The dying dwarf pulled at the trigger of the gun as it crumpled to the ground in a heap. Instinctively, John Watson slipped in front of Sherlock Holmes, shielding the man he cared for more than anything from the oncoming bullet. He felt the small, metallic beast of a creature slam into him as he fell into Sherlock's arms.
'John,' his flatmate gasped as he gently lowered John onto the cold, damp pavement. The despair and panic that spread over Sherlock's face as he examined the wound was enough to tell John that he would be dying tonight.
'The bullet tore a hole in your lung,' Sherlock's voice cracked as he met John's eyes. He looked so broken, so childlike. The great detective had finally took off his mask of superiority and neutrality, and the frailty of the man hidden behind it made John's heart ache.
It'll be all right,' he murmured back, reaching out to grasp Sherlock's hand. Sherlock did not reply to that for it was evident that things would never be all right ever, ever again.
'So that was what it felt like the day I jumped off the roof of Barts,' Sherlock murmured, a sad, small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. 'Oh John, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.'
Barts. Then it hit him. There was something he simply must do before he die.
Ignoring the agonizing pain in his chest and his ebbing consciousness, John pulled himself up until he was sitting upright and covered Sherlock's lips with his.
It was a slow, gentle kiss that tasted of regret and sang of memories. Of how they had held back from each other for so many years, and of how much they had suffered for it. For what they could have had and what they never will have. Of reassurance, of pain, of wanting.
John was the one who ended it, who ended everything, as he exhaled for the last time, closed his eyes and died in the arms of the man he cared for and loved more than anything.
Leaving behind the great detective, kissing his flatmate, his blogger, his lover again and again and again as tears rolled down his face, as the sky rained down its silent condolences.y had held back from each other for so many years, and of how much they had suffered for it. Of reassurance, of pain, of wanting.
John was the one who ended it, who ended everything, as he exhaled for the last time, closed his eyes and died in the arms of the man he cared for and loved more than anything.
Leaving behind the great detective, kissing his flatmate, his blogger, his lover again and again and again as tears ran down his face. For what they could have had and what they never will have.
