Sherlock, Why Didn't You Tell Me?

Sickness Falls Upon Baker Street

As the day became gray as a crayon in a child's school bag, John continued to bike home from work. "I think it may rain." He thought as the pedals on his bike continued to run in a circular motion. He hadn't heard from Sherlock in a long while; maybe a good 30 days. John had assumed he was on a case, so he didn't read into it much. His cell started to vibrate in his pocket, as if it wanted free. John stopped his bike excitedly thinking it could be Sherlock. He picked up the phone and answered it. "Hello?" It was Mrs. Hudson. "Yes dear." She started. "Everything alright?" John replied. "I'm afraid not; Sherlock is laying up in bed moaning and groaning- he hasn't stopped for days! I have tried to get him to eat something, or at least drink some tea. But he just won't. Maybe you could help?" John's face went pale. "Of corse- I'll be over as soon as I can." He hung up the phone and jumped back on his bike, and headed to 221B. While he rode, he called Mary. "Meet me at Baker Street." He said.

When he arrived on the curb to the old building, he tied up his bike, and entered in. He didn't even bother to knock. Mrs. Hudson was already at the bottom of the stairs, awaiting his arrival. "It's good to see you darling- he's upstairs." She said as she hugged John. "It's good to see you too." He said as he embraced the warm hug of a friend. He started up the stairs, and eventually was at the door of his old apartment. He didn't hear sherlock, though he knew he was there. He entered the room, and dust flew into the air. John coughed, and covered his face with his sleeve. "Sherlock?" He called, but there was no answer. "SHERLOCK?" He yelled, but no reply came forth. He made his way through the kitchen, and to the bedroom of Sherlock Holmes. He burst through, to find Sherlock laying on the ground, blankets cast around him. John gasped (much to his surprise) and grabbed Sherlock's limp body by the shoulders and put him onto his bed. He felt his forehead and covered him up. He knew he needed fluids, but he also knew Sherlock wouldn't like it all that much if he woke up in a hospital. John decided it would be better if he waited to see if it improved, or God forbid it got worse. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to the side of the bed, where a side table would normally sit. He folded his hands in his lap, and watched Sherlock's Chest rise and fall. But soon, the rising stopped, and his chest fell. But It did not rise back again. John saw this and arose rather quickly. He put his ear to Sherlock's chest, and his hand on his wrist to check for a pulse- and there was none. Quickly, he put his hands together and started to perform CPR. "Mrs. Hudson!" He called. "Call 999!" He could hear the putter of her heals so he knew she heard him. He continued to press down on his chest, although was becoming tired. He periodically checked to see if a pulse returned, but it didn't. When the door opened downstairs, he checked once more, and a pulse was there. It was quite slow. which worried John, but there was a pulse. He took a breath of relief as color returned to his friend's face. The medics flooded into the small room, and put him on a stretcher. John insisted on coming with the medics- although they didn't necessarily want him aboard. Eventually, they decided to let him tag along. When they were on the road, John stared at Sherlock's ever fading face. A single tear strolled down his face-though he wiped it away quickly. It pained him deeply to see his friend go through this. It also reminded him of people dying around him while fighting. He looked out the window, and the bright lights of the hospital approached quickly. The back doors opened and John jumped from the platform. They rolled Sherlock out, and into the hospital. When they got into the emergency room, they rolled the bed into a room, and transferred him to the hospital bed. After connecting him to tubes, and machines, Doctors quickly surrounded him, because his few monitors blanked. John was shoved out of the room, -much to his dismay- so he made his way to the waiting room. He heard a faint "CLEAR" as he paced the room.