The Best of Times, The Worst of Times [Sherlock BBC]

The Beginning of the End (of the World)

Sherlock

There was a time when John Watson could help me sleep. There was a time when his familiar slumbering breaths acted as a lullaby, making my eyelids grow irresistibly heavy. There was a time when the weight of his body beside mine was enough to drive away the nightmares.
I don't sleep anymore-- I can't. My eyes stay wide open, staring into the darkness at his sleeping form. My ears stay on high alert, listening for any change in his breathing. When I do sleep, I catnap; all of my senses still honed but my mind in a state of semi-rest.

Why, one may ask, is the great Sherlock Holmes suffering from this sudden attack of insomnia?

Seven months ago, John Watson was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. He was given a year to live by the doctor, but he pulled me aside after the appointment as we walked back to the road to get a cab.

In the sultry heat of a London summer, under the shade of an old, rotting beech tree, he grasped my shoulders and gave me a stare I couldn't avoid. I knew that he could read in my expression that the doctor was wrong.

"How long, Sherlock? No lies," he asked. My heart shattered at those words, but he-- ever the soldier-- kept his face perfectly stoic. A bead of sweat trickled down my back, and my fingers twiddled nervously with the silver ring around my finger. The metal gleamed in the sweltering, undiluted light of the sun.

"I..." I drop my gaze, unable to look my husband of only 5 short years in the eye and deliver the truth.

"6 months. 9, if we're very, very lucky."

I would do anything to take his place. Anything.

On the ride home, we decided not to tell Mrs.Hudson; not until John is... closer to the end. We decided not to tell anyone.

I remember every detail from that day. John was quiet on the way home. His stormy blue eyes stared blankly out the cab window. I had my arm wrapped around his waist and my hand entwined in his. I think we were both in a mild state of shock, because neither of us said a word. The silence was deafening; it was the kind of stifling silence that presses down on you, suffocating everything but itself. The kind of silence that doesn't let you breathe.

Finally, as we stood outside the door to the flat while my sweaty fingers fumbled for the key, John terminated the absence of sound.

"Sherlock," he said, his voice a strange combination of gruff and quiet.

My fingers closed around the key and I let us inside. I couldn't bring myself to answer; didn't trust my vocal chords to allow me to speak unimpeded by tears.

"Sherlock," he repeated. I turned to him, my eyes desperately searching his, trying to deduce what he was feeling and failing abysmally.

"John?" His name, and everything it referred to, was a question with no deducible answer.
John's lower lip began to tremble, and he brought up his hand to cover his eyes. Finally, the message was sinking in; John Hamish Watson has less than a year left to live. John Hamish Watson, the love of my life, the very reason why I myself am still alive, is slowly ceasing to exist.
I pulled him so close I could feel his heart beating. My lips buried in the familiar coarseness of his greying blond hair. My arms wrapped so tightly around him we could hardly move.
Both of us were in tears; cascades of saltwater dripping down onto the floor, onto our clothes, into John's hair.

"Sherlock..." he sobbed into my collarbone, "I don't want to die. Not yet. Not like this."

My entire body shook with tears, making it impossible to answer. Luckily, John kept talking, obviously trying to pull himself together (a task at which I was monumentally failing).

"Sh-Sherlock," he stuttered, straightening up as far as he could, "I've got some... some things I want to do... before I go."

I can't meet his gaze. Instead, I bury my face in his shoulder. His strong arms wrap around my waist, and I feel his lips press against my hair.

"Anything, John. Anything you want to do. We'll do it," I reply, my watery voice muffled by his shirt. I feel a fresh wave of tears start to make his body tremble.  "Anything."