Work Text:
"No..." whispered John in horror, his bags of shopping falling to the floor as he froze in the doorway. "Oh God, please, no..." The ghastly creature before him in the darkened front room of 221B Baker Street turned and snarled menacingly, pinkish-red saliva dripping from the gaping maw that was once a delicate Cupid's bow. Its face, rather gaunt even in life, now seemed little more than a skull with pale skin stretched tautly over it; its ears had lengthened to tapered tips; its ebony curls, that had always been such a breathtaking conundrum of disheveled and casually suave, were matted here and there with grime and blood; its eyes, so full of playful mischief and dazzling intellect when John had last seen them, glowed like blue ice within the sunken sockets and showed not even the slightest hint of recognition. Of humanity. The doctor's heart clenched.
The nightmare crouched low, the tattered black Belstaff it still wore over a perfectly-tailored suit nearly brushing along the carpet. Wicked claws attached to thin, gnarled fingers gleamed red in the dim light of the evening, even as their owner poised them to rip the flesh from the army doctor's bones. John's eyes darted over to the top drawer of his desk, where his gun still laid untouched for two years but for cleaning. He hurriedly tried to remember if he'd left it loaded last time; God, he hoped so. If it wasn't... well, at least his heartache would stop...
***
Tensing, the tall figure growled again, but made no move to approach as its prey cautiously edged further into the room. It sniffed the air curiously as the air shifted, bringing with it the scent of something... no, someone almost familiar that could not be placed, making the ghoul's brow furrow in irritation and confusion. Grumbling, it inhaled again, this time certain the enticing scent belonged to its intended target, mingled with the delicious tangs of sweat and fear. Padding silently forward on bare and dirty feet, it halted a mere 3-or-so metres from the meal it craved when its prey suddenly lunged to the left to withdraw what was clearly a weapon. The monster hissed and backed away slightly, eyes narrowing with distrust and a faint sense of hurt; why did the victim defending himself from his attacker feel so unaccountably wrong?
***
The taller humanoid was being held at gunpoint at point-blank range, the danger was nowhere near over, the gun was perfectly steady, and John Watson was absolutely filled with self-loathing in acknowledgement. He knew the creature wouldn't be intimidated for long, Lord knows the man it used to be never was, but even with his life on the line, simply pulling the trigger on what was once his best and closest friend would be the hardest thing he'd ever done. Or would ever do, for that matter; after this, it was all over, for both of them this time. John blinked rapidly as tears pricked his eyes, locking them on the solid and feral blues of the ghoul, his ghoul, for the final time.
"Goodbye, Sherlock" he rasped through the catch in his throat, the badly-suppressed tears running down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, my love... Goodbye..."
***
And for just a second, for just a flicker of a moment as the gun went off and the first of two bullets flew through the air, the ghoul's eyes, Sherlock's eyes, were clear.