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Literature Text
John's eyes widened in horror as Sherlock slumped to the floor. The gun was smoking in his hand. "I—" he gasped.
The speaker giggled.
Sherlock lied there in a steadily growing pool of blood.
"I—" John said again, the words catching in his throat.
The speaker laughed.
"I can't—"
John's eyes were burning. He was lying on the floor, his body in torture, his head on fire, staring straight into Sherlock's glassy blue eyes. He felt sick.
The speaker was guffawing in the doorway, but all John could think about was lying right in front of him.
Sherlock Holmes was dead. And he, John Watson, his faithful sidekick, had killed him.
John's ears were ringing, but he could still hear the door slamming open. Mycroft stormed in, his face almost white. He stood there, his feet seemingly rooted to the ground. He stared at Sherlock's body. The blood. The gun.
His face was contorted in a mixture of fury and grief. He barreled forward and grabbed John by the collar. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he screamed into a semi-conscious John's face.
"I can't breathe—" John stammered.
Mycroft threw John to the side, where he landed in a pitiful heap by the speaker. The distraught brother stooped over Sherlock. John's entire world was shaking. He dragged himself towards the speaker.
"The antidote…" he whispered.
There was silence.
Mycroft was on the phone with the hospital, his voice shaky and strained.
"Say something…" John gasped.
The speaker started to laugh again. "Oh, John Watson, you are all too gullible. Do you think I'd personally give you the antidote? Don't be daft."
John was sliding in and out of consciousness now. Colors and lights and darkness were flowing in and out of his ears and mind.
"Keep your friends close, John Watson. You may come to depend on them."
The speaker went completely silent, and John could just barely recognize that that was it. No more cryptic messages from the disembodied voice.
He could barely make out the slumped silhouette of Sherlock as his eyes blurred over. As he slid into the darkness of unconsciousness, he thought he could see his friend's face.
And then there was only sleep.
The speaker giggled.
Sherlock lied there in a steadily growing pool of blood.
"I—" John said again, the words catching in his throat.
The speaker laughed.
"I can't—"
John's eyes were burning. He was lying on the floor, his body in torture, his head on fire, staring straight into Sherlock's glassy blue eyes. He felt sick.
The speaker was guffawing in the doorway, but all John could think about was lying right in front of him.
Sherlock Holmes was dead. And he, John Watson, his faithful sidekick, had killed him.
John's ears were ringing, but he could still hear the door slamming open. Mycroft stormed in, his face almost white. He stood there, his feet seemingly rooted to the ground. He stared at Sherlock's body. The blood. The gun.
His face was contorted in a mixture of fury and grief. He barreled forward and grabbed John by the collar. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he screamed into a semi-conscious John's face.
"I can't breathe—" John stammered.
Mycroft threw John to the side, where he landed in a pitiful heap by the speaker. The distraught brother stooped over Sherlock. John's entire world was shaking. He dragged himself towards the speaker.
"The antidote…" he whispered.
There was silence.
Mycroft was on the phone with the hospital, his voice shaky and strained.
"Say something…" John gasped.
The speaker started to laugh again. "Oh, John Watson, you are all too gullible. Do you think I'd personally give you the antidote? Don't be daft."
John was sliding in and out of consciousness now. Colors and lights and darkness were flowing in and out of his ears and mind.
"Keep your friends close, John Watson. You may come to depend on them."
The speaker went completely silent, and John could just barely recognize that that was it. No more cryptic messages from the disembodied voice.
He could barely make out the slumped silhouette of Sherlock as his eyes blurred over. As he slid into the darkness of unconsciousness, he thought he could see his friend's face.
And then there was only sleep.
Chapter 26
A Sherlock Fanfiction
Let me know if you guys want me to write another chapter today!
A Sherlock Fanfiction
Let me know if you guys want me to write another chapter today!
© 2011 - 2024 missbagel
Comments9
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I will cry if you really end it here. I'm already starting to tear up!!! >.<