Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

A Bit Worse	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2624 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: We do not own/have no affiliation with BBC's Sherlock or ACD Sherlock Holmes. No profit is made from this.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
A/N: It has been a crazy ride. We will be back in two weeks, a date will be announced on our tumblrs as it gets closer. Also we will be doing a video during the hiatus. If you want to livestream with us and ask us questions, or vent about how we ended part two please tell us when would be best for you. We will be doing the livestream when the most people can take part.
We love you guys. Thanks for sticking around. Part three will be called ‘A Bit Better.’ It is aptly titled, we promise.
Anyways. Enjoy the last chapter. Have a great two weeks. Come complain to us if you’re angry. Shellysbees and Devokitsune on tumblr or Shellysbees on Twitter.
Sherlock’s hand came up to cover John's. He pulled back just enough so that he could look down at the blonde, committing his features to memory. Sherlock realized he wanted to spend his last moments memorizing that body, tracing with lips and tongue, something he should have had a life time to do. An hour seemed so meager in comparison.
"I want to do something for you." He whispered. He slipped to John’s side, grabbing a flanel to wipe away the mess splattered across John’s chest. When he nodded shortly Sherlock pushed on the smaller man's good shoulder to lie him on his back. The detective sat up, straddling him once more, and with a small smile, lowered his lips to start gently kissing and tasting every inch of his neck and chest. Nothing to start the spark from earlier, more like he was praising the soldiers body with his lips.
At first John wasn't sure of Sherlocks intentions, but as his mouth slowly traced along his collarbone, softly kissing the deep bruises forming there he began to understand. Each press of his lips to Johns skin felt like a goodbye, a piece of their future they would never have.
When he found the starburst scar where the bullet had first torn through all John could feel was a slight pressure on damaged skin. He had to bring a hand to his mouth, muffling the dry sob that tried to escape, as Sherlock slowly traced the old scar.
These wounds would never heal, not completely. John had been a broken man before Sherlock, no purpose. He wasn't ready to go back to that.
Sherlock felt John’s breath hitch beneath his lips, but he didn’t stop. Kissing down his stomach, ribs, and placing a small nibble to his navel he started working down John’s legs.
Once he'd covered all of John's front, he nudged him over onto his stomach and started his way back up. Teasing nips were placed in various locations in an attempt to relax John; the backs of his knees, the swell of his arse, the back of his neck, and the tips of his ears. He spent more time again on the starburst on the back of his shoulder, but soon enough he was nudging John back to his front.
As the John turned, the bandage covering where Sherlock knew the brand had scarred him caught his eye, and an anger raged through him so fiercely that he shook, his lip twitching as he attempted to rein in his emotions.
"In this case John, I'm the lucky one..." He murmured, his eyes closed, fingers tracing over the edge of the bandage, "You bare the worst of this burden and for that I am truly sorry," He ended in a whisper.
He could feel himself coming down from the euphoric high, the weight of the situation finally setting in. He was going to die, for real this time. He wouldn't be coming back in three years, and John would have to live without him for good. The nightmares would return, he would stop eating. He only hoped Mycroft would do better at taking care of him this time around.
The trembling turned into light sobs and he pressed his body down into John's, his eyes wet with tears that flowed freely now. His shoulders rose and fell with shaking breaths as he silently broke down. What was it about this man that brought the cursed emotion out of him? "I'm not afraid for me John..." He managed, "I'm afraid for you..."
Johns throat tightened, but his tears stilled.
Both his arms snaked around Sherlock’s shaking form. His good hand fingered through the small curls at the base of his neck that had refused to straighten, while the other traced down his spine.
"Don't worry about me, at least I'll know for sure this time. I won't be waiting. I- I’ll be fine."
It was a lie, of course.
His face was dry, but his voice still wavered as he spoke against Sherlock’s cheek. Starting at Sherlock temple he began placing small kisses down the side of his face and along his jaw, the taste of tears clinging to Sherlock’s skin.
Working his way down to Sherlocks chin John nosed his face to the side so he could continue up to the opposite temple. There he stopped, burying his nose in the ginger hair. The emotions were becoming impossible to stave off, tears fell silently.
Sherlock let his face be kissed, he let John lie to him because in all honesty it did make him feel a little better, and he knew it made John feel better too. His lungs were beginning to tighten and each breath was becoming more labored, but he ignored it, letting his emotion cover up the slight wheezing.
When his face had dried and the torrent had been reined in he pulled away to look at John once more. His mouth opened wordlessly. He wanted to make a comment that would make John laugh, bat at him in irritation, anything to erase the look of pain and sadness etched into John’s features, but no words came. A shooting pain ran up his spine and he knew it was starting.
