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A note is stuck to the blood on my wrist.
You risk losing your mind, please brother, hold on for John's sake. He's alive, keep going. Don't let insanity take you.
Ignore it. He doesn't know anything, he isn't here, he might not... he might not be real. It's tricks, all tricks. Tricks, everywhere, tricks. Fakes and lies. Fakes and lies. The lies sit in the door. The door with the poem. Lying door. It promises truth, it promises John. Need to find the truth, I need to keep going.
The talisman depicting John as a doctor slips in. Another died, another, he died, for me, because of me, no, "please don't..." wait um, put it in the door, concentrate, yes, it's, it's in it- it fits. There's one, one last gap in this door. One more, one more talisman. "Sherlock stop, please..."
No. No, I can't.
I-I- have to touch it. I don't... I don't want to. Please don't make me. I don't want to remember. Remembering, it's too much. Oh god John. I couldn't... I couldn't stop it... he...he...
...the blood, the screaming... the cutting... the burning... the pain... John’s screaming... crying... the pain... he wouldn’t stop... I wouldn’t stop... oh god... no... I keep... over and over... hearing him... crying... the stabbing... skinning... needles... fear... John's frightened... don't be... I'm here... Can't stop... cutting... STOP IT... STOP IT... DON'T TOUCH HIM... DON'T HURT HIM... PLEASE... LEAVE HIM ALONE... screaming... sobbing... cut... cut... cut... blood wouldn’t stop... kept bleeding... screaming... hours... hours... it took hours... hours... hours... hours...
I’m on the floor again. It keeps happening. I keep forgetting. I keep remembering. My hands... shake. Can't breathe, going to die like this. No, no, no, no, please, I'm so... no, stay, stay here, don't go back there. Please, please, please, I have to stay alert, I keep slipping, I can't grasp reality, my memory keeps overwhelming me and I fall back there. Back to the tunnel of stitched up eyes.
The notes from Mycroft are fluttering to the floor like ash again. They've already piled up, I was... gone... for a while that time. I see the notes, they're all variations on the same theme: 'John's alive'.
"Please, Sherlock, stop, please stop, please, please, don't, don't do it please. Why are you doing this? Why? I trusted you, Sherlock."
I cover my ears but John and his desperate and anguished pleading is trapped inside my head. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop." I try to hum to cover it up but it does nothing. I had to watch, it wouldn't end unless I watched. He wept, he begged, all the time thinking it was me. I screamed myself hoarse... the blood... his... skin... his skin... shreds... the floor... peeling... the blood... the screaming... the screaming... John, it's not... I'd never hurt you... I'd never hurt you...
I'm crying again. Crying for him. I love them all. They're all him. I can't stop, he consumes me. He consumes me and yet he dies. I live. He dies. He always dies.
More notes. One lands in my lap.
Save him, save yourself, you can rest soon. He's alive. He loves you too.
Taunt me with your lies, Mycroft. Torment me, you're no better than anything else here. Trickery. Lies. Lies. Lies.
One more depression in the door to go. One more talisman. I keep sat on the floor as the notes fall around me and pull the bag on to my lap. The tears fall even though I'm too weak to weep. The last talisman is in an inner compartment, I kept it separate from the others. Just grab it, don't think, don't- don't remember. I reach in and take it in my hand. Warm. Wet.
The talisman bleeds.
"Let me die, let me die, let me die, let me die, let me please, please, please, just let me die now."
My hand is shaking, my fist closed around it but the blood seeps through. It drips. It drips like the blood from John's fingers when I took the talisman from his mutilated hand ...twisted... cut... broken... caring hands... talented... brutalised... deformed...
A note drifts from the ceiling, I don't know where they come from, they just appear, like shadows come to life. It sticks to my bloodied fist, the handwriting is rushed but recognisable. Mycroft. What he must think of me, pathetic and weak, I've lost them all. I read the note: Please Sherlock, keep going for John, you are loved dear brother.
No. No I am not.
But I will keep going for John. He's all that's gotten me to this door, to keep fighting since the tunnel. John defeats the paralysis of my regret, my twisted hate, my fear for what I will find when there are no John's left. I wish to be left to my hell but I cannot lay here in my own misery.
