally say that I am content; for how long? I couldn't tell you I can now tell you how long John and I would be happy; a week. One happiness filled, too-short week. John had been getting steadily worse but the day after our first kiss was the start of his deterioration, the decline in health that left him bed ridden. I had promised him that I wouldn't submit him into a hospital so that he could pass in the comfort of his home. Our home. Also John only wanted me to be there when the time did come so he said his goodbyes to Greg, Mycroft, Molly, Mrs Hudson, and Mike before he had gotten too weak. There were tears shed from everyone, well, except Mycroft, the git. I couldn't stand to see John have to say goodbye to his friends so I had to leave whilst they were being said; the cold air did nothing to stop the grief that was slowly taking over me. John and I now lay in my---our bed, his head on my chest, and hands entwine. I can here John's breathing become ragged. "Sherlock?" John's weak whisper causes a lump to form in my throat. "John?" I try to sit up but John stops me by twisting around so that he is looking up at me. "There is one thing that you have to know, I love you. I always have, ever since we met. I kn-- I knew that we connected some way instantly and I'm sorry that we didn't have more time to be us. It's my only regret but at least we have had this week. I lo--Sh'lock I---" John's face contorts in pain. He falls off my chest so that he's lying on his back on the other side of the bed, chest heaving as he tries to take in air. "No, no John. Please don-- dont' leave. Please" My voice is barely above a whisper as I kneel beside my John, gathering his upper body to cradle him in my arms. I wipe away his fringe from his eyes, kissing his temple and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. I run my hand along his cheeks, wiping away the tears that have fallen, his breathe still halted. My own tears fall from my cheeks onto John's, his and mine mix together only to be wiped away by my gentle kiss peppered on his lips, forehead, cheeks and lastly his closed eyelids. Suddenly John goes limp in my arms, there's nothing I can do but hold him. I cry out. I curse every deity there is. I shout about how unfair it is. Why couldn't it have been me? John has done the world more good than I ever could. He is--was more compassionate and loving to anyone that needed it than I thought could be possible. Finally, after hours of crying, I phone Mycroft. I tell him what happened. When he arrives I still don't let go of John. I can't let go and face the truth that he's gone. His smile. His laugh. His everything is gone. I start crying again as Mycroft tears me away from John so that his people can take him away. I try to resist but I know my efforts are futile. Mycroft and I stay on the bed, he turns so that he's hugging me. I let him as my tears fall heavier onto his suit. He cradles me just like he did when I was younger. I try tying my bow tie over and over again but to no avail. I just couldn't do it. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the mirror. My whole face is just a picture of grief. My clothes are haphazardly put together. John would have known how to tie a bow tie. And with that one thought, my eyes fill with tears again. I can't stop them from falling. I put my head in my hands as my brother comes in. "Sherlock, we are going to be late for the funeral." His voice is unusually soft. He comes over to me and drags me up to stand. My mind is numb as Mycroft fixes my shirt and bow tie. I can't think of anything as he leads me down the stairs and into the car. I don't register anyone else at the cemetery, only the coffin that I know holds John's lifeless body. I stand in front of John's grave. I made everyone leave so that I could be alone with John. I know that if anyone else was here, they would stop me. "I love you so much John. I can't handle not being here with you." More tears fall to the ground as I stare at the gravestone. I pull out the weapon from my pocket, the weight feels pleasant in my hands. I look down into the barrel before bringing to to my temple. I know that as I pull the trigger I can justify my actions with one simple thought; Why should the World's Only Consulting Detective live without his blogger?
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