John couldn't be here for this, Sherlock wouldn't let him see. He would not be the cause of more nightmares.
"A cup of tea would really make me feel better..." He found himself saying, "Who knows, perhaps tea does fix everything..."
His words sparked a humorless chuckle from John, which covered a muffled sob. He nodded though, running a hand down Sherlock’s side as he slipped away. It was painful for John, leaving Sherlock when he knew how short their time was, but he couldn't deny the man. Planting his feet on the ground John grabbed his dressing gown, and after stealing one last glance at Sherlock, he hurried from the room.
He was barely present as he prepared the tea, going through the motions as quickly as possible. His hands shook terribly, causing him to spill sugar on the countertop. John didn't bother making himself any tea, it would just waste time.
---------------------------
The pain was increasing by folds now. With John out of the room Sherlock didn’t have to hide the the signs. He turned his back to the door and curled his knees to his chest. His gastrointestinal tract felt like it was going to explode at any moment, and the tightness quickly turned into a burning sensation. He couldn't get enough air and it was starting to make his head spin. A flash of heat brought with it a wave of nausea that had him biting his lower lip to stifle a groan of pain.
Almost as fast as it came, the heat went, leaving him visibly shivering against the bunched up duvet. Painful needles waltzed up and down his spine until he could no longer feel where his limbs connected.
Numbness began to set in, starting at his fingers and toes, working its way up his body. Somehow, he knew it wouldn't be long. As the numbing began to slowly creep through his veins, the pain everywhere else intensified, trading step for step, and he let out a soft cry as a pain shot through his left eye.
Glass clattered to the floor in the doorway. John had returned, and the freshly brewed tea was seeping across the wood floors. Hurrying to his side John pulled on Sherlock’s shoulder softly so he lied back flat on the bed.
John sat back on his heels for a moment, reality crashing over him. Sherlock was dying, really truly dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“I made... you watch... before.” His words were jilted and choppy as the convulsions in his body and the tightness in his chest made it difficult to speak. Noises slipped through his throat unbidden between words, forced out by the pressure against his diaphragm with every contraction of his abdominal muscles, “Couldn’t... do it.. again... bit... worse this time.”
Smoothing Sherlocks disheveled hair back John dipped forward, pressing their foreheads together. "Daft idiot." He muttered softly, "I told you, I wasn't letting you face this alone. Not again."
Then John was pressing his lips to Sherlocks in a chaste kiss. Pulling away, just enough that their lips brushed against each other as they spoke, John whispered, "I love you Sherlock. I always will."
The last bit of pain slipped away as Sherlock attempted to process the proclamation. Brain stem, he thought absently. His world seemed to be spinning, but John was there. He was at the center of it, and for some reason that was important. He couldn't remember why.
There was a soft pressure on his head, and it pulled him back enough to realize that John was upset, and that was never good. His lips started to form a question, are you mad at me?, he swallowed it however when lips were pressed to his very briefly.
A warmth spread through him that made the numbness easier to handle, and for some reason the words made him very sad, something he didn't remember feeling often.
Sherlock reached a hand up, gently cupping the other's face and touching John seemed to bring everything back into focus so sharply he almost winced. He was dying, and John was telling him that he loved him.... But he already knew that.
"Now who's being... a daft idiot?" He said, "don't state... something so obvious..." He let his lips curve into a smile then, one of the radiant ones that John seemed to like so much and he whispered back the words John had never known he'd heard.
"I was so alone..." His fingers grew weak on John's cheek and he closed his eyes trying to muster up the strength to make it stay the tremors finally fading, "And I owe you so much..." As he opened his eyes once more a tear slipped down his cheek. "One more favor John, just one miracle for me..." He could no longer hold his arm up and it fell limply against the sheets as John pulled away in shock. "Please...Let me go." His breath rattled into his chest,his eyes slipped closed, and then all was silent.
The tears were falling readily as the last breaths rack through his body, and when his eyes fell closed something inside of John stopped. His head bowed, settling on the still chest in front of him.
"No. God Sherlock, no. You can't be...." But he was, the still and silent body was irrevocable evidence. Moving back to cradle Sherlock’s head gently in his hands, John pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"I'm so sorry Sherlock. I.."
His words were lost as his head was cradled against Sherlock’s chest. Someone would come soon, that's what Mycroft had said right?
Unable to pull himself away he resolved to stay till the very end, until someone forced him away from Sherlock. Hands balled in tight, painful fists, as he began to weep shamelessly against the deathly still shoulder.
- 16
- 17
- 18
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Bit Worse