Sherlock & Sebastian (violent)

Sherlock closed his eyes slowly and let out a shakey breath. He knew the young nurse was right but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. His tongue darted out and ran across his dry lips, his stomach twisting up into knots.

When he opened his eyes again he noticed his hand was shaking uncontrollably, and his vision blurred with tears. He blinked a couple of times and they dribbled down his cheek, although this time he made no effort to wipe them away.

"W-when can I see him?" Sherlock stammered, hearing his own voice tremor as he spoke. "I...I need to see him..."

Mary squeezed his shoulder again, trying to be comforting, even though she bore no good news. "You should get dressed while I go check what's happening..." She said softly.

She stood up straight and walked out of the room.

When she came back, she was just as pale.
"I am sorry Sherlock," she muttered, taking in a deep breath. "They performed another dialysis, but he hasn't woken up yet... they are going to move him to an observation room in a few hours if nothing changes, you have to wait..."

Sherlock listened and nodded slightly, his earlier anger and tension replaced by a great sadness and despair. The nurse was being kind and friendly, but it was going to take a lot more than just words to cheer him up.

He sat and waited in the corridor for what seemed like hours, his mind remembering all the great times John and him had had together, then tearing himself up thinking about all the things he should have said. He loved John. He knew that now. Knew it for certain. Now it was too late.

Eventually the smiling nurse came back and tried to look hopeful. "He's not conscious...but you can go in and see him..." And she nodded slightly with her head to a room further up the corridor.

Sherlock practically leapt up off the chair, and followed her to the room where John was lying flat on his back in bed, his eyes closed, his body strapped to various bleeping machines.

"John," he whispered as he approached the bed, turning back to glance questioningly at the nurse. "Can...can he hear me?"

"We're not sure," she answered quietly. "They say that talking to them can help though." She smiled briefly. "I'll leave you alone," and she left silently, closing the door behind her.

"Thank you," Sherlock muttered at the closed door, then turned back to John, sighing heavily and pulling up a chair to sit down next to the bed.

"John I..." He began cautiously, "I want you to - I need you to know that...that you mean a lot to me and..." He placed his hand on top of John's. "Sometimes I'm not very good with words John and it's taken me a long time to realise and to admit to...well...how I...how I feel. The thing is...the thing is you can't die John." Sherlock's voice cracked with emotion as a few tears trickled down his cheek, his vision blurred. "You just can't. You can't die because...because...because I love you John. I...I love you more than anything in the world and I can't...I can't actually live without you so...so please...don't...don't be...dead."

Sherlock choked up completely and began to sob into his hands. He hadn't cried like this since he was a tiny kid but the thought of losing John was more than he could stand.

John was surrounded by darkness.
He could hear a voice, a deep voice, talking in the distance.
It was familiar, it made his heart clench, but he could not make out what it was saying nor who it was.
John wasn't really aware of himself at that point.

Then there was pain, his body, the body he finally realized he had, felt heavy and painful, his lungs were on fire and his eyes felt dry.
And he could hear a heart-wrenching wail in the distance, a sound he could not recognize, a sound that scared him.

It was like a shock.
When he realized who he was, what was happening, his hand twitched, his eyes flickered open and he choked on the tube in his throat.

Machines started bleeping like crazy and the room was suddenly noisy as he grabbed the only familiar thing he could hold onto.
Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock. His dear Sherlock had been crying.
For him.

He frowned at him, worried, trying to reach out for him, before a nurse burst in the room and pushed him back to lie down.

They took out the tube, checked his vitals, and warned him to take it easy.

"You scared us, John," said Mary with a worried smile, massaging his shoulder affectionately.
John looked up sheepishly and sipped on the water he had been handed.
His mind was still slow, half asleep, or maybe he just didn't know what to say to her.

He turned to Sherlock, his eyes searching him, he looked so tired, so distressed, John had no idea what to do.
He felt so scared.
He could have died right there.
He had been so close and he hadn't noticed.
How was he supposed to deal with that?

Sherlock was in the depths of despair. Never in his life had he felt so desperate, devastated, helpless. The tears flowed so easily, it was like he was unable to stop them.

But then suddenly he felt a pressure on his hand. It was John - squeezing back. John. John was awake. Alive. Good God he was alive.

Sherlock was a mess of emotions, the pain and anguish turning to confusion, disbelief then to sheer happiness and joy. He watched in amazement as Mary removed the tube from John's mouth, as he sat up slightly and accepted the water.

He wiped his tears away, rubbing his eyes to try and clear them. His mouth moved to form words but no sound came out.

