Benedict Cumberbatch imagines

The End Game (Johnlock)

The gun shot rang repeatedly in John's head as he stared down at Sherlock laying in his arms. One shot is all it took. One bullet ripped through the detective. One minute is all it takes to bring down the famous once invincible man.

John hates the first time his lips touched  Sherlock's.

He had imagined, on the moments he allowed himself to imagine, something peaceful. They'd be at home, comfortable, perhaps they had something to drink. Inhibitions lowered, their hands would brush, their eyes lock and then...

Or perhaps after a case. Adrenaline rushing through the their vains, still high from the thrill and it would too much to hold back. They would meet halfway, pressed up against the walls and then...

But not this. Never this. He hates it. Sherlock hates it. They should be at home, not here in this stinking alley, cold and alone with the sound of the gun still echoing in his ear as John tries to count-28...29...30...come on Sherlock, please breathe for me.

John opened his eyes as he sat up gasping for air. It felt like something was pressing on his chest and his throat being closed up. He knew what it was. It was guilt. Sadness. Depression.

He flicked on the light letting the dark room be filled with a bright light. He grabbed the glass of water on his bed stand and quickly drank it all. He anxiously licked his lips as his eyes darted around the room. His eyes finally fell on one particular corner of the room. It was clustered with brown boxes like the rest. Inside the brown boxes were Sherlock's belongings. John never gathered enough courage to be able to open it and look through it, but he also didn't have enough courage to throw it away. So it sat in the corner silently taunting him. Constantly reminding him of the past. John pushed back the covers and walked to the kitchen to brew some tea. He patiently waited beside the kettle absentmindedly staring off in space. He poured the hot water in a cup and added some tea. He then sat down in his own special chair. Instead of drinking it he placed it on the small table that stood inbetween the chairs.

"It's for you. Just brewed it...just the way you like it." John whispered as if he was speaking to someone who was sitting in the large chair across from him. After a couple of minutes, he rose from his seat and walked back into the bedroom where he slipped under the covers.

"It hurts to watch that day replay in my mind...but it's the only time I get to see you." John closed his eyes taking a deep breath smelling Sherlock's faint scent in the room and on the bed.

"But what if I got to change that? I could see you everyday and we will both be happy." John sighed slowly wrapping his fingers around the round plastic container. He gently shook it watching the pill bounce off of the walls of the container and off of each other.

"Wouldn't that be perfect? We could have the life we were planning on having." He popped open the top and took out a pill. He played with it inbetween his thumb and index finger.

"Funny how the first case we had together included pills. I guess it is only right to end it the same way." John bit his lip before dumping the rest of the pills into his hand and holding the glass of water in the other.

"I'm coming to you Sherlock."

A/N: hi...did it break your heart? I'm sorry...not really but one thing you should know about my writing is that I'm better at sad ending so there will be more of those. I am writing other stuff at the moment but I will probably won't get anything posted soon. I'm sorry. I'm sort of stuck with writing so sorry.

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Sherlock xoxo