May The Walls Run Red

Part 2

Pain. That was all John could feel. He had stopped screaming moments ago, his throat raw and his body weak from blood loss. He could sense his limps fall weakly by his sides and black splodges decorate his vision. His blood coated hand brushed across cold metal and it took him a few moments to realise it was his gun. And it took nearly all his strength just trying to brag it. Sherlock was still over him, his fangs still embedded in the raw flesh. John raised his gun, his hand shaking, and fired. 

He heard a satisfactory howl of pain from Sherlock, who dropped the shorter man who landed roughly on the floor. John’s breathing was ragged and black leaked into his vision
“You are a lot more trouble than you are worth” Sherlock growled as his eyes fixed on John’s pitiful form. He wiped his mouth with his good arm.

“Y-You’re nnnot Sherlock… anymore” John gasped between breaths despite the pain “H-he’s gone...” John saw blood seep through Sherlock’s sleeve.

Damn He had only just clipped the taller man’s upper arm. John weakly raised his gun as his flatmate walked closer

“If y-you are in there Sherlock… I’m Sorry…” John aimed for Sherlock’s heart and pulled the trigger.

A body dropped to the floor and John’s arm finally fell loosely to his side, all strength gone. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bleeding form of Sherlock a few inches away. So this was it. He was going to die here; watching his only best friend bleed out in front of him. He let himself lean back against the wall and he sagged. John had no idea how much blood he’s lost, but what he did know that he had only a miniscule chance of survival.

I’m so Sorry Sherlock…

John had tears fall down his cheeks as he accepted his fate. He allowed the blackness to permanently claim him.