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-John...- Sherlock said quietly, his low, deep voice rumbling in his chest. He didn't want to scare awake the poor man lying on the hospital bed in front of him, IV's coming out from his left arm. The tone of the ex-soldier's skin was paler than ever, making him look vulnerable.
-Sher...- John didn't finish. He was having a hard time breathing on his own- I'm dying... Dull, isn't it?- he asked sarcastically, but Sherlock remained serious.
-Why couldn't it be me?- Sherlock asked coldly, changing the subject in a second- Why couldn't I die first?- He looked straight at John. His voice sounded... pained, yet so calm.
-I am clearly older- John simply answered, looking at Sherlock's tired eyes - I am turning 84 next month.
-And?
-You just couldn't die first.
-I am not...- Sherlock looked away, trying to focus on something else but John. It hurt so much to try not to look at his partner- I wasn't talking about that.
-Then what?- John asked. Sherlock looked terrible. So much pain going under that long coat, in his chest, where Sherlock had trusted John to enter decades ago.
-Why do I...- Sherlock was lost for words- why do I have to struggle to keep living once you're not...- he stopped, closing his eyes- Once you're gone?
Silence.
-Because I wouldn't make it without you again- he knew Sherlock wasn't coming any close to his bed. He noticed the detective hadn't even moved from the door frame - What are you afraid of?
-I am not afraid- Sherlock answered in a very low voice. John had expected him to yell that he was a sociopath and that he feared nothing, but today was different. Maybe Sherlock knew that their last day was this and if he yelled, he would probably never have time to apologize. Or maybe he was just scared, but was too shy, too stubborn to admit it.
-Would you come here, please?- John pleaded.
Sherlock took two steps, getting closer to his companion, but not enough to be at his reach.
-You don't have to be afraid- John spoke, looking at Sherlock's face. His eyes were downcast and didn't meet his- You know that we will always be together, it doesn't matter how.
-I don't want you in my Mind Palace- Sherlock said sadly - I want you by my side, telling me how amazing I am- Finally, the old detective looked at John, and the doctor could see the tears welling up in those precious eyes he knew so well.
Sherlock knelt next to the bed, his joints and bones making noises of disagreement.
-I want you in our bed, digging your nails in my back while you cry out my name- he took John's hand and closing his eyes once again, put the palm against the right side of his face- I want you cuddling with me in the couch while we watch crap telly...- he turned his head and kissed John's hand- I don't want you in my heart, because I want you here, next to me, breathing, kissing me, telling me how much you love me as I tell you how much I love you.
He fought back the tears, but it was too late to hold them back. It was too late to do anything but to grieve.
-You promised you would never leave- His voice wavered and the detective bit his lower lip. His eyes were watery and he wasn't sure he could keep his feelings at bay any longer- You promised... - His voice faded once again and the sobs he had been holding back now gently escaped his lips.
The brunet trembled, his muscles betraying him. He planted soft kisses all over the doctor's hand, tears now rolling free down his cheeks.
-I will always be here, Sherlock- John said between his own soft whimpers. His chest ached and he shivered all over- As long as you remember me, I will never die.
John tilted Sherlock's head up and met his gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, but they were still as wonderful as the first day his and John's met. Soft, clear... Perfect.
-We will never die- John proclaimed, forcing a pained smile on his face- My mad, brilliant detective- he cupped Sherlock's face and stroked his cheekbone with his thumb.
Sherlock's lips curved up into a delicate smile, which lightened John's heart. He knew he wouldn't last long, but he didn't care, as long as he was allowed to see the man's perfect face.
-What would I do without my blogger?- Sherlock said, tears fading away from his eyes and drying up on his sharp cheeks.
John giggled, and the sound went straight into Sherlock's heart, where it would be kept forever.
-I love you- John said, sure of it as he had never been before- Did you know that?
Sherlock grinned widely, pure happiness reflecting over his face.
-Pretty obvious- Sherlock said sarcastically. He remembered all those good old days when he and John were younger, stronger. Those days when they would come home tired but excited, adrenaline still rushing through their veins after solving the case, cracking the uncrackable and catching the bad guys. Sherlock would mock the other man, with the sole purpose of his lover shutting his mouth with his own on the sofa, eventually stopping to laugh endlessly, speaking praises and snuggling into each other's bare skin.
John chuckled. All of this just felt so... right. Ordinary people would be crying and sobbing now, but he remembered that they weren't normal... No, they were Sherlock Holmes-Watson and John Watson-Holmes. They were the craziest and happiest people on Earth, and they were everything that mattered now. The world could crash and they would laugh about it, because that was the way it was meant to be. If one of them had to die, they would face their respective times as it should be. They would embrace their deaths and thank for having such wonderful lives.
Sherlock stared at John's blue eyes, and he decided that this time, he wasn't caring about goodbyes or last times. This time, he would only care about his John.
He looked at the switch on John's breathing machine. He hesitated before looking at his partner, his grip on John's hand firm and strong.
John nodded at him.
-Let go- he muttered, feeling like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders.
The detective reached over it, still holding John's hand, and turned it down.
-You know...- John said, already feeling life leaving his body- I always thought we would die younger, maybe shot, chasing down some serial killer.
The brunet grinned. That was his John. His forever beloved John. The one that would receive death as an old friend, the one that would never be sad, but happy he'd had such a wonderful life.
He stared at his eyes once again and held his gaze.
-Me too- Sherlock said, lacing his fingers with John's.
He smiled fondly and thought wisely about what he would say next. He wanted to tell John everything that was going through his mind: how much he thanked him for turning him into a happy man, for giving him everything he needed, for loving and caring, for being there his whole life, but right now, the only thing that came to his lips summed it all up.
-My dear Watson... I believe death is only a door- he said, lifting up his hand to stroke an errant strand of grey hair on John's forehead- When it closes, another one opens.
Sherlock got up from his knees and kissed John for the last time. It was a chaste kiss, barely a brush of lips, but it was somehow special. It felt like the end of something... For both of them, it felt like the most perfect kiss in the world. A promise made of unspoken words.
He locked his eyes with John, foreheads still touching.
-I love you- John said, and this time, the words felt truer than ever before. He slowly closed his eyes, and felt his eyelids grow heavy. He heard one last whisper coming from Sherlock, before exhaling his last breath... the last words he would ever hear.
-And I love you, my John.
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