I’m paced the room, back and forth, till my feet started hurting, just waiting for an answer.
“Dear god, Sherlock, you’re making me nervous, pacing the room like that!”
I looked at him. John Watson. He’s been there for me as long as I can remember. He even believed in me when I ‘died’.
Before I could reply, I was cut off by the door opening, “Dr. Watson, Dr. Allen will see you now.”
He got up from the seat, I could tell he was nervous anyways, even without my pacing. Yesterday, he . I insisted we take him to a doctor.
We walked into the prep room. “Mr. Holmes, you can have a seat right there. So, Mr. Watson, your MRI scans have come back…”
Watson looked down at his feet, “They aren’t good are there?”
“I’m afraid not. You have brain cancer, Glioblastoma, it’s one of the deadliest and most common ones.”
I piped up, “Can it be treated?”
“According to data, patients only live up to about 15 months, the survival percentage is 4%.”
“I asked if it could be treated, not how long he’d live.”
His eyes darkened, “Surgery is standard procedure, usually followed by radiation therapy.”
John hasn’t said a word at all, his eyes still locked on his shoes,”He’ll do the surgery and the radiation.”
“I’ll make an appointment right away.”
They returned back to 221B Baker Street, and John still hadn’t said a word.
“Aren’t you going to say anything, John?”
“There’s no point...my life is over, I’m going to die…” John mumbled, I couldn’t hear him.
“I’M GOING TO DIE, SHERLOCK! There’s no point in that treatment! I’ll die anyways… You heard the data!”
“John, look at me. Look. At. Me. You’re going to live.”
“It’s going to hard John, you’ll have headaches, nausea, personality changes, seizures, but we’ll get through this. You survived two years without me, you can survive this.”
“You weren’t bloody cancer, oh god, Sherlock…”
The next few weeks went by uneventfully as John just started getting headaches, and nausea. At some points he was in the bathroom for a few hours.
“You alright, John?”I knocked on the bathroom door.
“Just cheeky, thanks.”
I could tell he hated this. Living when he was just going to die in the end. It pained me.
Over the course of another month, he had his surgery, and it went smoothly enough, then started radiation.
He was lying in a hospital bed, asleep, at St. Barts, and I sat in a very uncomfortable chair next to him. They decided is was best for him to have a permanent residence here, where if he needs something, it can be given quickly.
There was a quick knock on the door, “Sherlock? May I speak to you…?”
I got up, and stretched, and met Molly Hooper at the door, the pathologist.
“Sherlock, if you need anything...just know I’m here…” She gave a small smile.
“I know, Molly… I should really get back inside.”
I walked back to 221B, I wanted to feel the crisp air. The world that’s taking away my best friend from me. I even left my coat back at the hospital, at this point, I could care less. I overheard them talking, saying that he’ll die much sooner. It became even chillier once I made it back, and it even started to snow. I walked upstairs, and sat at my chair, directly across from it was John’s. It’s emptiness mocked me. I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I just crashed. Papers went everywhere. The skull shattered into pieces, my violin fell to the floor, and I just couldn’t care less anymore
After the course of a few more months, John’s condition went south quickly. He’s been having a lot of seizures. I stopped visiting John, it just became too much for me. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I haven’t even took on a case since then, Lestrade would come in everyday for advice, and that’s as much as I would do.
He keeps telling me to visit him, or I’ll regret it.
“Sherlock, dear, I just recieved a call from St. Barts, they’re saying it’s a matter of days, John’s asking for you, please go, dearie?” Mrs. Hudson told me.
I accepted. I walked again. When I arrived I went straight to his room 275, and walked in.
He looked awful, his hair was gone, his eyes baggy, a bucket next to him, and a nurse close by.
“Could we have a moment, please?” John asked the nurse, who gratefully said yes.
“Where have you been, it’s been bloody awful, Sherlock…”
“I know… I’m sorry, John, I’ve let you down…”
“You’re here now though, Sherlock, now I’m going to die soon-”
“DON’T SAY THAT, JOHN! HOW CAN YOU BE SO CALM! I’VE BEEN EMOTIONAL FOR THE PAST FEW MONTHS, AND HERE YOU ARE TALKING SO CAUSALLY ABOUT LIKE YOU’RE COMING BACK! YOU AREN’T JONH, YOU’RE GOING FOREVER, AND I CAN’T DO THIS… Please don’t leave me, John…”
“I wish I couldn’t, Sherlock, but I can’t die… Not like that… Mycroft gave me pills… Will you stay?”
“Of course, John…”
He took the pills right after I said that. Oh god. I’m not ready. He’s my best friend. He’s all I have. What am I going to do now?! His body became limp.
“JOHN! DON’T LEAVE ME!”“Goodbye, Sherlock.”