Work Text:
Sherlock's mobile lay on the floor next to the sofa where it had fallen from his lifeless hand. The screen kept lighting up momentarily and then dimming again, indicating new text messages.
-Sherlock, what do you mean goodbye?-
-I'm coming over-
-please respond, I'm on my way-
-???????-
-I'm almost there, please, please respond, I'm worried sick-
-Sherlock, I've been calling, please call me back-MH
-this isn't funny now, answer the telephone, Sherlock.-MH
-If you don't want to speak with me, at least return John's call.-MH
These appeared on the little screen of the mobile along with no less than thirty seven missed calls. Twenty were from John while eight were from Mycroft, five were from Lestrade and four were from Molly Hooper. Unfortunately, these were destined to never be returned.
A few moments later the door to the flat burst open and John stepped into the room, immediately aware that something was horribly wrong. He only hesitated a second before flipping the light switch near the door, in the now illuminated flat his eyes were drawn immediately to the sight he feared most in the world. Sherlock lay sprawled the length of the sofa, his left hand dangled limply over the edge, hovering over the mobile that had fallen to the floor. In his right hand which was resting on his stomach was clutched a hypodermic needle and he was obviously not breathing, there was no gentle rise and fall of his chest indicating life.
As if in a nightmare John went to him and felt for a pulse, simply out of instinct. He tried to resuscitate him and failed, it was too late. John would never remember at what point the tears began streaming down his face, he grabbed Sherlock's upper body and cradled him to his chest and just sobbed into his dark curls that smelt faintly of sandalwood as he murmured words that the man would never hear, words he had needed to hear always, now it was too late.
"I love you, you idiot!! Goddamnit Sherlock, I bloody love you. I was coming here to tell you today but I lost my nerve!! Why did you do this? Why?"
John felt as if his entire world had evaporated in the space a few short minutes, he could barely get air into his lungs, he was sobbing and gasping and holding on to Sherlock so tightly, never wanting to let him go. His body was still slightly warm. His eyes were closed and it appeared as though he had been in pain before death, they were tightly shut, creating lines in his usually smooth alabaster skin.
"I need you, I've always needed you. I don't want to live without you, please don't make me, I can not do this again, Sherlock! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
John had no idea how much time had passed, it might've been minutes or days for all he could tell, or for all he cared. He never wanted to leave this exact spot, he vowed he would never let go of Sherlock. Fortunately Mycroft, Lestrade and Mary all turned up to pry him away. Mary was able to force him to move away. Lestrade phoned for the coroner to come and take Sherlock's body. Mycroft was completely silent, unable, for the first time in his life, to think of a single thing to say. Words were useless now, words would never bring back his little brother. His brilliant little brother who was currently turning cold under a sheet.
When words finally came to Mycroft they were a bitter slap in the face from a very distant past.
"All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."
Mary had taken John home, Lestrade had accompanied the body, that's all it was now, just a body, without the great spirit and brain of the man who once inhabited it. Mycroft took a final look around, thankful at least that Mrs. Hudson was out of town. A single tear slid down his face as he locked the door to the flat, never intending to return. He would send someone to clean it. Again those ghostly words floated back to him.
"All lives end..."