"John I...I...I," Sherlock babbled, delirious with delight and shock. "I thought...thought you were dead..."

The despair and untarnished joy that mixed on Sherlock's face seemed to pull John's strings and he squared his sore shoulders a bit, trying, at least trying, to be strong.
"Not yet, Sherlock," he muttered with a very weak grin. "I promised I wasn't going to give up easily, didn't I?"

Mary stepped back with a sad smile, "Just be careful not to get too tired, this can't happen again," she warned them both, and he frowned at himself.
He wished there was a way he could make himself better, but it was like his body wasn't part of him any more.
It had been the same in Afghanistan, when he had laid with a fever for days after getting shot, but at least then there was a possibility of recovery.

All he could do here was wait. And the irony was that he could just be waiting to die.

He reached out for Sherlock's face, slowly because his muscles didn't seem to want to work, but he cupped his cheek, he brushed away the soft warm tears as he looked into his hurt eyes.
"I am sorry about this, Sherlock... I know it's hard on you..." And to be honest he had never thought it would be this difficult for him.

"I don't want to leave you," he confessed, his voice shaking slightly.

Sherlock wiped his eyes, drying off his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt and trying to regain some of his credibility. Sherlock Holmes did not cry. He really hoped none of his enemies could see him right now.

He smiled at John and took his hand as it touched his cheek, holding him there against his face, not willing to break contact just yet.

"You'd better not give up John," he stammered, his voice still a little shakey. "I...I need you." He blushed, suddenly wondering how much if anything John had heard of his earlier confession. "John erm...I said some...things...um...did you...did you hear anything? I mean...when you were...y'know...the nurses said you might still be able to hear things so...I don't know."

John's heart seemed to clench in his chest when Sherlock not only allowed but also leaned in his touch, it was something new, it was probably too much for their friendship, but considering the situation, he was quite sure Sherlock would forgive him.
Either way, John would take whatever anger he could rouse if it meant that he could go back to Baker street with Sherlock.

"I know..." he muttered, guilty, "I am doing my best," he promised, leaning a bit closer, needy to take in the other's scent. He wanted to cling to him, he wanted... he had no idea what he wanted, he just needed to be close to Sherlock.

The question made him blink confused, his memories were hazy, but when he thought back about a few minutes before he realized he did hear Sherlock's voice in his unconscious state.
"I did... well... I am not sure what you said, but I am sure you were talking to me," he looked to the side, realizing Sherlock had been the one crying his heart out as well. It was better not to mention that though.

And the memories of the night before shook him then, the intimacy, the kiss, Sherlock's apology, how he hadn't wanted to hear, how he had whispered to Sherlock that he needed him.
"Was it about the kiss?" he asked, his cheeks burning red, maybe he owed Sherlock an explanation.

"S-sort of," Sherlock stammered, looking down at the sheets of the bed and picking at them, just trying to find something to do with his hands, anything to distract him from the awkwardness of the situation.

He realised that he'd poured his heart out to John but he hadn't heard a word. Now he was going to have to do it all over again. Well, if he wanted John to know then he would. And he did want John to know, didn't he? Know what? That Sherlock loved him. Was that what it was?

He took a deep breath. "John," he began somewhat nervously. "I thought...I kissed you because...I don't know why...because I...like you but then...then I thought you were going to die and I said some...some...things..."

He paused and tugged at a lock of his hair, unable to continue, his stomach twisting up into knots. He could feel John's eyes on him and he suddenly had no idea how his friend would take this. Surely he wouldn't be interested? He'd laugh at him, say he was being ridiculous.

Sherlock felt tears of frustration prickling his eyes. "I'm not...I'm not sure I can tell you," he mumbled, hunching over and hanging his head down like an ashamed schoolboy.

Blue eyes fixed on Sherlock, John had no idea what to do. For a long moment he entertained the thought that the detective was gathering up the courage to tell him he loved him, but it seemed so out of character and unreal that he tried to keep himself rational.
The many times Sherlock had scoffed over feelings, saying they were useless and irrational, came back to his mind and he knew that his best friend would never accept them.
And why on earth would he choose John of all people to feel something like that anyway?
Again, maybe he was jumping to conclusions, maybe the words Sherlock was trying to find were just words of pure friendship, maybe Sherlock felt he needed to tell him because he was about to die.
He felt his throat close up in fear.
This just wasn't a good time to talk about feelings, everything felt heightened by the fate that seemed to loom over him.

He reached out his hand, cupping one of Sherlock's fidgety one, and squeezing it.
It was almost painful to see Sherlock revert to this shy persona, he had never really seen him like that, it looked like he was completely out of his comfort zone.

