Sirens. Flashing lights? The pavement was so chilly. Was it raining? I'd always liked the rain. It was raining! Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.
"Pitter-patter, pitter-patter," I said quietly to myself. I giggled. It was a great sound. Why didn't everything sound like this? "Pitter-patter on the Londony roofs."
There was a lady standing above me. She was a pretty lady, as ladies go. Not that they were my favorite. John was my very very very favorite. She kept telling me to stay awake. "Stay awake, little boy," she'd said. "You'll be okay, little boy." How little was I? I didn't feel very little.
They sat me in the back of an ambulance. My blanket was orange. "Look, I'm in shock. I've got a blanket," I whispered, wrapping myself in it.
More people in the ambulance told me to stay awake. I don't know how they expected me to fall asleep anyways with all of those bright lights and crazy noises. I wasn't even sleepy.
Well.
I was a little sleepy.
--
When I awoke, I was sat in a bed that was quite obviously not my own. The white walls and pristine floors made it obvious to me where I was- a hospital.
Someone squeezed my left hand. I turned to have a look at my hand-holder.
John.
He was muttering to himself, eyes closed. When I cleared my throat, he looked up at me as though someone had told him that unicorns (which happen to be Scotland's national animal) existed.
Despite the look of surprise, he simply let out a breath, as though he'd been holding it in for years on end. "Sherlock. Oh god. Oh, Sherlock."
"John? What- What happened?"
"Fuck, Sherlock. I-" He pursed his lips, making it apparent that he was on the verge of tears. "I thought you wouldn't make it."
I gave him as much of a grin as I could muster, but I had to admit to myself how terrible I felt. "Don't worry, John, it's just a little-" I furrowed my brow. "Sorry, what exactly is it?"
"A closed head injury. Nothing major, just enough to have you unconscious for about..." He checked his watch. "Eighteen hours, now."
"You really thought I'd die from just a closed head injury? Please, John, have a little faith in me. You know my... Dramatic tendencies. My death will be far more interesting."
He pursed his lips. "Can we not talk about your death?"
I furrowed my brow. "Is that a touchy subject?"
John sighed, but he couldn't keep himself from smiling. "Yes, Sherlock. It is."
I nearly nodded before remembering my medical status. "Closed head injury, then. Remind me of the effects."
"Bit of confusion, bit of pain, a couple headaches. You'll be fine after a bit of recovery. Thankfully."
"John Watson, I hate to be picky, but for a future-doctor your medical vocabulary is rather weak."
He shook his head, laughing silently. "I'll work on it."
I grimaced as I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head. "What happened, anyways?"
John bit his lip, which was quite cute, if I was completely honest. "Jim Moriarty hit you over the head with an iron skillet, if I remember correctly. You cried out loudly enough for a passerby- Mary, her name was- to hear and call the police. It was lucky she did, really. When the cops got there, they just found you..." He dropped off, eyes cloudy.
"Yes?"
He met my eyes, gulped. "You were crumpled on the floor and it looked like they were about to, you know..." When he read no emotions whatsoever on my face, he sighed and continued. "Kill you, Sherlock. They were about to murder you."
"They're in custody, then?"
"No, Sherlock, we have two murderers running loose in London and the cops are doing nothing about it," he said sarcastically. When I didn't respond, he sighed once again. "Yes, Sherlock. They're taken care of."
Suddenly, I remembered the fact that was ever so important. "John!"
He jumped a bit, as he wasn't quite expecting my sudden boost of energy.
I beamed at him, more proud of myself than I'd like to admit. "The case is closed!"
He shook his head, laughing silently. "I know, Sherlock. I know."
He left soon after to retrieve the nurses and my parents (who were ecstatic to find me in good condition) and my brother (who was not).
To my dismay, my mother and father sat on my bed and cooed for at least an hour and a half. Mycroft had a seat in the corner, dozing off every so often, and John was forced to go wait in the lobby, as the nurses were convinced that I needed some "family time" (which was utter bullshit).
I was sent home just that night, which was very lucky, but I was forced to stay in bed for several days afterwards. I wasn't concerned about the school I was missing or the questions I would be asked upon returning, I was concerned about John- or, honestly, the lack of him in my life.
In fact, it had been almost a week before I could see him through something other than a phone screen. Face-to-face, I met John somewhere new: a park. (The Attendant had seemed like a terrible meeting place after everything that happened in its kitchen, so John figured the park was a much better choice. Besides that, he was very concerned about my "lack of fresh air" and thought I "could use a bit of vitamin D.")
John was racing towards me when I clumsily exited my mother's car. She sped away as he embraced me.
"Sherlock. SherlockSherlockSherlock." His voice was muffled, seeing as he was speaking directly into the fabric of my long coat.
"John," I muttered, pulling away from him so I could have a proper look. He'd hardly changed since the last time I'd seen him (in fact, the only difference was that he hadn't shaved in four days and had the smallest of mustaches coming on) but I was still undeniably pleased to see him.
It was slightly awkward after our embrace, seeing as John simply stared at my face for nearly a minute. At the 43 second mark, I cleared my throat. "How are you, then?"
He nodded, finally pulling his eyes from mine. "Good, good. Lonely." He nodded again, as though he was actually just a walking bobble head. "People have been talking about you. At school, I mean."
We began to walk. "They always talk about me, John. I'm a brilliant little freak to them." I sounded far more bitter than I'd expected.
"No, no. Other things now. Good things." He paused. "Sherlock, you're a hero."
I laughed. "No, John. I'm not."
"You saved me."
"You're all that matters."
John stopped walking, forcing me to stop as well. "Why do you say that?"
There was a duck pond six feet away from us, but the ducks had flown south months ago. In fact, it was nearly a surprise that the pond hadn't frozen over completely. The cold bit at me, so I centered my attention on the warmth of John's gaze.
I shrugged. "I suppose I say it because it's true."
He shook his head, completely unbelieving. "It's not true." When he noticed my questioning look, he proceeded. "Sherlock, it's not true because you matter too."
I laughed. "Just us, then?"
John was smiling as well, a beautiful smile. He moved closer to me. "Only us."
I couldn't help myself. I took hold of his face, his soft cheeks and pink ears and his everything. I pulled him up, made him fill those six inches of space that divided us in height. I brought John Watson to my face, drew him into my body and my existence itself, and I kissed that boy like there was no bloody tomorrow.
When I pulled away, my whole world was dark eyes and blonde hair and John Watson.
"Just the two of us, John," I muttered. "Just the two of us against the rest of the world.
the end.