A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

26) Downfall

"Mrs Hudson call an ambulance, its Sherlock h-he's not well."
It was the next week at Baker Street and the atmosphere had since changed, the flat was now full of anxiousness and panic. John stood protectively besides the bed as Sherlock lay under the duvet, his face skeletal white and his breathing slow and shaky; his eyes were closed and his body was now stick thin.
"John! What's wrong?" Mrs Hudson cried in alarm, hurrying into the room and dropping the tray of tea she was carrying - causing it to shatter onto the floor.
"S-something's happened," the blonde boy choked, holding his hands to his head in dismay, staring at his boyfriend in horror.
"He collapsed, Mrs H I think he's giving up."
The landlady gave a small gasp of shock at this and hastily made her way over to Sherlock, giving a quick gaze over him.
"I've called 999 they should be here soon," she informed John, glancing up at John with worried eyes.
"Help me carry him downstairs."
It didn't take long for the two to carry Sherlock down the stairs; since his weight had plummeted he was now extremely light and he was limp like that of a rag doll. Whilst Mrs Hudson kept an eye out for the door, John sat against the wall, holding the curly-haired boy's head in his lap, stroking through his hair and whispering many reassuring things. He doubted that Sherlock could actually hear him, however it gave John reassurance so he kept to it.

About twenty minutes later there was a loud knock on the door and Mrs Hudson hastily answered to two paramedics; one a young man and the other an older looking woman.
"He's here," John stammered, pointing over to his boyfriend, his face grey as his eyes flickered around anxiously.
The two paramedics at once descended upon the boy, the younger man sliding his hand around Sherlock's wrist and checking his pulse.
"His pulse is very weak," he informed the blonde boy, leaning his body over the curly-haired boy's body and placing both hands to his chest; beginning to do chest compressions.
"Go get the stretcher, he needs to be taken to hospital right now."
The second paramedic quickly hurried back outside towards the ambulance as Sherlock was lifted up from the floor, with a little help from John, and transported outside.
"I'm going with them to the hospital," the blonde boy explained, lingering in the doorway to Mrs Hudson.
"I'll keep you informed."
The land-lady gave a worried nod as John slipped on his jacket, closing the door behind him and clambering into the awaiting ambulance. He took a seat besides Sherlock and timidly reached for his hand, clutching protectively to it as the vehicle began to gain speed. 

••••••••••••••

"Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?"
The curly-haired boy managed a small wince as the sound of muffled voices filled the room. Groggily, he squinted open his eyes, just about able to make out the figure of John stood in front of him. It wasn't long before Sherlock began to recognise the familiar whirring of the machines beside him, and he let out a barely audible sigh as his shoulders immediately sunk.
"What happened?" He croaked miserably, turning slowly on his side to face the blonde boy.
"You collapsed," John answered bluntly, folding his arms as he watched the curly-haired boy with a pained expression.
"It was an emergency they had to get you to hospital."
Sherlock immediately scoffed at this, his body filling with pain as he did so.
"I don't need a hospital I'm fine John," he persisted.

"For god's sake," the short boy muttered, shaking his head and slumping down onto a seat besides Sherlock's bed.
"You're really sick Sherlock don't you understand!?"
"Of course I do!" The curly-haired boy cried in response, flinging back the covers and attempting to get to his feet. At once he let out a sharp howl of pain as he fell back down onto the bed, his face white as a sheet in shock.
"John what did they do to me?" He hissed; his voice quiet and deadly.
The blonde boy held his hands over his face as he bowed his head miserably, eventually meeting Sherlock's glare.
"You were dying," he mumbled, his voice slightly shaky.
"T-the doctors had to do whatever it took to keep you alive."
"What did they do?"
John gave a small sniffle as he broke away from their eye contact, choosing instead to stare at the wall.
"T-they had to operate. You were in their for hours Sherlock...like I said they had to do it."

"They've destroyed my legs," Sherlock whispered, his face crumpling as he laid back down against the pillow, staring dully up at the ceiling.
Cautiously, John slid his hand onto the bed, gesturing that his boyfriend could take it if he wanted. Reluctantly, Sherlock accepted as the pair's fingers intertwined.
"The tumour was spreading faster than they expected," he began to explain.
"It may well have saved your life."
Bitterly, Sherlock gave a small nod, before turning to John.
"Will you stay here with me tonight?" He asked feverishly, his eyes bloodshot and tired.
"Of course," the blonde boy replied - managing a weak smile as he planted a quick kiss on Sherlock's cheek.
"Of course I will."
Sherlock gave a small, grateful nod, resting his head back down upon his pillow as he fell into a deep sleep; John keeping a protective watch by his side.

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