A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! So... this is a rough one...Definition_of_geek requested this one...I hope this is what you were thinking of!! If not, let me know and I will try again for you <3 In this one, Sherlock is diagnosed with cancer and has a rough night....its pretty short, and it was hard to write, so I hope it turned out okay! Enjoy<3
**P.S. sorry I'm not posting that much!! This new job is kicking me in the ass..but I'm loving it!! and starting to get used to the schedule so hopefully I'll be able to find more time to type again soon! thanks for being so patient guys<3<3***
It started with a cough, a rough dry cough that both Sherlock and John brushed off as allergies. Then came the pain, though Sherlock made certain to keep that from John for as long as possible.
It's just because of the cough, John will only worry.
Everything was normal, until the case.
They had been chasing a suspect through the streets of London, losing the man in a crowd of shoppers.
"Damn it!" Sherlock spun into the closest alley, his chest heaving and a burning pain developing in the bottom of his lungs.
"It's fine Sherlock, we'll uh- we'll get him next time-"
"No! It's too late-" A cough cut off his words and he doubled over, the burning pain in his lungs taking over and blurring out the rest of his reality. A strange copper taste filled his mouth and he heard his husband's panic as his vision faded to black.
There were many ways Sherlock had imagined himself dying. He had thought about it extensively over the years. He always assumed it would be a suspect, drugs, or a razor to the wrists that would kill him.
If someone had told him he would be dying of Non-Small Cell Lung Cancer before his fortieth birthday, he would have spouted off a list of reasons why that was impossible.
Now, here he was, curled on the floor of the bathroom, his lungs and throat burning as his body tried to expel the poison that was supposed to cure him.
He hated this. He hated being so weak and helpless that he couldn't even drag himself off the floor. His hand slipped off the bowl of the toilet and he crumbled to the floor, pain flowering in his shoulder and lungs as he fell.
"Sherlock?" John's voice came from the other side of the door, cutting through the fog of pain and self-pity.
John didn't deserve this, he had been through enough in his life, he didn't deserve to watch his husband slowly dying.
"Go away." Sherlock coughed as his voice scratched through his lungs and throat. He heard the door handle trying to turn and would have rolled his eyes at his husband's persistence if he wasn't in the middle of trying to cough his lungs out of his chest.
"Sherlock, dammit let me in." This wasn't the first time they had this fight, and Sherlock knew it wouldn't be the last. He refused to let John see him like this.
"No! Go away!" The rattling of the door fell silent and for a moment, Sherlock let himself think that John had given up.
Until the door that connected his bedroom to the bathroom swung open.
"Dammit Sherlock, I told you to tell me when-"
"Leave." John hesitated, hovering above Sherlock with confusion and pain written on his face. "Go back to Mary, your child. Go live your life, far from me." The hurt grew on John's face and Sherlock felt a wave of irritation as the blogger shook his head, turning to the sink and wetting a flannel.
"Stop that, you don't mean it-"
"Yes I do John!" Sherlock tried to push himself up, getting to his knees before having to stop. "You don't deserve this." Sherlock felt his husband's warm hand gripping his chin gently before wiping at the now crusted vomit that lingered. Sherlock tried to wrench himself from John's grasp, but only managed to flail weakly.
"I told you to tell me when you needed to get up. You can't go wandering around the flat in your state-"
"Stop John! Just stop!" Sherlock tried to push the shorter man away, but was easily ignored. John stood, checking on his IV before trying to lift Sherlock off the ground. The detective squirmed, trying desperately to dislodge John's grasp.
"Sherlock! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I'm dying John!" The air between them grew stiff and suddenly Sherlock realized what was wrong.
They hadn't discussed that, they hadn't talked about what would happen if he didn't make it.
John was still living as though it was simply a common cold, something Sherlock would brush off in a week or two.
Sherlock stopped fighting as John gently lowered him to the ground, coming to sit in front of his husband. Sherlock could see the pain and tears in the older man's eyes and felt his heart break.
"You need to go, John. You shouldn't have to watch me suffer." John shook his head, tears slipping from his eyes as he leaned in, pulling Sherlock into a firm embrace.
"I promised I'd be with you in sickness and health, you silly git. I'm not leaving you now." Sherlock blinked away tears and shook his head, fighting back a sob as John pulled away and cupped his face. "I waited far too long to spend the rest of my life with you, and I'm not going to walk away just because things get a little rocky."
"B-But-"
"And you're not dying, I won't let you." John smiled tearfully at Sherlock and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. "I just got you back, there's no way in hell anything is going to take you from me now. I would rip you out of the hands of God himself." Sherlock laughed weakly at that, resting his head against John's forehead.
"You're ridiculous." John laughed as well, and pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's nose. The shared soft laughter for a moment, forgetting for a moment the pain they both felt.
"You're going to make it, Sherlock. I know you will. Two more weeks of Chemo, then we'll know. Just keep fighting for me, eh? You promised me-"
"I know John."
"When the doctor clears you, what say we leave? Retire to Sussex? You can get some bees, and I'll turn my blog into short stories or something? Sound good Love?" Sherlock laughed again, feeling the weight on his shoulders starting to lift as he allowed himself to imagine John's fantasy.
"I'm not even forty yet John, bit early to retire, isn't it?" John shook his head, kissing Sherlock softly before moving to stand.
"Nah, not for us. We've been through more than our fair share of shit. We deserve it. Come on, back to bed with you." This time, Sherlock allowed his husband to haul him to his feet and help him back to their bed. "Budge over Gorgeous, I need a cuddle." Sherlock giggled and shifted enough for John's smaller frame to fit, and tangled himself against the man he loved.
He fell asleep to the thought of Sussex, John and bees.
