Johnlock One-shots

334.A Gun To The Head

John closed his eyes tightly, balling his hands into fists. Everything around him was blaring. The sirens, the cops, the yelling of the man keeping him hostage.

“Step back!” Yelled the man, who spoke with a French accent. He tugged on the shoulder of the smaller man, who was prepared for death. He had been trying to kill himself. Mrs Hudson called the police. Then suddenly, there was a gun to his head, and someone holding his shoulder tight.

Where was Sherlock? John couldn't hear him. He couldn't see him. In fact, he hadn't seen him for a the whole day. Ever since Sherlock killed himself, John hallucinated him daily. Where was he?

The doctor swallowed, a gentle whine coming from his throat.

“Everybody move back,” he heard his captor growl. The man started backing away with John, who was following obediently.

“Have mercy,” John whispered shakily. He felt sick. He was going to get murdered. He didn't want murder.

He was taken further from the police, until he stood in a dark alleyway.

He whined, feeling tears at the brim of his eyes. John thought back to Mrs Hudson, to his friends. To his best friend.

“Please, have mercy,” John whimpered. It's all he was able to say.

“John,” he heard a familiar voice whisper. He didn't believe it at first. He looked up, and around, but he could see Sherlock. No ghost. No hallucination. Where was he?! He looked up into his captor's eyes, and his heart froze.

John stared deeply into the cold, light blue eyes. “No…” Whispered the trembling man. “No, no, no…”

“Yes,” Sherlock tore the mask from his face. “John, you need to keep living.”

John choked up a sob. “But that's so hard when you're gone…”

“You'll get through it, John.” Sherlock leant in, pressing their lips together. “I love you.” He said.

John reached out, setting his shaky hands on Sherlock's waist. It was actually there. His hands didn't phase through.

This was actually Sherlock.

“So you're not…” John pulled away slightly.

“I'm not.”

Sherlock kissed him again. “Have faith, John. Keep living.”

John leant closer, hugging Sherlock. Sherlock held him back.

The sounds of police came from behind them. John squeezed Sherlock, taking in the feeling and the smell.

“Gotta go,” Sherlock kissed him again, pulling away. “Laters.” He disappeared.

The police spilled into the alleyway. John was standing there, alone, trembling. He touched his fingertips to his lips.

“John!” Lestrade stood by him. “Are you okay? Did you see where they went?”

John started to cry. “Just bring me home,” he whispered.

Lestrade nodded. He brought John out. Someone placed a shock blanket on him, and John sat in the back of an ambulance for a bit, before Lestrade was ready to go. He sat in the back of Lestrade's car, and the DI drove him home.