Imagines : SHERLOCK

Imagine Sherlock trying to protect you

Sherlocks POV

"Y/N!", I screamed into the phone, holding on tightly as the taxi driver flew as fast as he could back to 221b where I'd left her. I heard her voice croak on the other end of the line, her breathing hollow before it fell silent. I screamed her name again but there was no response from her. The taxi turned sharply around the corner and I immediacy jumped out of the taxi, running as fast as I could to the door. How could I have been so stupid, of course Moriarty would never have had the courage to face me personally. I'd followed his trail of clues to the other side of London, and that's when I'd gotten the text off her. I had still felt bad about leaving her locked in the flat, but I didn't want to drag her into this. I'd opened the text, and immediately grabbed the next taxi back, ordering him to break every speed limit to get back. The apple, his signature trade mark, in her hand, her blood stained hand at that. I called her but it was already too late. I pounded up the stairs, swiftly unlocking every bolt on the flat door. "Y/N!", I shouted, trying to force open the door, but finding it stuck, with something stopping it from the other side. I glance down and my blood turns cold at the sight, as from under the door is a small pool of dark red blood growing. I frantically opened the window on the landing and climb out, leaping across the small gap, forcing open the window in my bedroom, before clambering up to my feet and rushing into the flat. I sink to my knees at the sight in front of me, holding back my tears. There she was, lying in a heap in front of the once locked flat door, soaked in blood, her skin deadly pale, her body still, the apple and phone next to her, also soaked in blood. I immediately rush to her, checking her pulse, my heart beating in my chest, holding my breath, praying for hope. I gasp a sigh of relief, she's still breathing, but only just. I quickly phone an ambulance and lift up her chest, resting her in my lap, holding onto her, moving her away from the door as the paramedics came in. Within minutes we were at the hospital, where they forced me to wait whilst they rushed her through to be operated on. I paced up and down frantically outside the ward, running my fingers through my hair, sick of the waiting. Eventually, several hours later they call my name and I'm allowed to come through to see her. My heart breaks when I see her lying in the bed, hooked up to the machines, her body pale and fragile, her breath in struggled rasps, unconsciousness, the quiet beat of her heart coming from the monitor. The nurse approaches me and says something, but I don't hear her, I didn't want to take me eyes off her. I walked over to her bedside, taking her small delicate hand in mine. There are so many different emotions fighting inside of me, anger, fear, revenge, sadness, but most of all, guilt. I had done this, i'd brought her into my world of danger, into trouble, into Moriarty's path. My eyes stung with tears and my legs felt weak, and I collapsed into the chair beside me, overcome at how beautiful she looked, even in this state. "Why? Please, don't leave me", I said weakly, reaching my hand across, stroking her cheek, biting my lip, trying to keep myself together. "Please, please Y/N", I cry, not being able hold it hold it together. I bury my head into the bed beside her, grasping her hand, just letting it all come out. I squeeze her hand, hoping, praying.

Your POV

Your head felt heavy, your eyelids refusing to open. You could hear the slow beep of your heartbeat coming off the machine, but that wasn't the noise which woke you, but the soft sound of crying, someone muttering your name through sobs. You felt it, your hand being squeezed, almost crushed by someone gripping it tightly. Eventually, you manage to open your eyes, adjusting to the stark whiteness of the hospital ward, the table beside you covered in flowers. You glance beside you to the figure sat in the chair, to see a mess of black hair, their face buried into the bed beside you, their hand gripping yours. You gently squeeze their hand back as best you could, and you feel their body tense. Immediately they lift up their head, their puffy bloodshot eyes meeting yours, their face pale and tear stained. You weakly smile, and try to lift up your hand to their cheek, but you jolt, your back arched as your chest erupts in pain. "NO!", Sherlock screamed, grabbing onto your shoulders as the machine starts blaring, alarms ringing as your heart rate drops. You struggle for breath as doctors and nurses rush in, giving you oxygen and injecting you, trying to bring you back. Sherlock sits there, his eyes wide in fear, shaking his head. "No, no, no! I'm not loosing you again!", he cried, as your heart rate dropped even more, until it flatlined. Everyone stood still in shock as Sherlock stood there shaking you, your eyes staring off into the distance as your stopped breathing. Sherlock lunged at the medical equipment on a nearby table, much to the doctors alarm, and grabbed a needle filled with something. He plunged it straight into your chest, into your heart, his eyes fixed on your heart rate monitor, but still nothing. He was trembling, shaking, the cogs frantically whirling around in his head trying to think of something, anything, that could possibly bring you back. He pulled you up, your body limp and lifeless into his arms, brushing your hair out of your face, and slapped his lips straight onto yours. Seconds passed in silence, Sherlock kissing you as his life depended on it, holding onto you tightly in his arms. Then it came, a faint beep from the machine, 1 beat, 2 beats, 10, 20, 40, 70, 90 beats. Sherlock pulled his lips away and looked down at you, blinking, a smile on your lips. "Hello Shelley", you whisper hoarsely to him, causing him to chuckle, tears of happiness running down his cheeks as the doctors all breathed a high sigh of relief. "I thought I'd lost you", he whispered, stroking your cheek, still holding you in his arms. "I would never give up on you Sherlock. I love you", you say to him, lifting up your week hand, cupping his face, wiping away his tears. He smiled and kissed you gently on your forehead, your heart beat increasing under his touch. "For the past week I have never left your side, fearing that if I did I might loose you. I am so sorry that I caused this, please forgive me", he said, biting his lip, trying to compose himself. "Of course I do Sherlock. You are worth living for", you say gently. "And you Y/N, are worth dying for", he said, and you both held each other tight, not wanting to let each other go. As you buried your head into Sherlocks chest as he held you, he gently kissed your forehead, resting his head on top of yours, his eyes fixed on the largest bunch of flowers nearest to your bedside. "I swear, as long as I live, I will always protect you", he whispered to you as his eyes grew enraged with revenge, reading to note silently on the flowers that caught his eye, reaching out his hand to take the note and read it. "So sorry Y/N, perhaps we can have dinner? Love J.M".