Flatline

Part 3

For a few moments everything stopped.
The male nurses began arguing with the woman, letting go of Sherlock in the process, who began to make his way towards the bed. His steps were heavy and slow, almost cautious, his back hunched like the weight of the world has been paced on his shoulders. Nobody stopped him, only watched him pass with sad eyes.
When he reached the bed he stopped. He stared down at the unmoving figure, once known as John Watson. His blogger. His best friend. John’s hair was oily, his skin and lips pale, his eyes closed, and he was a fair amount thinner than normally. He was covered with a thin white blanket up to the middle of his torso. He was wearing one of the jumpers his family brought in to the hospital.  He looked...peaceful, like he was sleeping. And yet. And yet it felt so wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be there. And yet. And yet it felt so wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be there.  That's probably what made Sherlock snap.
He clenched his fists and his shoulders began to shake.
"No," he said, placing his hand on John's chest. "No, no, no. I won't let you." He raised a hand in the air and brought it back down, hitting John in the chest. Hard. "You are a soldier, John Watson. Soldiers do not give up." Another hit. And another. " So how dare you?!" Hit. "Come on!" He raised his hand again. But it never came down.
"Enough," Mycroft said, his hand gripping Sherlock's wrist. "Stop this. It's over."
Sherlock wrenched his hand away from his brother, looking at him with furious eyes. If looks could kill, Mycroft wouldn't be standing anymore.
"After death, the mind is active for ten minutes." Sherlock turned his back to look at John. "If I can restart his heart..."
He is dead, Sherlock!" Mycroft almost shouted. All the tension that has built up these two weeks finally broke out with a ferocious storm. "He is gone and that's it! You are supposed to be smart, so why can't you get it through your thick skull?!" By the end of the rant, Mycroft was panting and his face took on a pinkish color. However, his eyes immediately softened when he looked at Sherlock. Really looked. He saw a sad, scared boy who was so lost about what to do now. A boy who has just lost his best friend in the world and was supposed to move on, but couldn't. Mycroft sighed, and brought Sherlock into a hug, ignoring Sherlock' flinch at the sudden contact. " I'm sorry, brother." He felt Sherlock tense up, before hugging back, practically clinging to his older brother.
Sobs shook his body as, for the first time in his life, Sherlock found he couldn't think. It was as if the doors to his Mind Palace has been shut, frozen even, by the cold reality.John was really gone. God, it felt awful. He felt numb, and yet, he felt like he was in pain. His mind was all over the place. He thought of moments they spent together and moments they did not. He even thought of the Reichenbach fall. Was this how John felt? When he fell? He felt a pang of guilt. How could he put John through that? Well...It seemed it was payback time. Sherlock almost laughed. The universe had a sick sense of humor. He barely registered Mycroft rubbing circles on his back. It wasn't right. The whole situation was just so wrong. He just wants John back.
A gasp echoed through the room. Yet again the whole room froze. Every head turned towards the bed. John was still laying, but his chest was positively moving with quick breaths as he tried to catch his breath. It took him a good minute to be able to breathe normally. He then sat up, looking around the room with concern and curiosity.
The room was filled with loud, joyous shouts as everyone moved closer to the bed. John’s parents hugged him tightly, waterworks working at full capacity. Harry tied to get him to lay back down whilst constantly asking him if he felt okay. Mycroft stood a bit further away, a relieved smile planted on his lips as he watched the scene.
Sherlock just stared at him wide-eyed. John was back.  He is alive. He is safe. The tons of weight that he felt in these months has finally been lifted off of his shoulders. The tears finally fell and Sherlock smiled widely. He went to hug John, holding him close, maybe even sniffling a little, though he did try to hide it. He was just so happy. He wasn’t religious, but now he made sure to thank whatever god was up there.
John looked a bit surprised first. It seemed that after all these months his focus was a little bit all over the place. It took him a good two minutes to register where he was and what was going on. He felt Sherlock’s tight grip, along with a wet spot on his shoulder. That’s when he noticed Sherlock shaking.
“Sherlock?” He asked uncertainly. “Are you alright?” He brought his arms up and wrapped them around the detective’s trembling frame.
There was a moment of silence before Sherlock calmed himself and pulled away to look up. The smile on his face and his slightly red eyes almost surprised John. He has never seen Sherlock so...vulnerable.
“I’m so glad you are okay,” Sherlock said, his smile growing a tad wider. John smiled back, bringing his friend into another hug. They were okay.