So, I wrote something! Wa-hey. It's not Johnlock, but give it a chance anyway. I've submitted it to a competition online, so hopefully that goes well. Probably not. Uh, anyway, yeah. Read on. In case you don't work it out, the italics are flashbacks and the regular text is in present time.
Rated PG for one instance of swearing. Also, if anyone is so inclined to make a cover, I'd be much obliged.
Enjoy.
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I stared at the gun.
“Do it.”
I tuned the voice out. The SIG Pro semi-automatic suddenly felt heavy in my bloodied hands. I ran a shaky thumb over the trigger guard, and let a small, pathetic sound escape me. The way I was “dealing” with this was pretty pathetic, really, crying in the rain with my nose running down my face and everything. I shook my head slowly and wiped it on my sleeve.
“Please.”
“Oh, please!” Benjamin laughed, shoving my shoulder.
“It’s true!”
“There is no way I’m gonna believe you killed one by stabbing it with a drum stick, Eli.”
“I’m telling you,” I replied, “it was totally badass.”
“Okay, bro. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. “Come on, let’s go, I think they’ll have a job for us. It’s about time we did something exciting for once.”
“I can’t, Ben, I-“ I broke off in a choked sob. “I can’t.”
“You have to.” Green eyes pleaded with my blue. He was crying, now. Silently, but I could still tell. Even through all the blood and viscera, I could see Ben’s pale hands shaking. Why did he always have to be the brave one?
“No.”
“No.”
“Dad, it’ll be fine! We’ve done it before!” I threw my hands up as he shook his head and continued loading shells into the fifteen or so shotguns by his side. He glanced up at me and gave me a withering sort of look from where he was sitting – on an overturned oil drum behind a battered wooden dining table, which functioned as a sort of makeshift desk. He looked tired; bags under his eyes, moving a bit slower than usual.
“It’s only, like, twelve or so of ‘em, not even that far away. They’re by the Tesco’s; we need to get rid of ‘em otherwise they’ll eat what food’s left,” I reasoned, crossing my arms. “Me and Ben work well together, you know that. Nothing’s gonna go wrong, I promise.”
“Elias...” he groaned, putting the gun down and raking his hands through his slightly matted, blonde hair. It reached his chin now; he’d not bothered to cut it in months. I grinned at him, raising my eyebrows. “Well...?”
He sighed long-sufferingly, closing his eyes. “Fine, fine. You've got your pistol?”
I smiled and waved it before putting it back in my holster.
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Take these, too.” He gestured to two loaded sawed-off Winchesters. “Go, before I change my mind.” He waved me away and resumed loading the rest of the guns.
I smirked. “Thanks, Dad.”
I saw Ben wince as he shifted from where he was sitting on the filthy alley floor. “Look,” he began, his voice weak and wavering, “it’s either this or you restrain me somehow, and... and leave me here.” His eyes seemed to bore into mine, and I couldn’t help but notice how pale they’d already gone. They were less of the vibrant green they used to be, and more the colour of a watered-down, weedy lake. His lips were almost white. I couldn’t look at him any more. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“THIS ISN’T FUCKING FAIR!” I screamed, twisting my hands in my blonde hair until it hurt, gun still in my left hand. I didn’t even care about Walkers hearing me, any more. I looked at him desperately, searching for some sort of answer, but I knew by looking that he was done. There was a resignation there, a grim, sad acceptance that even I wouldn’t be able to shake. It made me angrier.
He scrubbed his face with one hand and sighed. “I know.”
“Yeah, I know, Eli,” he muttered in my ear.
“Just be careful.”
“Yes, mum.”
I punched his arm.
It was a routine job, really. My estimate of twelve looked spot-on, and it was easier than anything we’d handled before. The Tesco’s at Stratford was the closest that we hadn’t already cleaned out. Most of the windows in the adjacent shops were boarded up, and the alley on the right side of our target snaked round the back of the shop. We could hear them from here. The plan was as usual; Ben first; I’d cover him. He looked over his shoulder at me.
‘Alright?’ the look said.
I nodded. ‘Ready when you are.’
He turned back around and began to move, the Winchester in his right hand and his pistol tucked in the back pocket of his trousers. He had a katana strapped to his back – lucky find, that one. We found that in someone’s house a few months back. Mine, I stole off a corpse about a year ago. Two lumbered towards us a few yards from the alley, they weren’t that old as far as I could tell – the decay hadn’t taken any of their limbs. He saved the shotgun shells and took the first one down with one shot, and the second one took two. Five bullets left.
Pushing forward, we entered the alley, where we were greeted with the rather unpleasant sight of about eight of them feeding on a couple of people who’d jumped off the apartment block next door. We killed one each before the other six noticed. I switched between my sword and my pistol, while I heard Ben make quick work of two Walkers with both of his shotgun shells. The last one dealt with by me took a rather gruesome stab to the eye, and we were done. I turned around to Ben and froze. His hand came away from a fresh, angry wound on his neck, and I saw his lips quiver as he met my gaze. His knees buckled and he slumped against the wall.
I shook my head as my eyes started to sting with tears. “No. Not you. Not you.”
“Why did it have to be you?” I murmured, sinking to the floor across from him. He smiled sadly at me, and I was suddenly overcome with emotion. There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn’t think of anything now we were here. I hope he knew. I thumbed back the safety.
“I’m sorry, Eli.”
“Yeah... Me too.” I turned the gun around.
“Wait... Eli, no. No. Don’t.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Elias, no!”
Bang.
