Only Yours

16

3MONTHSLATER

John's P.O.V

'SHERLOCK!' I scream and run down the stairs, grabbing Will on the way.

At the foot of the building, a crowd is gathered round the spot where he feel. With a pang I realise it is the exact same place I saw him when he jumped three years ago.

There is blood pooled on the concrete and a few dark hairs. The medics have put him on a low table and he is blocked from my view by all the medics, who are desperately pumping his chest, giving him mouth to mouth, trying to restart his heart.

Nothing is happening.

I push through the people crowded around the table until I am right at the front.

'Excuse me, Sir, can you keep away, please.' The medic is very young and looks frightened, continuously glancing behind me.

'I'm-I'm his partner, please, please, what's happening?' Will is crying in my arms but for once he isn't trying to get away from me. He is clinging tighter.

'Oh. Um, I don't...' an older medic comes towards me and gently removes Will from my arms. He starts crying harder and harder.

'Ok, Bradley, I'll take it from here. May I ask for your name, Sir?' I am anxious to get to Sherlock and wonder why they are bothering with all of this. 'John Watson. Now can I please see him?'

'And what is this man's name?'

'Sherlock Holmes. Please, ma'am, let me see him.' behind me I hear whispers of, 'is that John Watson?' 'Was that Sherlock?' 'Is he...dead?' but I ignore them, fixing my eyes on the medic. She finally steps backwards and I push through the medics...stopping directly above his head.

He's still wearing his coat. It's flapping slightly in the cold wind and is open at the front as well as his tight black shirt.

His chest is completely still. It is then I notice the medics have stopped trying to resuscitate him.

'What...what are you doing? Why aren't you trying to-'

'Mr Watson, Sherlock has sustained a number of injuries including shattered ribs, legs and possibly his pelvis. There was heavy internal bleeding and we believe some of his organs may have been crushed. That's not to mention possible back and neck fractures. The impact killed him.'

That was why Moriarty just walked off. He used Sherlock to cushion the fall.

I want to run off, find him and murder him. I want to collapse and start crying. I want to punch the medics. But all I can do is stay still and watch as they wheel him into Barts.

'Straight to the morgue.' I hear one say.

Then I realise that they have given up on him. They have stopped trying.

Sherlock is dead and never coming back.

'No!' I fling myself in front of the gurney and the medics stop. 'You can't give up!'

'Sir, we can't do anything else-'

'Yes you can! This is Sherlock Holmes! He is fighting, I know he is. Please!' they all stay silent so I do it instead. Letting my army training overtake me, I find a steady rhythm, pushing on his chest as hard as I can and blowing as much air into his lungs as possible.

I wonder if this is the last time our lips will touch.

I've been doing it for ten minutes, with the medics silently watching me, when the female one holding Will pulls me away.