John felt overwhelmed and crushed by the whole situation, he had no idea how to help Sherlock when he could hardly move and a new case was not in order.
Words, he felt, were just going to make things worse, but it was all he had.

"I owe you an apology for that, Sherlock..." he muttered, trying to be strong. "I... things are not... the truth is..." he took in a deep breath. "I am terrified... of what could happen... I don't want to die, and I don't want to leave you..." he confessed, squeezing his hand again.

"Yesterday I clung to you, and I... well I... I craved comfort, I wanted you as near as possible... when you kissed me, I was truly happy, and I clung to you even further... I am sorry if it made you uncomfortable..." he tried to explain.

He frowned at the idea of Sherlock unable to tell him something. "Whatever you want to say, I won't judge you, Sherlock... if you regretted that kiss... I- I understand..."

Sherlock grasped onto John's hand as it slowly made its way over to him. He needed the physical contact right now, some kind of reassurance. He felt so small and useless, lacking in confidence.

He very nearly decided to hide his feelings altogether and bury them, never to mention them again, pretend he'd never had these thoughts, never had these emotions. But suddenly John's words seemed to leap out at him. Was he really telling him that he was happy when Sherlock kissed him? Was this what John wanted?

Sherlock bit his bottom lip. John was getting it all wrong. Jumping to the wrong conclusions. He was assuming that Sherlock regretted it but that wasn't the case. No, that wasn't it at all. It had taken something drastic for Sherlock to realise his true emotions. It had taken the threat of John's death to make him admit how he felt. And now there was no going back. He couldn't suddenly pretend he didn't feel those things anymore.

"John..." he began again, trying to put more confidence into his tone of voice. "The thing that I said to you was..." He coughed nervously, something sticking in the back of his throat. "I said...that you can't die...because...because I...because I..." Sherlock bowed his head into the soft sheets of the hospital bed and mumbled the rest of his sentence into the mattress. "Because I love you."

John listened intently as Sherlock seemed to decide to tell what was going on in his head, his lips pursing in a thin line as he tried not to interrupt with his own insecurities.
Sherlock seemed to fall deeper and deeper in his own embarrassment though and he had no idea what to do, how to help, other than by squeezing his hand in what he hoped was a comforting touch.

His mind seemed to stop to a halt when Sherlock finally finished his sentence, while his heart suddenly started beating faster in his chest.
He knew he had heard correctly, he knew his first instict had been right, but somehow he still couldn't wrap his head around it.
Was this pity?
Was Sherlock humouring him?

For the longest time he was silent, letting the words sink in, trying to start up his thoughts again, but it didn't seem to get any better.
He moved his hand, he cupped Sherlock's head, he ran his fingers through his hair like he had always wanted to do and things started to make sense again.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Sherlock," he finally said, trying to smile. "I love you, too... more than anything else in this world..." he admitted, blushing furiously. "I don't know if that will prevent my death though... I wish it could..."

Sherlock was still hiding his head in the sheets, resting there for what seemed like an eternity. John wasn't speaking, wasn't saying anything at all. He could only imagine what his face looked like. Angry, shocked, upset, confused, trying to suppress laughter, or quite possibly all of those faces at the same time. He certainly wasn't about to look up and see for himself.

John's hand on his arm was quite comforting though, and he wondered why his friend hadn't removed it after he confessed his love. He knew it was a bad idea, he really should just have kept it to himself. He'd told him when he'd been unconscious, that should have been enough. Now he'd gone and ruined their friendship for good. Sherlock felt like crying all over again, his heart physically breaking in two, God it was so painful. Feelings were so bloody painful, he cursed himself for being so weak.

Suddenly the sweet tones of John's gentle voice were penetrating Sherlock's thoughts and his head twitched slightly, his ears pricking up to hear and zoning in on the words, not quite daring to believe what he was listening to was real. John loved him too? More than anything else in the world?

Sherlock's tongue darted out to run across his cracked dry lips, his heart leaping into his mouth. He slowly began to lift his head up off the bed and sat up gradually, cautiously turning his eyes to look at John. His friend seemed genuine. The incredible blush on his cheeks was betraying him and Sherlock could tell he wasn't lying. John loved him. More than anything else in the world. Truly. Genuinely. Actually loved him.

Sherlock couldn't get his head around the fact that something so simple could make him so happy, but now there was one burning question he knew he had to ask, something he was desperate to do no matter what, something he'd been thinking about virtually none stop since the night before.

"John," he mumbled, blushing again and focusing on his friend's hairline rather than looking in his eyes. "Um...can I...would you mind if I...um...well...kiss you...again?"

