Okay, so at first Sherlock was supposed to be kidnapped and John was supposed to die and his life was supposed to be a big mess but I started writing and I came up with something probably even sadder.
You've been warned. :> Also, this chapter sucks and hate it, sort of. Also, tell me if you cry. I want to know who cries.
Sherlock's POV
For all of them, all of the people who counted on me and found it impossible to tear away from the great man who could take one look at someone, anyone, and tell them their occupation, lover, social status, anything, I need to say something...
All the people who believed in me where wrong. I was nothing, at least, that's what I thought. I always went around being thought less of others. People thought I was a creep. They said I had nothing coming my way. I still had some though that stuck by me, like John, who was always there.
Now nobody does. I am all alone. I stay inside my flat all day everyday, it's been like this for a month though, ever since the accident...
Even hearing the word accident sends a spasm of pain through my heart. I always think back to that day, when it happened, where I was and who I was sharing my time with.
I can can recall holding John's hand and looking into the sky, stars scattered brilliantly, sprinkled into the darkness of the night. We joked around and I told him things about space I'd picked up over the years.
He was leaning against my shoulder, an arm around my back, his other hand holding mine and lacing fingers. We were so in love.
"Sherlock Holmes," John had said, leaning closer to me, whispering it into my ear. "You're the best lover I've ever had the fortune to come across."
My face turned pink, of course, and I planned on responding, but that's where it all ended. The place went black and everything was a blur.
It's been eight months since then. Mrs Hudson tries to talk to me but I stay in my room, alone, wanting to die.
I'm sure everyone's wondering... "Well, what happened to John? You make it seem like he was killed or somethi.... Oh no..."
No. He was not killed. He's... alright. He's living at least, right now, but he's not conscious.
The doctors say he'll never wake up, that we should take him off life support and just let him die. I wouldn't let them of course, Mycroft always has my back, saying to give him longer.
... Mycroft is a good brother, despite our constant fuss. I'm grateful for him. John would've been taken off life support already without him.
I'm going insane. I can't-- I can't even think about loosing him, my John, my love-- my very first love and the man I wanted to spend my life with. He's in a coma, one that he should never wake up from.
He's a fighter! I know he can do it! But at the same time, he can't. He just lays there, motionless, no expression, just laying there. It makes me cry whenever I see him, so I've not been to the hospital in a few weeks now.
I'm a mess. Nobody thinks I'll even be able to go a year. It's true.
So nobody should look up on me. Not now, not at this time... I don't even do anything but cry now.
---- A few weeks later, John's condition got a lot worse.
"John Watson," The familiar name leaves my mouth in a sob. I set a hand over his and gaze down into the casket. "You.... Look gorgeous, Love... I'm sorry they had to take you off life support and let you die.."
Everyone else was behind me, in their seats, but I refuse to sit down, I refuse to let go. Tears stream down my cheeks, eyes read, puffy by all my crying. I had a stubble across my face since I'd barely shaved. What was the use anymore? My life had died right in front of me and I never got to say goodbye.
I curl my fingers around his palm, gripping onto the rim of the coffin and leaning over, crying, tears falling in his suit. He looked so handsome, he was right in front of me, but so far away.
"Why, John!? Why?!" I scream, yelling. In a rage, I kick the casket, it fell to the ground and John's body tumbled out and onto the floor in front of me. Two big men with suits and shady looking glasses came up and took me by the arms. I knew they were Mycroft's employees, so they weren't going to hurt me.
While they were bringing me away, I felt a cold hand wrap around my ankle and yank me back. I looked down to the floor, terrified, pulling my foot away. I escaped the two men at my side and fell to my knees, sobbing.
"Sherlock Holmes," John whispered, leaning up and kissing my lips. I kiss him back, pulling him close. Everyone was whispering to each other, obviously startled.
"I like the sound of Sherlock Watson better."