Aftermath

21~John's POV

Something was wrong with Sherlock.

I don't know how I knew, but I knew.

I stopped sobbing, and heard voices in the hallway.

"...really that stupid, do you?"

"He's done some pretty stupid things in his lifetime, Greg."

Greg and Mycroft were talking in the hallway. I tried to listen, but they seemed to notice I was silent.They both walked in, sad looks on their faces.

"Where's Sherlock?" I asked. They both jumped at my straightforwardness.

They look at each other, communicating silently. "We, uh, we don't know. He came and told us.."

The world is dark.

I am dark.

And I know, my love, my anchor, is no more.

Greg is rambling on about being sorry, but I can't see him.

All I see is dark. I move, as if not by my own will, towards the door. I hear shouting behind me, but I ignore it. It's been so long since I walked, and I'm not sure of my destination. The darkness is overtaking me, but once in awhile I get a glimpse of my location. A stairwell. The hospital lobby. Various streets. The darkness lifts, totally, and I'm in front of 221B. I'm barefoot, and dressed in a hospital gown.

I open the door to a suspicious calm. I wander up the stairs in a trance. I open the door, and I see it. So much, and so deep in color.

Blood.

That brings all of my senses back quickly. 

With this much blood loss, the victim is most likely dead, I think.

Who is the victim? Half a minute later, I get my answer.

"Sherlock!" He's on the ground in the kitchen. There's an even bigger puddle of blood around him. I check his pulse, and there is none. He's lost too much blood. "No no no nononononononononono..."

I'm searching for something anything to fix this with, when he gasps. Sherlock gasps. He's breathing. I call 999, praying he can stay with me long enough. I begin CPR in the hopes of sustaining any life he has left in him. As my mouth meets his for the umpteenth time, I hear pounding footsteps, running so fast up the stairs. "Help him," I whisper.

"We will, sir." I get a weird glance from one of the EMTs, but they don't say anything. I don't have the strength to do anything, but watch as they take care of Sherlock. I hear whispered words.

Deep laceration on the left arm

Self-inflicted

Possible suicide attempt

Extreme loss of blood

Then, he's on a stretcher and they're moving him, but I don't have the strength to follow.

Instead I wander around the flat, looking for a trigger or a note or something to explain this. I find a note in an envelope on the desk. It has my name on it. I open it and find a note in it.

John-

When you were at my grave, you said, "I was so alone, and I owe you so much." Oh John, if only I could tell you how wrong you were. You don't owe me. I owe you. When I met you, I knew my heart shifted. I wasn't afraid of emotions and feelings. You showed me joy, and love, and happiness. The years with you were the best.

They'll also be my last.

I didn't mean to hurt you. You showed me wonderful emotions, but all I showed you was heart break and pain. God, John. I'm so damn sorry. I know that when I'm gone, Moriarty won't have a reason to hurt you anymore.