Almost Too Late

"Come home, come home!" John cried

As he sat by Sherlock's headstone side

He wailed and he moaned

He shook and he slipped

He even got back his psychosomatic limp

His hand began to tremor

His body to shake

And too many tears in the wake

Little did he know

His friend was not dead

It was merely a fake gash on the side of his head

To home he walked

All alone

For the third year without Mr. Holmes

At night he twisted and turned in his bed

As horrible images flooded his head.

From a time at the pool to a fall off the roof

Watson finally knew what he had to do

The next morning

When he walked outside

Poor John Watson stared to cry.

.

.

For Mr. Holmes the stories a bit more bleak

It'd been three years since he'd gotten a good nights sleep

Now he knew three years were rough

He had to see John

Enough was enough.

He trailed him through the city

Every turn he too

Until he saw John

Climbing up too.

He ran so fast

But he couldn't keep up

John took another step

And he fell from above.

Sherlock's knees hit the floor

As he let out a cry

Then be ran quickly to the dead man's side

He took his bloody head

Put it in his lap

And said, "Come on John, just a tap.

Let me know you're still alive

I've waited three years, THREE YEARS,

Oh please be alright!"

.

.

.

.

Then John Watson's finger flinched

And his nose wrinkled as if it itched.

Sherlock let out a gasp

As a tear left his eye

"Someone call an ambulance, the police, call anything!"

Mr. Holmes was desperate for someone to hear his plea.

"Oh he's my friend, please!"

A girl in a coat turned around

Her white lab coat touching the ground

"Sherlock?" She gasped

Wet her eyes grew

"Yesterday you were dead as far as I knew!"

Sherlock pressed his forehead against Johns and said,

"Yes but now we must save this doctor, my best friend."

She drew out her phone

The sirens came quick

The ambulances came lickety-split

On a stretcher

His limp body rode

Sherlock beside him, almost alone.

Until Sherlock took

Johns limp hand

Smoothing it over felt ever so grand.

"John my friend,

My very best mate,

I "died" only so this wouldn't be your fate."

.

.

Day after day Watson was asleep

And Holmes was there

Listening to every beep.

He sat around never leaving his hand

Rubbing it again and again made it not so bad.

Until one day

When Sherlock's heart skipped a beat

Sleeping beauty awoke from the sleep.

First the right eye

Then the left

Then a slight twist of the head.

Sherlock rested his head

On John's bed side

Tears left

Both of their eyes

With all of the energy he had inside

John lifted his arm and laid it across

What he now realized was Sherlock.

"Is this real?" He whispered, a pain in his head

"Or... Am I really dead?"

Sherlock let out a wet sort of laugh

"You're alive John, and I thank heaven Wfor that.

I was almost too late,

But I've been by your side.

John, I love you."

The army doctor started to cry.