[Fic] Last Moments (John/Sherlock, PG)
Sep. 30th, 2011 02:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
locketofyourhair500+ | John/(ftm!)Sherlock | PG
Unbeta'ed; unbritpicked; kink_bingo: danger
John has known Sherlock Holmes barely two months when he gets them both blown up. John flings himself at Sherlock and pushes them both under the water. It’s not enough. The water is hot, almost boiling, and his back is screaming. He knows what shrapnel feels like. He doesn’t care. He keeps pushing Sherlock, trying to get them to the other end of the pool, close to the door.
His lungs burn, and Sherlock is clinging to him and there is real fear in his eyes. John didn’t think Sherlock could fear. He is easily the most fearless person John has ever met, in the reckless way that steals John’s breath away.
There is blood in the water, and John hopes it isn’t Sherlock’s. He’s been fighting the truth for so long, and he doesn’t care now. He knows that he loves Sherlock. He knows that if they get out of here, John is going to find a way to show Sherlock, even if it’s just letting the eyes stay in the kitchen.
When they come out of the water, the building is on fire. Sherlock takes the lead, curled around John and leading them through the fire. His long, slender fingers are vice-strong on John’s shoulders.
John can’t breath and his body aches. He feels like his vision is graying, and he doesn’t know if it’s terror or the smoke or bloodloss. Sherlock has to make it out of here. John doesn’t care of about himself.
The night air is barely any cooler from the fire, and John doesn’t know how far they stumble away before he has to see Sherlock. He has to see Sherlock’s body to be sure that he’s all right, that there are no major wounds.
There is a dark splotch in the wetness of Sherlock’s shirt, and John’s heart goes from racing to skittering to a stop. “Sherlock,” he says, with numb lips. He pulls at Sherlock’s shirt, and Sherlock tries to stop him.
John doesn’t care. He leans close and his lips press against Sherlock’s jaw. “Please,” he whispers, and it is the softest demand. He needs to see.
Sherlock kisses him, fierce and demanding, and he can feel the pounding of Sherlock’s heart as he strips the shirt away with stiff hands. He should be a doctor now. He should pull back and be the good surgeon.
But they nearly died. They nearly died, and Sherlock nearly died, and John can’t stop these kisses.
He finds the scars first, the raised, white lines on Sherlock’s skin where breasts had been, and he can’t bring himself to hesitate. He knows; Anderson said something cruel, and it was the only time before this moment that Sherlock looked scared before John.
John finds the wound, and he hears the sirens now. Sherlock stiffens, and John kisses him one last time. “I have to put pressure on this,” he says.
Sherlock nods, and he crosses his arm over his scars. John shakes his head, and he kisses the jumping pulse point in Sherlock’s neck.
His vision is still graying, and he doesn’t care. He will keep Sherlock alive at all costs.
“Thank you,” Sherlock murmurs, and his hands press over John’s. One of them is going to survive this. That is all that matters.