When Sherlock finally looked up, John was still blushing, aware he had said something he was supposed to keep a secret, something that was dangerous for the both of them, and something that could cause him more pain than ever.
Sherlock had gathered up the courage to confess his feelings though and he couldn't just ignore that, he couldn't avoid replying with his own thoughts, not when his friend looked so worried and distressed.

Sherlock sat up, his eyes moving on John's face and he couldn't help swallowing hard, eventually licking his lips nervously, he wanted to backpedal, he wanted to say that now was not a good time to talk about love, that if he died tomorrow Sherlock would only hurt more, but his friend's gaze was hopeful, his composure was nervous, but excited, and his words made John's head spin.

Maybe it was worth it anyway.

A kiss. He wanted a kiss.
Sherlock Holmes was asking permission to kiss him!
He couldn't help the smile that spread on his lips, the soft happiness that bubbled in his stomach.
"Yes, of course, of course you can," he muttered, embarrassed, "I'd be happy... Mm... I think," he frowned at himself, feeling stupid for his lack of a better reaction. "You better do it before I make myself more ridiculous... you made me even more stupid than usual with your confession, Sherlock," he tried to joke, looking down at the blanket.

Sherlock studied John's face carefully, anxiously waiting for a response, trying to read what he was thinking behind those mysterious blue-grey eyes of his. He sighed with relief at John's reaction, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

"T-thank you," he stammered excitedly, his heart beginning to pound loudly in his throat, suddenly faced with the challenge of kissing John now permission had been granted.

Sherlock stood up from the chair and perched instead on the edge of the bed, shuffling along slightly so he was nearer to the top, close to John. He licked his dry lips and took a deep breath. He was nervous. God he was nervous. And it was such a simple thing. Just a bloody kiss for God's sake. And they'd done it before. But not like this. Before it was rushed, unintentional even, panicky. Now it was planned, pre-meditated, organised. And they both wanted it.

Sherlock leant forward ever so slowly, inch by inch, bringing his face closer to John's, trying to avoid eye contact because it would only make this harder. As their lips got closer he closed his eyes, instinct guiding him the rest of the way until they finally touched in a small soft kiss. Sherlock kissed John once, then twice, then three times, keeping their lips pushed together, fascinated and mesmerised by the small jolts of electricity that seemed to jump between them. It was as if he could melt into John's face he just felt so delightful and wonderful he never wanted it to end.

It seemed to take Sherlock forever to get close enough to kiss, and again when he leaned in, it seemed like time was passing incredibly slow. John didn't know what to do, he wasn't strong enough to pull him closer, and to say anything would have ruined the moment, a part of him was terrorized by the idea of scaring Sherlock away if he did too much.

When finally their lips met, John's eyes fell close and he sighed against Sherlock's lips, giving in to the chills of pleasure and bliss. They were so soft, so warm and perfect, it felt even better than the day before.

By the third kiss, he was impatient again, but now he could do something, and his hand moved up, cupping Sherlock's cheek and then sliding to thread in his hair.
He titled his head a bit to the side and licked Sherlock's lips tentatively, asking for more.

Sherlock's heart was pounding so fast, enjoying every single second of John's lips against his, just the three simple kisses sending his head in a spin. He couldn't even begin to imagine what anything else would feel like.

But suddenly he could feel John change slightly, shifting the position of his head, and Sherlock squealed as John's warm wet tongue ran over his lips, his body tensing. He knew what John wanted. He'd seen people kissing like that - mouths open, tongues out, practically eating each other. He'd always thought it looked disgusting, but suddenly the idea didn't seem so alien after all.

"OK," he muttered, making a mental decision to give it a try. He tilted his head the opposite way to John's and parted his lips, his eyes fluttering closed.

John felt the shock in Sherlock's body as if it was his own, his eyes opening slightly to see what was going on and for a moment meeting Sherlock's, a long shiver ran up his spine.
They were so close.
And it felt like they were so close.
John had kissed many people in his life, but it had never felt like this.

The whispered okay sent another set of chills up his spine, Sherlock's eyes closing and his lips parting against his.
He smiled softly, knowing he was granted something that probably no one else had ever had before.

He massaged Sherlock's scalp as his head moved to a better position and their lips brushed teasingly together, then John slid his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth, quickly letting it looking for the detective's.
Exploring.
Caressing.
Tasting.

Sherlock moaned gently into John's mouth, trying to memorise the feel of the other man's lips on his. He hoped with every fiber in his body that this wouldn't be the last time they kissed but even so, he wanted to remember every single detail of this moment and file it away, somewhere safe and private, somewhere he could access it easily whenever he felt sad or lonely he could sit and relive these few precious moments with his only friend.

