Sherlock's last words

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Sherlock lay in John's arms, the blood drained from both men's pale faces.

"John Watson," he said, his voice hoarse, tears choking him.

"I always saw feeling emotions as being a disadvantage..." He paused for a moment, wincing at the sharp pain in his side.

"But, my dearest, it was honestly a privilege to fall in love and to love and be loved by none other than my brave army soldier. We shan't meet again as I suspect you shall go to heaven, if there is such a thing..." He shifted, drawing a sharp breath.

"And, if there is such a thing, then I... I'm sure I shall go not to heaven..." He sucked in another painful, shuddering breath, determined to finish his sentence.

"But-" he was cut of by a sharp coughing fit which rattled his thin, dying frame.

"To..." He finally trailed off, unable to finish and the light left his eyes. The last thing he saw was John staring lovingly at him as the life drained from his soul and he was gone.

John placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's forehead and whispered

"I'm sure I'll see you in heaven, Sherlock," before breaking into fits of sobs.

The lonely boy seeking a flat mate was alone once more, but this time left broken and more alone than ever.

He'd survived wars but this was a battle he wasn't prepared to face.