Cornwall was not the grandest of places-
and yet.
John Watson was not a man of many wants. He and Mary rarely had the time to themselves and God knew that he loved Sherlock, but now and then? God also knew that he needed a break. If only for a day or two, even if he ever stormed out in the midst of doors slamming and yelled insults - things he regretted later, always, even if it was Sherlock who had behaved like a twat. So the time away with Mary? John was having a good time.
Right now, they were walking through the Gardens, him and Mary hand-in-hand. It was beautiful, dark, forest greens with light pink and yellow flowers that rivalled the colours in a setting sun. The statues littering the tourist attraction, dark gray slates and light greys mottling together with the moss and ivy to create faces and emotions on the stone that would have otherwise gone untold. Time had created stories for this place; time had only increased the beauty here.
It wasn’t New Zealand, but John loved it.
Loved it until the moment when the colours flickered out around him. He blinked rapidly, pressed his fingers against his eyes.
“John?”
He shook his head, dropping his hand. The world had righted itself, everything was as it should be. “Sorry, nothing.” He smiled thinly at Mary, reaching for her hand again. “Let’s keep looking, yeah?”
That continued for approximately thirty seconds or so. The nagging, crawling sensation at the back of his neck made his hair stand on end, but his vision was fine. He could see, and he could still see in colour, the blues and the pinks and the yellows and the greens and the-
gray.
The colour didn’t come back this time.
“Shit!” He tore at his pocket, fumbling out his phone and pressing the speed dial for Sherlock. “Sherlock, answer your fucking phone,” he muttered, as it rang and rang and rang- “Shit.”
“John, John! What’s going on???”
“Something’s happening to Sherlock, something’s…” something’s killing Sherlock. No, he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t entertain it. And he couldn’t stay here, running out of the Gardens without another word, dialling Sherlock’s number again. Pick up, pick up…
Death.
It was something Sherlock never feared, never thought twice about. His body was simply a tool and tools grew old, sometimes even broke and became useless. One day too, his body would do the same, would grow old or break and simply couldn’t be mended back together.
He knew that time was coming as he sat there, slouched against the wall, bleeding out.
Yet, all he could do was s m i l e.
The world around him was fading and yet, it was still so brilliant. He could see the color of it, the dark blue of his coat, the vivid red upon his hands, to the flickering gold of the king pin’s shoes. Once upon a time, he hadn’t been able to see the color of the world, only saw in grays and whites/ It hadn’t phased him.
--- but then, John came and his world exploded into color, was still painted in vivid hues of greens and blues and golds and oh god, i’m dying.....
John was safe.
John was safe and it was only with the slightest regret that it dawned on Sherlock that John would know. John’s world would be turning dull and gray and it was sad. So, so sad.... This was Sherlock’s choice, one he wouldn’t regret too much.
As his eyes closed and hand slipped from his side, he smiled. Smiled even as foots steps clicked closer and a hand cradled his cheek, the same hand that had once reached into the freezing water and pulled him out of the lake as a child. “Oh Billy, what have you done?”
Sherlock smiled, pressed into that hand, a hand that always kept him safe, always made sure he made it home. “Kept John safe,” He whispered so soft and weak and then, he heaved a soft breath and relaxed, finally slipped into that welcoming embrace of darkness.
