CHAPTER 16

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John's POV

Sherlock stood in front of him, arms dripping blood.

"Sherlock... What have you done?"

"I'm so sorry, John," he whispered, tears filling his eyes.

"Sher..." He frantically tried to stop the bleeding, but it continued pumping up through his trembling fingers. "Don't you dare fucking do this to me. Not again."

Sherlock collapsed into John's arms, and he lowered him to the floor.

"Sherlock. No. Don't do this. Don't leave me again," but he was too far gone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as his glassy eyes fluttered shut.
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John's head shot up with a start, his entire body shaking. He had fallen asleep. Again.

Angrily wiping tears from his eyes, he cursed himself. Usually he could handle the bad dreams, but not when it came to Sherlock. Not when it was so close to home.

A flurry of commotion on the other side of the room caught his eye, and he looked up to see nurses and doctors running into a room. Poor bugger, he thought, until he spotted the room number.

"Shit," he hissed, as he realized the room belonged to none other than Sherlock Holmes.
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"Let me through, please. He's my friend," he pleaded, trying to push his way through the throng of doctors fussing over a figure on the ground. Maybe Sherlock was moved? Maybe another person was put in the room with him, he thought, though deep down he knew who would greet his eyes when he made it through the crowd. It was merely wishful thinking.

John forcibly shoved two female nurses, almost collapsing when he saw who lay on the floor.

Laying in a puddle of his own vomit was an unconscious, deathly pale Sherlock. The man he loved.







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