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Sirens. Screams. Heat. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking back pain from the brightness of the world around him. Yelling, so loud, mingling with the cries of others and the crackling of fire.
Sherlock jerked up, letting out a shout at the searing pain that shot through his side. He looked down to see red, so much red, seeping out of a large gash on his side. His hair felt matted to his head and there was a stickiness trickling down the side of his face.
His mind slowly supplied him with the details. They were working on a case, only a measly two, and they had been on their way back to the flat. There had been a squealing of tyres and then the world had gone dark.
He looked at the wreckage around him. Cars flipped, some with people still inside trying to get out, some with bodies not moving. He spotted the cab he’d been riding in, upside down, the side door ripped from the vehicle and nearly ten metres away. He’d been flung from the car if his clearly broken leg was anything to go by.
Despite the pain, he started dragging himself towards the cab. He had to find John, make sure the man was all right. Bits of glass and metal tore into his palms but he barely felt any of it.
Finally he made it across the road and glanced into the cab. The cabbie was dead in the front seat, and John was hanging upside down, still buckled in. Sherlock didn’t think twice before he crawled into the back and, carefully as he could, unlocked the belt and eased John onto the roof of the cab.
“John,” he said, voice rough. He brought his fingers to John’s neck, pleased that he found a pulse but worried at how faint it was. He cupped John’s jaw, hovering over him.
“John, come on. Wake up. John!”
The world was getting blurry at the edges, and he pressed his forehead to John’s to keep the man in focus.
“John, please. Don’t do this now.”
He saw John’s eyes scrunch up, heard a pained groan, and leaned back with a brittle laugh as his blogger slowly came to. Blue eyes, dimmed, met his own, then narrowed.
“Sherlock? You’re bleeding. What happened?”
“Car crash. The cabbie’s dead,” he said matter-a-factly. “Can you move?”
John frowned and tried to shift only to let out a pained whine.
“No. No, I don’t think I can.”
Sherlock frowned and looked over the rest of John’s body, taking note of the amount and location of the blood. Nicked artery. He went pale, felt sick. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not ever. Not John.
“Hey, hey, hey. Sherlock, no. Stop crying. It’ll be okay.”
Sherlock met John’s eyes. Why did the man look so calm? He was dying.
“I know,” John answered his mind. “Sherlock, I know. But it’ll be all right. You’ll be fine.”
Sherlock shook his head, dragging himself closer to John’s body and taking his hand.
“No. You can’t do this to me. You can’t. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not like this. Not with how I- I-” he cut off with a sob and pressed his bloody forehead to John’s, eyes still open. “I never told you. I was so stupid. I never told you, John, please don’t do this. I love you.”
John let out a weak chuckle and gave a feeble attempt to grip Sherlock’s hand back.
“I know, you git. You weren’t very subtle.”
Sherlock chuckled, then whined as a stabbing pain shot through the gash in his side. He leaned up and met John’s eyes.
“Sherlock? What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” he lied. Tears were still rolling down his face but, in spite of the pain burning through his body, he smiled. He smiled because he knew, just like John, what was going to happen.
He leaned down, pressed his forehead to John’s once more. The man was fading, eyes losing their luster. He let his tears drop to John’s cheeks as he shifted to meet their lips. John made a surprised sort of noise, then he was kissing back as much as he could in his state. Sherlock’s body went numb, all traces of pain dissipating. He leaned back and met John’s eyes one last time.
“I love you, John.”
John stared back, determined to make Sherlock’s face the last thing he saw. Tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes as he realised what Sherlock had.
“Dammit, Sherlock,” he breathed out, voice wobbly, as he gave Sherlock a weak smile. “I love you, too.”
John used the last of his strength to tug Sherlock down into a kiss. Tears and blood mingling, body numb, kissing as though it would be the last time.
There was a fire burning through his veins that had nothing to do with the crash. John loved him, John was kissing him. He felt his heart leap into his throat as happiness flooded his system.
Then it was over. He felt John go limp, lips stilling against his own. He squeezed his eyes shut and brought his fingers to John’s neck. He felt the thrumming slow to a stop until there was nothing left; no pulse. Unable to break away and look at John’s lifeless body, he let out a whine, a sob against John’s lips, and willed the darkness to take him.
The last thing he heard was his own name being called in the background, muffled by the silence quickly overtaking him.
The last thing he felt was joy; he would be joining John soon.