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This is the second-to-last chapter :(
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Burning. I felt like I was on fire, particular around my chest. But I didn't smell fire or anything burning.
I slowly opened my eyes to see nothing. Just blinding white light.
Was I dead?
Was I ascending into heaven? When I pictured an afterlife, I didn't think of pain.
I noticed I was on something soft. A cloud? No, it felt more like a mattress.
Yes, I was on a mattress. And I could feel a blanket draped over my legs.
I propped myself up on my elbows. The pain in my chest was horrible, but I wanted to get a better understanding of my surroundings.
I wasn't dead at all!
I was in a hospital. St. Bart's, hospital.
A quick glance around the room told me that I was alone.
Where was Sherlock?
I thought about how quickly and violently he had killed Sebastian after I had been shot.
He had been clutching onto me before I lost consciousness, as if my death would result in his.
And above all, I had seen him and heard him crying. Sherlock didn't cry. It was astonishing if not a bit disconcerting knowing that I was the one thing that could bring tears to his eyes.
There was a knock on the door before a woman wearing a white nurse uniform entered into my room.
My first question was, "Where is Sherlock?"
"Doctor Watson, you should get some rest," the nurse tried to convince me, but I wouldn't have it at all.
"Where's Sherlock?" I asked again.
The nurse sighed. "I can go get him if you would like."
"Thank you," I nodded and laid back into the hospital bed, waiting.
I looked down at my chest. They had not put a hospital gown on me so that the doctors and nurses could check on the wound more easily. I was sitting in the bed in only my pants.
The hole that the bullet had made in my chest was ugly. I looked at it in disgust. Now I would have two scars for the rest of my life, but at least it was life. And it would be a good life if Sherlock was in it.
And speaking of the man...
"John!" Sherlock exclaimed rushing into the room. He stopped at the end of the bed, not coming any nearer, as if he would hurt me just by being here.
"Sherlock," I smiled. I saw him looking down at the wound on my chest. "Yeah, I know it's bad."
"How much does it hurt?" He looked sad.
"It's fine, Sherlock. I'm okay. It hurts, but I'm alive and you're okay," I said.
Sherlock strode over to my side and sat in the chair beside my bed. He gripped my hand and held his head down.
"It's my fault," he murmured to himself.
I sighed. I knew that he would be thinking this and I already knew what I was going to say to him.
"Sherlock, listen. If you ever listen to anything at all, this should be the one thing. In no way is this your fault. I knew what I was going to do from the moment Sebastian pulled out his gun. If you thought I was going to stand there and watch you get shot in the heart, you would be very mistaken."
Sherlock looked up at me. "Never risk your life for me again, John."
"I'm sorry, but that's a promise I can't make," I said.
Sherlock shook his head as if he had known that would be my answer.
He looked me in the eyes. They were glossed over with tears. "I never meant to cause you trouble and I certainly never meant to do you harm...and I fear that if you stay with me...you'll be in constant danger."
"Shut up, Sherlock. I'm not going to leave you, ever," I frowned. "You're being ridiculous."
"W-...what do you mean?" I asked.
"John, you've suffered so much just knowing me. I've caused you so much pain and I can see it wearing on you," Sherlock's voice trembled.
I scooted over on my hospital bed so that we were closer and rested my hand on the back of his head. I kissed him.
I whispered to him,"Sherlock, of course I missed you when you were gone and yes, I got shot," I said," but Sherlock, that is nothing, nothing, compared to what I feel when I'm with you. I love you too much to let you go, and I know that you love me too."
Sherlock smiled. "Yeah...I do."
"So, I'm not going to leave you, and you can't persuade me to do otherwise," I said, playing with the curls on the back of his head.
Sherlock laughed. "I knew I chose the right flat mate."
I started chuckling but it hurt, so I stopped myself.
"When are they letting you out?" Sherlock asked me.
"I don't know. I've only just woken up. I haven't been told anything," I told him.
Sherlock was quiet for a minute. "You know, he's dead... Sebastian that is. I don't know how much you remember from last night, but I killed him as soon as I knew his bullet was going to hit you. I shot him six times," he chuckled as if it was a humorous thing. Then his face darkened. "I was so mad. It hit you and you just collapsed on the ground. I didn't know if you were already dead, but I was already so angry at him for hurting you, and you don't want to put a gun in my hand when I'm angry.
"And once Sebastian fell, I turned to you. You hadn't rolled over, and your face was to the floor, and I turned you over. You were barely conscious and I was sure that I would lose you. You said you had a hole in your chest and you just looked so shocked and it hurt me, because out of all the times I've seen you shocked, it was never like that. I did everything I could to keep you awake, and then...then you said those words. 'I love you, Sherlock Holmes' and I thought you were gone. I thought I had lost you and I was devastated."
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I couldn't let that thing kill you. You're far too valuable to this world to die," I said.
Sherlock shook his head again, "If you had died, I would be nothing."
I said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
"John, I'm sorry if I'm dumping a life time of emotion on you, but really, that's what it is. All my life I've shut myself off to feelings and before I go back to doing that, I need to get everything I'm feeling out," Sherlock apologized.
"No, It's good. I'm glad I'm seeing this side of you."
"Good. Now why don't we get you home?" Sherlock smiled.
You guys new I couldn't kill John! I'm not that evil. So what did you think?
There will be one more chapter after this one. And then, I'm going to work on my Doctor Who fic.
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60 Ways to Say Goodbye - A Johnlock FanfictionFanfiction
John is devastated by his best friend and secret love, Sherlock's death. He copes by visiting his grave every day for sixty days. Will this be closure enough, or will John need more to know that Sherlock has heard his words?