Johnlock oneshots

Kisses from an Angel

(we!!!hit!!!five!!!k!!! oh my god guys we actually hit 5k!!! this is incredible oh my god, what do you wanna do to celebrate??? tw: terminal illness mentioned, oh and you don't have to play the video but it enhances the thingy I think and like it was the prompt for those who are wondering (don't know why you'd wonder))

John had 39 freckles.

Sherlock had counted them one day when John had been unconscious (How was Sherlock supposed to know that the drug would have that effect on him? It was only an experiment). There were 13 across the bridge of his nose, 9 across his left cheek, 8 on his forehead, 4 hidden in his hairline, 3 cluttered near his right temple, 2 near his lips. Sherlock could map them in his mind so clearly, build a picture with so much clarity, it was almost painful.

John had told him once that when he was a boy, his mother said that freckles were angel kisses. Sherlock had scoffed at the time but now he thought back on it, who would be more appropriate, more deserving, of a kiss from an angel than John Watson. It never mattered that Sherlock was cold and heartless, because John had enough heart for the both of them. John was good enough for both of them. 'Actually,' Sherlock thought 'that's wrong. He was good enough for Sarah, or Katie, or Mary. He was too good for me'.

All day people had been asking him if he was okay. He always replied

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?

to which people would smile sadly and shake their heads, some even went as far as to pat his arm in what he assumed was supposed to be an affectionate manner. He honestly didn't see why everyone was suddenly emotional now, they knew this had been coming for weeks now. Five months to live that's what the doctor said, and John had been strong like Sherlock knew he would be, and Mycroft had been cold like Sherlock hoped he would be, and Mrs Hudson had been annoying like Sherlock expected her to be, and Sherlock? Well Sherlock had been Sherlock. Laughing along with John like he always had, taking him on cases for as long as he could, making jokes about John's stupid red beanie (which he secretly adored) and doing his best to ignore the fact that the shadow of John's 'date with death' (as John had so charmingly named it) was looming further and further over them with a terrifying finality. He had tried to be strong, to play along with John's game, to pretend he couldn't see how pale John had got or how tired and thin he was of late, but sometimes it was difficult. Sometimes, he broke. Sherlock's allowed a memory to blow up and spread inside his mind.

..........

John sat, arms at his sides and face blank. This recent collapse had left John very weak, they weren't sure if they would be able to release him. The eternal beat of the monitor filled the room with a suffocating tension.

'Well,' John rasped dryly 'at least here they know how to work a kettle'

'Don't' Sherlock whispered, eyes closed 'just...don't'

'Sherlock....'

'No John. I don't want to hear your speech. Don't you dare tell me not to get worked up'

'Its going to be-'

'IT WILL NOT BE FINE' Sherlock exploded, tears falling down his face. He was tired of this façade 'You're dying John. Do you understand that? You're dying'

'Really? I hadn't noticed'

'Don't you dare. Don't you dare get snarky with me and don't you dare tell me that we'll manage. Because I wont. I wont manage. You're dying and I'll be alone again. Im never going to be with you again. It was different before, I'd never known friendship, or kindness, or lo...and now you're leaving me. You'll be gone' Sherlock's breath was coming faster now, the room was spinning. He felt as if he was being drowned in his own sadness 'You'll be gone and I will not manage. Oh god what am I going to do? What am I going to do when you're gone? When I never see your smile again or hear your laugh or see your eyes crinkle or see that ridiculous red beanie you insist on wearing? What am I going to do John?'