My Doctor, Watson

Chapter VII

Sherlock, despite his hard-to-get attitude and his emotionless demeanor, was a very comfortable snuggeler. John fell asleep almost immediately, which hasn't happened in a very long time.

John dreamed that he was with Sherlock in a field. The early morning sun glistened and shown on the hay. Sherlock grabbed John's hand and lead him to a clean little lake near the field. John was wearing his usual clothing, a sweater and some jeans. But Sherlock looked perfect. He was wearing a slick black tuxedo and was clean shaven. They sat down by the lake and watched the fish swim and the ducks walk around. They sat there and laughed and laughed, whether it be about Mycroft's antics or the latest crime.

At last, Sherlock spoke in a serious tone.

"Do you see the size of this lake?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah?" John responded.

"I would estimate it covers about 15.78 acres of land, quiet small for a lake. Certainely not comparable to one of the larger lakes on Earth, but if you multiply those small 15.78 acres by the infinite capacity of space and all of space-time continuum, that's how much I love-"

And that's when the timer went off. John tried to forget about the dream. It made him upset to even imagine Sherlock saying those words, they were too human. All he knew was that that sentence would never be finished.

John sat there, contemplating in never ending thoughts and the impossible possibilities, but then he realized where he was. He jolted upright and turned around. Sherlock was still asleep, his arm sprawaled across the couch exactly where John lay.

John made some tea and sat down at the table.

"When do you leave?" Sherlock asked, his voice rough from just waking up. His eyes weren't even open yet, but Sherlock could feel his presence gone. Cold and empty.

John raised his eyebrows and took a sip of tea. "Excuse me?"

"You're getting deployed today, John. Don't be absurd. When do you leave?"

"Noon." John said under his breathe. He knew Sherlock would find out, but he didn't want it to be this way. Sherlock moaned and sauntered off into the bedroom, his bare feet smacking against the floor. John finished up drinking tea and put the mug in the sink. Sherlock walked back out and he loked just as perfect as he did in the dream. John could feel his pulse quicken. He immediately resurfaced and spoke with his tongue tied.

"Um, would you like a cuppa?" John asked, nervously tapping his fingers against his leg. Sherlock noticed of course, and looked down at the anxious movement out of the corner of his eye. He tilted his head, confused, but chose to shut up for once.

"No." Sherlock said sharply. He glanced at the clock, the hands pointing at 10 AM. "We should go." John hurriedly got dressed, even though there was no point. He looked around his room, hoping this wouldn't be the last time he saw it. Even though it was plain and boring, it told many stories. Only stories that Sherlock and John could tell.

He walked out of the room, Sherlock leading, and exited. Stopping only to look back at the living room in which the best days of his life occurred. The chair he used to sit in, the bullet holes in the wall, the fridge that contained severed body parts more often than not, and the floor they danced on.

Sherlock's heart didn't feel like a heart at all, but instead a ball of yarn. The strings tangled and thin. The worst part was that it was John that was holding the scissors.

John's eyes glazed over with tears, but he just took a deep breathe and walked away. He couldn't bear to look back. It was too late to turn around.

Ms.Hudson was waiting by the door when they got there. She was crying and her hand was covering her mouth.

"Sherlock told me." she muttered out while hugging John. Sherlock stood leaned against the wall, calculating the chances of John coming out alive.

John said goodbye to his landlady and left her crying. His heart was slowly breaking. The cab they got in sped off, and 221b Baker St blurred in the background, possibly never to be seen again.

Except, he would come back, John thought. He would. John would not leave Sherlock. As much as a stubborn arse Mycroft was, he was right. Sherlock doesn't deserve to be left behind. Although, John questioned how much he actually meant to him.

The occasional small conversation would pop up every once in awhile, and the drive seemed impossibly longer than it really was. When they arrived at their destination, they took slow and uneven steps towards the hospital, getting in the elevator when they got inside. A worker insisted to take them up there, but Sherlock rudely dismissed him and told him his wife was cheating on him.

Sherlock took a shaky breathe and walked with John over to the edge of the roof. They sat there, an awkward silence passing between them, until they could hear the blades of the helicopter spin. John knew this was it. This was the last moment.

For some reason, the scene from the night before pushed in the back of John's mind. Sherlock was just intoxicated. He didn't mean it, he told himself. The helicopter landed, and with that, his future ceased to exist. He realized that without Sherlock, he was no one. Instead of being an interesting sidekick to the one and the only Sherlock Holmes, he was a trigger-happy army doctor who hid his feelings and had trust issues. He wasn't special. He wasn't different. It was no wonder he felt something strong for someone so interesting. And it was no wonder that interesting person would never even feel the same way.

Sherlock walked John up to where the helicopter landed, and Commander Sholto and the other soldiers were waiting on the aircraft.

"So, I guess this is it." John said awkwardly. Sherlock looked up from his shoes and smiled, a tear streaming down his cheek.

"Are you crying?" John asked.

"No, it's windy." Sherlock lied. "Do one thing for me?"

"What?"

"Don't die. Please, promise me that." Sherlock said.

John laughed. "If you promise me that you won't smoke."

"Deal." He said, and they shook hands.

John's heart sunk into the depths of his stomach and turned away to board the helicopter.

"John?" Sherlock asked with urgency, fear and pain in his eyes.

John walked back over to Sherlock to hear what else he had to say. However, it wasn't what he had to say, it was what he had to do. Sherlock walked up close to John and kissed him. His fingers lingering through his hair. John sat there in shock, but then realized what was happening and kissed back harder than he's ever kissed before. He has been waiting so long for this.

The kiss seemed like it would never end. Sherlock's lips were soft, making John forget his name or what was happening behind him.

"I don't know if I will ever see you again, so I will say it now. I love you." Sherlock said, his forehead pressed against John, searching his eyes for a response.

And here it was, the sentence from the dream finally ending.

"God, I love you too." John laughed sadly. Sherlock reached over and wiped a tear off John's cheek. John could tell Sherlock was trying so hard not to cry.

"Goodbye, John." Sherlock said, his voice quivering. With that, he turned and walked away, not looking behind him to see the man he loved fall to his knees crying.

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A/N: Sorry.