Love of Heaven and Hell

The Countdown of Life

    In the morning John opened his eyes, the first good night of sleep he'd had in a while, and it would be the last night. Ever. When he realized this, his grip around Sherlock tightened in fear, he didn't know what was going to happen today or tonight, but he knew it wouldn't be good. Sherlock woke with the sudden change in John's breathing and arms, his green eyes opening up right in front of John's like some sort of abstract sunrise. It was more beautiful than the real thing, of course.
"Good morning John." Sherlock said with a breath, his face so close, a small smile appearing on his lips. Obviously he had wanted this for a while now, maybe even longer than John had.
"This is the last time you can say that." John muttered, feeling a certain heat behind his eyelids, as if he were about to cry or something embarrassing.
"Don't think like that, it's just another day John, it's just another day." Sherlock assured, holding John closer. He felt like a baby, but right now being close to someone was exactly what he wanted.
"Do you want me to get breakfast?" Sherlock asked.
"Don't leave me alone." John muttered.
"Where do you want to go then?" Sherlock asked.
"Nowhere." John muttered.
"Well we've got to eat sometime don't we?" Sherlock pointed out.
"No." John muttered.
"Whatever you want." Sherlock shrugged. John felt static from their two cotton tee shirts as he snuggled closer, his head on Sherlock's shoulder so that his black curls tickled John's cheek.
"Is there anything you want to do then?" Sherlock asked again.
"No." John repeated. Sherlock laughed a little bit, John could feel his chest laugh and hear it in his throat, there were things you just don't experience when you're the right no homo distance away from each other. Like the smell of Sherlock, like a musty cheap cologne and the leather seats of John's car. Or the smell of his hair, like lilacs and roses, as if he used some sort of shampoo that John wasn't aware of, the softness of his skin, the rate of his heart, the feel of his arms wrapped protectively around John. When it was about ten o'clock John woke from some sort of drowsy sleep thing as he cuddled with Sherlock, realizing just what type of trouble he was in.
"We should probably get up." he decided. Sherlock grunted with approval, not really sounding like he was asleep or close to it.
"I agree." He decided. John untangled himself from the mess of limbs and got up; looking around the room knowing that would be the last time he awoke from sleep. That made his already fragile heart hurt. John changed into his favorite jeans, favorite shirt, and pulled his leather jacket over top like the crowning moment. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, John Watson. He might never see himself after he was dragged under; he might never know what he looked like, what if he forgot? That was a terrifying thought, so he moved away from the mirror and looked at Sherlock, who had also dressed for the occasion in his slacks and purple shirt, pretty much the only full outfit he had. He looked over and for a second, just one mere second, John could see the same fear in his eyes as John had. He was scared for the unknown; he was scared for the death and destruction that this day would bring. But his eyes snapped back, as if nothing had happened at all.
"Where do you want to eat?" he asked.
"I don't know." John admitted. "I'm not very hungry."
"That's okay, we don't have to eat." Sherlock assured, but John could hear the small bit of disappointment in his voice.
"But if you want to that's fine with me, I mean I can totally go and just drink coffee. You know what, that sounds nice, let's go to another diner." John suggested.
"Not the one with the hot waiter though." Sherlock agreed.
"No, let's avoid him." John agreed with a half-smile. John grabbed the keys and walked out into the bright sunlight, the last morning sunlight he'd ever see. Because when that sun goes down again John won't be around to see it rise, Sherlock will wake up alone, he would go to breakfast alone, he would watch that morning sunrise alone while John was getting his welcome tour to Hell. They drove around for a while, trying to find another diner, and it wasn't hard until they found one in the outskirts of town, a little one that seemed to be the ultimate old person magnet. Sherlock got out first, scoping it out and then giving John a halfhearted thumb up. John got out of the car and walked in with Sherlock, up the wheelchair ramp and into the old diner. It was kind of seventies themed, with black and white checkered floors and pink booths and bar stools. Obviously the seventies residents came along with it because the elderly swarmed the restaurant like a disease. They were everywhere, in the tables, at the counter, waiting in line, even serving the customers. Sherlock and John had to be the only ones there under fifty.
"May I seat you gentlemen?" asked a croaky old voice from behind the pedestal.
"Um, yes, table for two please." John said with a smile. The woman had frizzy white hair and many, many wrinkles, she kind of gave John the creeps to be honest.
"Follow me." she said with a smile, grabbing two menus and leading them to a booth near the window. John looked out over the road; there were so many cars, trucks, even motorcycles, all of them holding people off to do their jobs, to make a difference in this world, trying to make their futures bright. Whereas John was sitting in a booth, knowing his future was lost without hope. As promised Sherlock ordered waffles while John only sipped very strong coffee, trying to forget his problems without getting drunk. On a normal day Sherlock would've been thrilled to see that his waffles were drenched in whipped cream, cherries, and powdered sugar, but today he picked at the feast and didn't really eat any of it.
"I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought." he muttered after only eating one waffle.
"Head home then?" John suggested.
"I guess so." Sherlock sighed, looking around with a sigh and folding the money they owed under the check. They left the restaurant and headed back to the hotel in silence, John was only too aware that the timer was ticking on his head, every second was precious, and then it was gone. When they got to the hotel they did some more sitting around, and it felt like time was going faster than ever. John felt an odd tugging in his stomach, he was absolutely petrified but he didn't want to show it. He didn't want Sherlock to know how weak he felt, how terrified he was, but then again, Sherlock was probably feeling the same. Of course the time was flying faster than light speed, and lunch time came and went without any food. Neither of them were hungry, and neither complained. Finally, around three o'clock, Sherlock pulled out his cell phone.
