A final word

As usual when they were chasing a suspect, John was left behind. Sherlock sprinted ahead, through the maze of alleyways, trying to caught up with the suspect. When John finally got to them, Sherlock had already caught the suspect. Always. John didn't mind, really. Why would he? He was fine with that. Knowing that he had Sherlock's back if something would happened. It wasn't like that never had happened before. He had saved Sherlock's life more than once. Why would it be different this time?

They were chasing a young woman this time. A bloody fast woman. A violent, pretty crazy young woman. She had killed her boyfriends. Yes, boyfriends. Several of them. Five to be exactly. She had tried to kill the sixth, but he managed to escape. She had shot them all, stolen their money and then moved on to the next guy. She was 30 years old, she had killed her first boyfriend when she was 22. so it was five dead boyfriends in eight years.

John was actually not that far behind this time. Only a few yards. Or maybe more than a few, maybe 20 yards. But nothing more than that. He always knew where Sherlock had run, he didn't need to worry about losing them. It was in the middle of the night. The alleys were dark, only a few lamp posts to light them up. The shadows fell long at the ground, making it even darker.

But John had started to know this alleys. All this nights of running around in London hadn't gone to waste. If he was right, and he was pretty sure he was, the woman was running towards a dead end.

He saw Sherlock dashing around the corner ahead, running into the dead end. He sprinted so he would be able to help Sherlock if he needed it. He doubted it. After all, Sherlock was a good fighter, and he had defeated much lager opponents.

"Susanne Adams." He heard Sherlock say"There is no point in running, you have nowhere to go..."

'Why did he try to talk her into giving up? He never had before.' John thought. He was almost at the corner now.

"…put the gun down..." Sherlock continued, and John's heart nearly stopped in his chest.

As he run around the corner he saw Susanne Adams, standing with her pistol raised in the middle of the alleyway. Her back was pressed against the wall behind her. Sherlock was standing in front of her, hands raised above his head. He was slowly walking towards her. He lowered his right hand, and reached it out to her. Silently begging her to give him the gun. She began to lower the gun, her grip around the gun loosed.

"Sherlock, be careful." he called out.

He really thought that they had heard him, but apparently, they hadn't. Sherlock flinched, and Susanne flinched. The gunshot echoed between the walls of the alley.

John barely had time to register the sound before he felt the bullet fly past his head, gazing his cheek as it did so. It probably wouldn't bleed that much, it was only a scratch. He was glad that Sherlock was okay.

Then, as he brought his hand up to his cheek to examine the damage, he saw how Sherlock brought his hand up to his neck. Pressing it against it. Then, he heard it. It wasn't a scream, it was a choked whimpering sound, almost like if it was under water.

Sherlock collapsed to the ground, and even at the distance, John could see the blood, streaming between his fingers, staining them red. He ran up to his best friend, and fell to his knees beside him. Susanne Adams was forgotten, she ran past him as he put his hand over Sherlock's.

Sherlock's neck and the front of his white shirt was covered in blood. His fingers slippery and crimson from the blood. His eyes were wide in shock, he had his head pressed against the ground. He was gasping for air. But the only thing that happened was that his mouth was filled with blood. It run down his cheeks, down his jaw.

His fingers clawed at John's hands as they pressed harder on the side of his throat. Eyes flickering around, filled with fear.

His mouth opened and closed, desperate to get oxygen down to his lungs. But he kept choking.

The fingers stopped their desperate fight, too weak to move. Sherlock tried to say something, but he only started to cough. His mouth filling with blood.

"Shh...don't talk..." John whispered."...y-you're going to be okay...don't talk. Just look at me."

Sherlock's eyes locked on John's face, those pale eyes, filled with fear, glassed over with tears. He tried to say something again.

"...h-...'rts...Jo-...s'ry... I-...'m...so-...ry... Pl-...'se, Joh-...do-...n't... le-...me...die-. I...don- wan...to..." The rest of what he said disappeared in the gurgling sound in his throat. The blood blocking his airway.

John placed his left hand against Sherlock's cheek, held the other under his chin, pressed firmly against the wound. He stroke the tears away from Sherlock's eye with his hand. He was trying to comfort him, as they both knew that... Whatever they did now, Sherlock would be dead by the time the ambulance came. He was telling him that he wasn't alone. Whispering it in Sherlock's ear. He held his hand. Locked his eyes with Sherlock's.

And as the light in Sherlock's eyes faded, when his desperate gasping for air stopped, when the wound stopped bleeding and his weak grip around John's hand loosed, he knew he wasn't alone. He wasn't afraid. It didn't hurt any more.

And as his vision darkened, and all the noise was drenched by the blood pounding in his ears he whimpered out a few last words.

"I...love...you...Joh-." Then everything faded into black. The sound disappeared. He felt nothing, but John's hands that held his hands, and small drips of water splashing down on his face.

A/N: Aaaand here is an other Sherlock!whump story. It seems like it is the only thing I write. But, I hope you like it. And it is probably the first story I have written with Johnlock in it. Even if this also could be seen as awesome bromance. Or one sided Johnlock, with a last confession from our favourite Consulting Detective. Take it how you like it to be. Please review.