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The End - A Johnlock Fanfiction
John stood there, feeling useless as always, Sherlock was trying to use his mind palace but seemed unable to concentrate.
“Is there anything that can be done?” John asked, already accepting that he might never see his wide again, or meet his unborn daughter. Sherlock ignored him, running around 221B Baker Street. Every door and window was trigged so that if it was tried to be opened it would explode. The clock was counting down to ten minutes.
Sherlock was mumbling nonsense. He examined each door and the explosives on it. John moved to sit on his chair.
“Agggg!” Sherlock yelled out of frustration, not pain. Moriarty had gotten the better of him this time. This was the finial, finial problem.
“I.Just.can’t.do.it.” Sherlock’s voice was strained. They had tried phoning Lestrade, but when Sherlock picked up his phone a text from a blocked number came in saying “whoever you call or text dies.”
“Sherlock.” John said, trying to calm his friend. “It’s not worth it. Even if we do get out he probably has Mrs. Hudson and Mary captive.” Sherlock’s face looked pained as he said Mary’s name.
“But if I…” Sherlock started but trailed of as he realized that John was right, there was no point. He sat in his chair across from John.
“It’s the same as last time, expect this time I can’t save you” Sherlock said, closing his eyes. He opened them, thinking again. “There has to be a way to get you out.” Sherlock turned to the window but was stopped as he felt something grab his hand.
John watched as Sherlock turned around to face him slowly. John didn’t know why he had taken Sherlock’s hand, he had just felt an overwhelming need too.
“Sherlock, we all go someday, so if I have to go, this is the way it ought to be.” John looked up from the intertwining hands to Sherlock’s face.
There he saw walls being torn down. Walls that had been so carefully built up overtime, come crashing down to rubble because of a few words and an action, in Sherlock’s eyes.
Sherlock swallowed hard. The clock in his mind was down to 3 minutes. 3 minutes to live. 3 minutes to try to saw what he had wanted to saw for years now. He thought back to the time he almost said something. The same problem staring him in the face. Now it was presented to him again.
The finial, finial problem was not Moriarty. It was what he needed to say, if he could. Before, they were both going to continue living, for Sherlock only for a little while longer. But now death was leaning over their shoulders. Watching the two men stare each other in the face.
Sometimes saying what is on your mind is tougher then accepting death, Sherlock thought in those last few moments.
John had faced death more than once before, but none of them seemed more real, or surreal then it did now. It pained John, but it felt completely right at the same time. John glanced at time timers. 2 minutes now.
“John.” Sherlock said. John thought he sounded more vulnerable than he had ever heard him before.
“Sherlock.” John said.
“John, I’m sorry. For leaving, for letting this happen…” Sherlock was chocking up. The man who thought sentiment was on the losing side was losing it.
“Its okay.” John said, chocking up as well.
“No it’s not. His is my fault. I shouldn’t have come back.” Said the consulting detective. John couldn’t tell if Sherlock was crying or if it was his own eyes fogging up. All this time the clock was counting down, to the final second. They still hadn’t let go of each other’s hand.
“No. Thank you.” John said. “Thank you for coming back. Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for asking ‘Afghanistan or Iraq.” He said, referring to the first time they met. Sherlock smiled a little.
“Thank you for everything.” John said.
“Thank you for believing.” Said Sherlock.
“Thank you for staying.” John said.
“Thanking you is not showing how truly grateful I am for you.” Sherlock said.
Then they are hugging.
“Thank you for being my best friend.” John said.
“Thank you for being more than that.”
Said Sherlock. “Even if you didn’t know it.
“I know. Me too.” John reassured.
“John…” Sherlock started.