Strawberry Blood

Chapter Four

John thought his death would be painful, like it nearly had been in Afghanistan. It was quite and peaceful and he didn't feel any pain. He felt as if he was floating or drifting. Rough seas of his life now calm, the storm finally broken. He felt as if he could cry, his chest feeling tight. He shouldn't feel that way, Sherlock is here. He would be with his best friend again.

"John!" A deep baritone voice broke through the serenity.

"John, stay with me. Breathe John!"

Sherlock, my dear detective. I am dead. I don't need to breathe, neither do you. I'd forgotten how beautiful your voice is. I've missed you.

"Mycroft where is the bloody ambulance?"

John couldn't hear the voice any longer, he was drifting farther and farther away. The peaceful feeling was leaving him, quickly being replaced by nothing. He couldn't feel anymore. This is death. John is dead.

~~~

Sherlock sat on the small bench in the back of the ambulance clutching John's limp hand. A young EMT adjusted the oxygen on John's face before pricking him in the arm with IV line. Fluids. John was severely dehydrated and malnourished, non responsive.

Sherlock was sure he had broke some of John's ribs when he tackled the frail doctor off the bed just moments before the trigger was pulled. John's breaths were shallow and he looked like paper, no death. His John was dying all because of him. His already broken heart shattered in a million pieces, seeing John in this state after all the years was almost to much. He would never be able to forgive himself for this.

Mycroft informed Sherlock of John's condition, which was worsening by the day, three days before he was set to break the last piece of the web. Sherlock was distracted, he was captured and tortured. The wounds on his back angry and stinging against the rough bandages. Those wounds don't matter, John mattered. John had always mattered.

The ambulance doors swung open and John was quickly taken away. Sherlock nearly fell out of the emergency vehicle trying to stay with John. He was still weak from being held captive the two days prior. Mycroft's car wasn't far behind the ambulance and he appeared beside his brother offering him a steady arm.

"Sherlock, you cannot blame yourself for this," Mycroft said as he steadied his brother. Sherlock yanked his hand back once he knew he wasn't going to faint.

"Are you fucking kidding me? How can I NOT!?! John is like that because of ME!" Sherlock spat back pointing one hand toward the A&E doors.

"Dr. Watson, clearly should've cared for himself better. I won't begin to understand why he let himself get into such a state," Mycroft paused, umbrella switching hands. "But I will make sure the best doctors are on his case and will be put in the most private room." With that the British Government turned on a heel and proceeded to walk into the building.

Sherlock wanted to say more, to yell and scream at his ape headed brother for keeping John's condition away from him. He didn't have the energy now but when he did Mycroft would get it and it would be ugly. He shuffled forward into the building, instantly wrinkling his nose. Hospitals have such a distinctive smell, antiseptic and death. It should make him feel at home, but John was here. John was dying. John needed him.

Mycroft was still standing at the main reception desk, taking to gentleman in a white coat. His brother turned when he approached, face smug. Oh God he wanted to punch him right on the big nose.

"John has been moved to the private ICU ward, room nine. The secure lift is around the corner there. I'm assuming you'll be staying with him for the time being. I will have  your things and some of his brought up. I do wish Dr Watson a speedy recovery, you as well brother dearest." With that Mycroft was back out the doors to get right back into his ridiculous car.

Sherlock quickly found the lift and jabbed the '3' several more times then necessary once he was inside. He leaned his full body against the cold metal of the lift, his transport breaking down. It suffered more abuse in the past three days then nearly a decade worth of his habits. He needed a bed and quickly, his muscles spasming. Once the lift doors opens he burst out, trying to use what left of his energy to find John's room.

"John Watson! Room Nine please!!!" Sherlock yelled down the empty corridor. A nurse bustled around the corner, clip board in hand.

"Last door on the left, now be quiet!" She scolded him then moved back to her duties.

Sherlock stumbled down the short corridor and slammed into room nines door. He gathered himself then  threw the door open. He took several steps then collapsed on the floor, not before seeing his John attached to several machines.