Sherlock Oneshots

Barafundle Bay

Third Star X Sherlock > Thirdlock?

John's POV:

Sherlock and myself sat around a fire on Barafundle Bay, breathing in the salty air and letting the breeze blow through our hair; Sherlock's poor lungs kept on breathing in deeply, soaking in the fresh air from the welsh sea.

"I'm going for a swim." He croaked, glancing over at me.

"Your mum said -"

"I know." He whispered, "Tomorrow, I'm going to swim out in the middle of the bay and I'm not coming back."

I gaped at Sherlock, who leant emotionlessly on his elbows, digging in the sand.

"I know the enormity of this, and I am asking you," He stopped, taking a shaky breath, "to let me swim."

"No, no. Sherlock, I can't let you." I said sternly, I couldn't watch my best friend drown himself. How would I live with that?

He sat back up straight, taking in a deep breathe.

"You can. The question is: will you?"

"Has this been your plan all along?" Sherlock slowly nodded, "I thought you wanted to live, Sherlock. Why would-"

"Because this is how my life is going to be from now on. Because of the pain. Because of the drugs that I take for the pain, because of the drugs that I take for the side-effect of the other drugs... You've seen it. It's only going to get worse. My life was all up here," He whimpered, pointing to his mass of curls above his head, "but, the pain it's taking over and gradually I'll sleep further and further into thinking solely about it and that's not worth living."

"Look, I don't know what the pain's like but I understand. I'm a doctor, your doctor! Surely I can-"

"What? You told me about my lung cancer, you told me I had merely months to live, John. So what?"

"I don't know, I can't-"

"You can."

"What would I tell your mum and dad? What would I tell Mrs Hudson? What would I tell Mycroft, tell Molly an-" My voice was breaking now, about to shatter into infinite pieces.

"The same thing you'll tell Lestrade and the police. That you woke up in the morning and I'd gone, that you searched the dunes and then you saw something floating in the sea. You went to get me but by then it was too late."

"Every time I'd saw your parents when they'd check up on you, I'd know they could have had you for another day. To say goodbye properly."

"That's just it, there won't be one last goodbye that would break anyone's heart who cares."

"It isn't time yet. No." I whimpered, crying like a lost child; I felt lost.

"I have never been so alive, sharing a flat with you, racing around London with you, John. Blowing up Mrs Hudson's flat with one of my experiments and firing bullets into the wall. And now I want to end it, to actually finish something. I want to swim out and let the sea take me, I want to be conscious until I'm gone, I want to feel something, even if it's the pain of salt water in my damaged lungs, I want to feel! To fight. Something huge and terrifying... And brave. I want to feel my emotions." He looked at me, his eyes welling up. I hesitated, before quietly answering;

"I promised your mum I'd bring you back. I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"Okay. Okay, I'm sorry. It's too much to ask." A tear finally escaped the sociopaths' eye, and sunk his head into my shoulder.

~

That night, I couldn't sleep after what Sherlock admitted to me. I felt sorry for the poor man, he turned from consulting detective to one of my dying patients! I noticed Sherlock's raspy breathing, he was asleep but struggling to do an instinctive task with his broken lungs. I sat up quickly and tried waking him up, grabbing the meds kit with his medication in whilst shaking his shoulders. His moonlit eyes whipped open, and his hands clenched onto my top.

"John. I can't breathe." He choked. I grabbed the medicine and he took it eagerly, calming down after gulping some down. I stroked his curls to reassure him and a whispered "Thankyou." escaped his lips.

~

The next morning, Sherlock and I sat on the edge of the beach, the tide threatening to come near us. His head was resting in my lap, but the mass of curls lifted itself of me and the lanky man wandered to the tide. I didn't stop him, though. I went in with him. I tugged off my shoes and jumper and ran into the sea, its waves freezing my skin. 'He shouldn't be alone if he decides to let his body sink like an anchor.' I swam over to him, and he stopped when he saw me next to him. He seemed quite calm, but his eyes were filled with sadness.

"Can we go home now please?" I joked slightly. He smiled lightly, but soon faded and shook his head, "Ah, Sherlock. I'm scared."

"I'm sorry. If you can't do this then tell me. I'll swim as far as I can." He whispered, he clenched my shoulder, "Please, John. Do this." I hesitated, both of us crying silently, "John! Please!"

I sadly nodded, pulling him into the most emotional hug I have ever experienced. He pulled away, and gazed up to the birds flying above our heads, his breathing becoming shallow. A faint smile tugged on his lips and he slowly sunk into the water.

I cannot explain what occurred next. Deciding what to do, I also slipped underneath the inky waves. He, once again, seemed at peace, but his eyes were frightened and they locked onto mine and softened. I grabbed his shoulders and the last bubbles of air rose from his gaping mouth, and he had gone.

I tugged Sherlock's lifeless body onto the beach, clutching him in my arms and praying for him to wake up.

"It's just another trick, another magic trick like your bloody fall. Stop it, now." I whispered into his curls, but no movement came. I wept for, which felt decades, mere seconds. Sherlock Holmes had gone.