(A/N) I apologise in advance for the language, and the length. This one is actually going to be really, really short, because I saw the picture above and this idea hit me, but I'm in a foul humour and I'm not all that bothered so I'm sorry. Again, you can probably see the end from here, I just saw the pic and yeah.
John felt someone's hand over his own, long, cold fingers lacing I between his. He tried to move, to open his eyes, but even the thought of shifting sent a bolt of pain through his body. A familiar, comforting voice resonated somewhere near his left ear, "Stay with me John, please..." John tried to open his eyes, to give any sign of life, but it felt as though every breath he took shattered his rib cage, burnt his lungs, seared s throat. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, more difficult to hold on. The steady beeping noise became rapid and irregular, and John Heard the deep voice in his ear again, breaking slightly. "John, please, I need you here, I need you with me, I-" the voice choked and there was a sob. John could feel tears falling into his hand, which was taken up by the slim fingers he knew all too well from grasping in the heat of a case. "I love you John."
John knew that this was it. He was leaving. There was no way he could save himself. So he decided to make his last breath worthwhile. "No shxt, Sherlock..." He smirked, ignoring the blood in his mouth. His eyes fluttered and he caught a glimpse of the handsome detective, tears streaming down his face, with a bittersweet smile on his face.
"Fxck off Watson."
"I love you too..."
.
.
.
Then, there was nothing.