"Do you have any calls you want to make?" he asked, holding out his phone to John. Immediately John's thoughts jumped to his family, who he hadn't spoken to in ages. Of course he should call them, say good bye properly.
"I've got my own phone." John decided, pulling out his cell phone and typing in the number. Sherlock moved beds to sit next to John, putting an arm around his shoulders as the phone rang. John smiled halfheartedly at him as he waited, and Sherlock just nodded encouragingly.
"Hello?" asked a bored woman's voice, his mother.
"Mom?" he asked cautiously. It had been so long since he's heard her voice.
"John, is that you?" she asked, sounding thrilled to talk to him.
"Ya mom, it's me." John agreed, feeling himself choke back tears. Of course he wasn't actually going to tell her, she had no idea that any of these nightmare creatures existed.
"John I was so worried, you hadn't been in touch forever!" she exclaimed.
"Ya, I know, I'm sorry." John muttered. "I've been caught up in work."
"Oh, what are you doing now honey?" she asked.
"Oh, um, animal control." John said quickly. He felt his eyes heating up again, and Sherlock's arm around his shoulders tightened, he was trying to tell John everything was going to be okay, but that was a lie wasn't it?
"Well that's great." She said happily. "Do you have a girlfriend yet?"
"Mom come on!" John said with a little laugh.
"Do you?" she insisted.
"Something like that, ya." John agreed.
"Brilliant dear, that's brilliant. I always said you were a handsome young man, but you never seemed to want to approach girls." Mrs. Watson sighed.
"Mooooommm." John groaned, but he actually was laughing inside because little did she know he hasn't approached a girl. "So what have you been up to these days?" he asked.
"Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that. I helped decorate the church and then Margret and I went out to this one gardening class, it was really interesting, and I visited your sister."
"Oh, well how was that?" John asked with a nervous laugh.
"Well, she's happy; she's got herself a partner as well, if you can believe it." Mrs. Watson said.
"Who'd want to date Harry?" John asked with disgust.
"A girl named Clara apparently." Mrs. Watson sighed. Sherlock and John eyed each other with surprise, maybe gay runs in the family.
"Oh, okay then." John muttered. "That's fine too though." John assured.
"Yes, of course it is dear." Mrs. Watson agreed. "Oh, Harald, come over here, it's John on the phone!" Mrs. Watson said excitedly to someone across the room. There was some scuffling and the phone was passed over.
"John?" asked a new man's voice, his father's voice.
"Hi dad." John muttered, once again feeling himself get all teary eyed.
"Why haven't you called before? Your mother was worried sick, we don't know if you're dead or if you just don't want to be associated with us anymore..." his sentence was broken off when there was a shriek, obviously Mrs. Watson didn't like what he was saying.
"He's lying of course dear!" she said from the background.
"Well son, it's good to hear from you." He decided.
"It's good to talk to you guys too. And I uh, I probably won't be in touch for a while, I'm fine but, you know, I'm going out to some deserts and there's no phone reception there." John lied.
"Oh dear, which desert?" Mrs. Watson asked.
"Oh you know, probably as close to hell as it gets. I'm being sent down there for work, they want me to catch this coyote or something, I'll be fine though." John was now fighting back tears, he was lying to his parents just by pretending he was going to be alive much longer.
"Well that's fine, as long as you're making money." Mr. Watson decided.
"Of course. So, I guess I'll see you guys later, I love you both." John sighed.
"Love you too dear!" Mrs. Watson called.
"Be good son, take care." Mr. Watson agreed.
"Bye." John decided, turning off the phone and staring off into space.
"I just lied to my parents." John decided.
"You did the right thing, of course." Sherlock insisted, taking John's clammy, afraid hand in his own soft one. John looked up in surprise, he hadn't held hands with Sherlock before, and he had to admit, he kind of liked it.
"Do you think I should call Harry too?" he asked.
"Sister?" Sherlock asked. John nodded, there wasn't really a good relationship there. "Then yes, of course, say goodbye." Sherlock looked away, his voice cracking with emotion. John called his sister but there was no answer, who knows where she was or what she was doing, but John just left a message telling her that he loved her and that he would see her when he saw her. Of course he told no one except Sherlock what was actually happening, he was guaranteed that his mother would dig a hole straight through the earth and fish him out herself, but he didn't want her to go through the trouble. No, it was best if they didn't know, and if Sherlock wanted to tell them eventually John would leave his phone with him to tie up the loose ends of his forsaken life. They spent the rest of the day making salt lines with huge bags of road salt, across the windows as thick as they would go, and lines and lines of it in front of the door, as if that would hold stuff off. They emptied all of the bags all over the floor so that the room was striped with the sodium. Then they loaded all the weapons with shotgun shells and rock salt, filling the magazines with trembling fingers.
"It'll be okay." Sherlock assured for the millionth time. He always tried to convince John that it would be okay, or that they would both make it through the night unharmed. The time ticked down, and soon, when it was eleven o'clock, the sun was down and the hopes followed it. They took all of the weapons with them into the bathroom, and the clock, just to make sure. John's whole body was shaking with fear, his eyesight was blurry, he couldn't hold anything except a gun, which kept slipping out of his grasp and onto the floor. They locked the reinforced door with all of the locks it had and pushed a kitchen chair in front of the door. John felt like he was going to either throw up or cry, or even both, cowering in the very back of the bathroom floor with all the weapons he could carry. Sherlock was there with him, holding his own weapons but also John's hand. It was taking all of John's self-control to keep from collapsing into Sherlock's arms once more. 11:09, 25 more minutes left on this Earth.