His body tensed suddenly as John's tongue danced across his, part of him still wanting to shut off and pull away, his heart too afraid to let go for fear of getting hurt. But Sherlock fought back his apprehensions in favour of desire, want, need and God it felt good to give in to them.

He mirrored John's actions by tangling his fingers up in his soft sandy hair and slowly bringing out his tongue to brush against John's, the warm magical feeling causing him to shiver slightly. His heart swelled and his stomach fizzled as he realised that John tasted rather amazing. He twisted his head further, deepening the kiss again, his tongue now swirling happily into John's mouth, eager to taste more of him.

It felt like they were one. John was aware of every thought in Sherlock's head, he noticed the fear and inexperience in the soft tremor of his tongue when he touched it with his own, he felt the need to memorize this, the will to fight and to explore, and then finally the bliss that sparked when he gave in.
It was indeed like magic.
And all he hoped for was to have this again and again.
He couldn't lose this, he couldn't die.

He kissed Sherlock passionately, almost pulling him in his lap, just wanting to feel him near, and one of his hands moved down, tracing patterns down his neck.
When he pulled away, he was flushed amd panting, looking more alive than in the last week or two.

"First kiss?" He asked against his lips, not willing to move farther away at the moment, and not even sure why he wanted to know.

Sherlock could hear small sounds escaping from the back of his throat as they kissed, satisfied grunts, moans, sighs, sounds he had never made before, never thought he would make, but now John was changing everything he thought possible. And he liked it.

His heart fluttered with excitement and as their kissing deepened Sherlock discovered a new feeling between his thighs as he gradually began to develop quite an arousal. He shuffled back his hips away from John, trying to hide it from him with slightly flushed cheeks.

Once the kiss was over they kept their faces close together, noses touching, lips brushing hot and wet, Sherlock's heart thumping madly. "Mmm y-yes," he stumbled, before quickly adding, "My flat mate at Uni tried to kiss me but I punched him."

John felt Sherlock shift a bit, and he wanted to stop him, but his body felt too slow and clumsy to be able to do it in time. It was a shame this was happening just now when he was hardly able to react, he wished he was healthy, he wished he could lay Sherlock on the bed and explore every part of him.

He licked his lips slowly once they parted, his breathing a bit ragged, "Mm, I always thought you'd punch me if I ever tried anything of the sort..." He admitted, nuzzling Sherlock nose before placing another kiss on his lips.

"I hope you found it wasn't such a bad experience," he whispered, his fingers playing with the hair at the back of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock realised he'd been holding his breath whilst they'd been kissing and let it out all at once, panting slightly.

He'd finally done it. He'd told John how he felt about him and John had felt the same way. And they'd kissed. Kissed so wonderfully and beautifully. Sherlock's mind was delirious with joy and he couldn't stop a stupid grin from spreading over his face.

"It was...it was rather brilliant actually John," Sherlock admitted with a small blush, avoiding eye contact. "Perhaps you wouldn't be averse to repeating the process at some stage," he added quietly, hopeful.

John's lips curled in a soft smile at Sherlock's words: "I am glad you enjoyed it as much as I did," he muttered sincere, his eyes were sparkling slightly with the storm of feelings that were cursing through his body now.

He pressed their foreheads together, taking in a deep breath. "Sherlock," he whispered, his voice low and shaking slightly. "I want to kiss you even now, again and again, I wish I could kiss you every day from now to the end of your days," he whispered, confessing things he was unable to say more clearly.

"I am dying though... My body is dying..." He muttered sadly, scared, desperate, "I cannot offer you anything Sherlock, I am not even sure I can offer you much more than the next few hours..."

It was amazing how a few simple words from John's lips could change Sherlock's whole mood in a heartbeat. He went from pure happiness, elation, joy to suddenly plummeting right back into the pits of despair, his stomach churning, his heart twisted into a knot.

He had been so lost in the moment, still on a high from their breathtaking kiss, that for one small instant he had utterly forgotten where they were, what they were doing here. Everything melted away and all he had, all he could see, all he could feel, was John, their bodies and lips fitting so perfectly together.

Now he came back down to reality with a resounding bump. John was in hospital. John was sick. Really sick. John might die. He realised his relaxed clasp on his friend's arm had gradually changed to a death like grip and he let go, worried he might be hurting him.

"You can't," Sherlock pleaded, his eyes filling with tears. "Please, please don't leave me John. I..I need you. I love you."