Flatline

Part 1

     Five months. John has been in a coma for five months now.

     They were chasing a serial killer. It was one of their biggest cases, one that has been going on for months now. And just when they finally cornered him that bastard pulled out a gun. And shot John. Sherlock killed the man. John was taken to hospital as soon as possible, where he was immediately taken into surgery. Sherlock couldn't remember for how long. After the operation the doctors told him that the damage was horrible. His heart has taken the worst of it, but his lungs were also damaged and he had internal bleeding. They told him that John had slipped into a coma.

     That has been five months ago. For the fist 2 months Sherlock had thrown himself into his work. Barely eating or sleeping, he took case after case. He tried to keep himself busy, clues and criminals separating his thoughts from the unconscious man in the hospital. And that worked for a while. But in the last three months he gradually slowed down, his once brilliant mind becoming a mess. He spent his days next to John's bed, sometimes talking to him, sometimes just staring at him for hours straight. Like now.

     "Brother dearest." Mycroft pulled Sherlock out of his trance. He pulled up a chair next to his brother's, settling down quietly.

     "What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock spat, not bothering to look up.

     "I just came to see how you were doing, Sherlock." Mycroft answered.

     For a few minutes there was silence. The tense, suffocating one, when you want to speak, but you are scared to break the silence. Both man seemed to be deep in thoughts.

     "I spoke to the doctor." It was Mycroft who spoke first, his voice strong but deeper than usual, and tight, like there was a lump in his throat. He seemed nervous, and that was what scared Sherlock the most. His brother was never nervous. "Sherlock...They don't think he is going to wake up."

    There it was. Cold and painful. Sherlock could almost feel a blade piercing his heart. He managed a soft "What?" as he slowly turned to look at his brother, eyes wide in fear and hopelessness. This couldn't be happening.

     Just like Sherlock before, Mycroft was caught off guard. He has never seen his brother in such a state. It was obvious he hasn't slept in at least 6 days, his face was skinnier than it should have been, and the fear on his features made him look so much younger. Mycroft swallowed the lump in his throat, steeling himself for what is to come.

     "He isn't going to wake up, Sherlock." Mycroft turned his chair towards his brother, looking deeply into the wide, blue eyes. "His sister has just signed the papers."

     Sherlock stared back. There was no need to explain which papers. His whole world shattered in an instant. He turned back towards John.

     "The papers..." His shoulders shook. "They are going to take him off of life-support?" It wasn't a question, not really. But Mycroft answered anyway.

    "Yes."

     The moment Mycroft said it Sherlock stood up. He gave his brother a long look, before turning and marching out the door. Mycroft's gaze lingered on the door for a few more moment before sighing ant tuning towards the bed.

     "John," he began. "I have never been known to beg. But." He looked over his shoulders back at the door. "Sherlock is devastated. And we don't have much time. So please. Wake up. He needs you." He sat there for a bit more before following his brother. There wasn't anything more he could do.