He can't be dying

The last case

4 months later
Crime Scene
4:30pm

  Holmes and I walk through out the home of the murder victim, searching for clues. I mentioned to Holmes, that I'd prefer he stop working, but, as I suspected, he refused. He said he won't stop working untill he can't. I argued that he did say he would take better care of himself but he then said: "Working and solving crimes is what I love. What I enjoy, what I live for. I may be able to stop my smoking and substance abuse but to stop from working on cases would be equivalent to stop breathing, for me, dear Watson." I stared at him, thinking of what he said and then nodded my head.

  I completely understand and respect that. I feel the same with my practice. If that's what he wants to do for the last bit of time he has left, then I won't  stop him.

  Lastrade and Clarky have noticed Holmes's parlor and skeletal frame, along with his violent coughing, and have asked, here and there, if he was alright. Holmes and i, both played it off as he has a cold or a sore throat, but I know they know. Lastrade may be daft but he's not thyt stupid.

  "Well Lastrade. I'd say you have yourself a typical robbery. *Cough*." Lastrade nods his head. "Alright." Lastrade turns to his men and gives some orders as well as conversing the case.

  "You alright?" I ask when I notice he's struggling to breath, and lay a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, I think so, I -" Hes thrown into a huge coughing fit, catching Lastrade and his men's attention. "It's alright. Breath, it's alright." I comfort, not being able to do much more.

  "You alright Holmes?" Lastrade walks over to us. Holmes  continues to cough. Soon blood begins to drip down his chin and splatter onto his hand. "Dear God! Are you alright?" Lastrade asks, worriedly. "Holmes?" The coughing finally subsides but emediately, his eyes roll to the back of his head and to my horror, his legs give out.

  "Holmes!" Lastrade and I, both catch him before he hits the hard ground. We carefully lower him to the ground as settle his head in my lap, cradling it. "Holmes?" I put my hand to his neck and check his pulse. It's rapid and thready, but I breath a sigh of relief. "Can you hear me ol'boy?" I ask, looking down at him with worried and shocked eyes, and gently wipe his mouth with my sleeve. "Please, Holmes." I whisper and brush his damp bangs from his forehead. He can't die yet! Not yet!

  "What's wrong with him, Doctor?" Lastrade looks at me, very perplexed. "I'll explain later, but right now we need to get him home. I need help carrying him." Without further questions, or hesitation, Lastrade emediately helps me, gently Cary Holmes to the carriage and lay him down on one of the seats.

  I get in with him, along with Lastrade and Clarky as they order the driver to head to 221b Baker Street. Holmes coughs a bit and whimpers from the pain, but doesn't open his eyes. "It's alright, Holmes. It's okay." I whisper, holding back tears and run a hand through his hair, to comfort him . . . and myself.

221b
4:50pm

When we arrive at the flat, we carry Holmes inside and up the stairs, and finally to his room. "Wat . . . son?" He rasps as I settle him in. "I'm right here." I assure him and with Clarky's assistance, get Holmes out of his jacket and shoes.

  Once we finish making him more comfortable, I go and get a cold, wet wash cloth and gently lay it on his forehead. *Cough!Cough!Cough!Cough!* I reach and grab his hand. "Its okay Holmes. It's alright my dear friend." I comfort. More blood accumulates at the corners of his mouth so I grab out my handkerchief and gently wipe the affending blood off of his mouth.

  I lay a hand on his head and sigh. Once he's calmed down a bit and falls into a restful sleep, I step out of the room and speak with Lastrade. I explain the situation. I explain Holmes's illness and why he didn't want them to know sooner. Lastrade is, at first, a little irritated about that, but soon understands. Then, with the utmost difficulty, I inform them Holmes has reached his breaking point and will no longer be able to work and that he will probably . . . . probably pass away in the next two weeks or so.

  Lastrade and Clarky are stunned. "I -" Lastrade shakes his head in disbelief. "I don't know what to say." He sighs. "I am terribly sorry Doctor." Is all he can say as Lastrade just stands with a somber expression, not being able to say anything. "Thank you Inspector. I am sorry you found out in such a way." He nods his head, with a frown. "It's alright. Don't worry. If you need anything, you let us know." I give him a small smile. "Yes. Thank you."

  He nods his head again and begins to leave. "Give him my best and . . . I hope he feels better." Clarky states, with a choked voice. FEELS better, because we know he won't GET better. "I will, Clarky. Thank you." He nods and leaves with Lastrade.