I drag myself up, leaving blood smears on the ornate door and its taunting words. One depression left. I hold it the way I want and push... "Come on." I turn it clockwise but it won't... "Come on, come ON!" I kick the door. "FIT!" I push harder, the blood pulsing, dribbling down the door and my own wrist. "FIT! PLEASE!" My voice shakes, my anger overwhelmed with fear and panic again. I'm failing, I've failed. "Just... please, please." I beg to no one. "Fit." It won't, it won't fit, the talisman won't fit.
Except it will.
It will.
I just need to turn it around.
This talisman has two sides. I can barely see them for the blood but I know that I have life and death in my hands. I can't... I can't make life face outwards. I can't make life fit. I did something wrong, I missed something and now it- "WON'T BLOODY FIT!" I slam the door with my fist and pain radiates everywhere, my pain, both physical and emotional is endless and wretched. I want to buckle to the floor and sob once more, the pain too much to bear. "I couldn't save him." I turn the talisman and the blood oozes in recognition of my simple act of acknowledgement of what I was forced to witness ...the burns... his face... his... wonderful eyes... never John... I'd never hurt you... it wasn't me... trust me... blue eyes... frightened... nails tearing eyelids... blinded... his screaming... the screams... the screams... his, mine, ours...
I rest my head on the door, I must collect myself, block out John's screams. Block out my own. I have to go on, I can't die here. I need to find him. I need to end this. I raise the talisman, death taunting me, and push it into the depression.
It fits.
Click.
I take out my knife in preparation. It has felt wrong in my hand ever since those long hours staring through the window surrounded by those stitched shut eyes. I've seen what a simple knife can do to John. How it destroyed his strength, his spirit, his life. I've used it to mutilate every creature since, long after they've expired, stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until I'm sated. I picture god, killing her, stabbing her to death until her corpse is dry. My frenzies are wicked, if she wants to see what I'm capable of I shall show her, I'll show no mercy to the soldiers she sends.
I grip the knife tight. John. Please, please be inside, please be safe and unharmed.
I pull the door open and step inside. The child! No, arm around my throat, a needle, "...please stop, stop, let me die..." I thrust my knife violently back, sinking into the stomach of the child's guard and viciously twist it for good measure. Yes. He cries out in agonised pain and I turn to finish him off... "Oh god no."
"Sher-" He holds a hand to his wound, blood, blood pouring between his fingers and to the floor. He's staring at me in shock and fear that must match my own horror before his legs give way. I catch him and sink to the floor with him, pulling him on to my lap. "Sher-" Pain chokes his words.
"John." It's him, it's him, oh god what have I done, what have I done? "John, John, I-I-I- oh god, please no. No, no, no."
"P-put pressure on-" He can't finish speaking, the pain too much. His eyes water... just like... Oh god, I've killed him, I've killed him. My own hand, my own knife. It was me this time, oh god, please, don't let this have happened. No, no, no. Please, please, please. "Sherlock, help me!"
Help, help, yes, help. Dressings, in my bag. I take all of them out and press them to his wound. We're both watching as the blood saturates them too quickly. Artery. I've hit an artery. I have to stop the blood. I press harder, John hisses and sobs with the pain. John my John, paling, greying as the blood pools beneath us.
"John, I-I-I can't stop it. I can't." No, no, please, the blood, the blood everywhere, too warm, please, John, don't let it have been me. What have I done? What have I done?
"Anyone coming?" He manages to speak through the pain.
I could lie. I could give him hope. I can't lie to him. "No."
John's face breaks. He's dying. He knows he's dying.
"Listen-"
"No, no John, stop it, I can't have, I can't have, please, just stop it, STOP BLEEDING!" I press down even harder but that only makes him scream. I stop, I don't want him to scream like that. "Oh god, I can't save you, I can't stop it, I can't stop the blood." I hold him tighter to me, I won't let him go, I won't. I look to the ceiling, I'm ready to beg. "Don't let him die, please, please, I'm begging now, take me, let him live, please, please."
John pants for breath, his chin is spotted with blood from his scream. "Just stop... you didn't... mean for... this... to happen."
“How do I stop the blood John? There’s so much blood, blood everywhere, oh god, help me god. I’m begging, I'm begging just as you wanted, don’t let this happen. Save him, save him.”
“Sherlock, stop.” He says firmly through his broken breaths. I stop talking but I know I’m crying, I’ve killed him, I’ve killed my John, oh god. "The girl-"
"Hannah Mason."
"Take care... of her. For me. Promise."
"I will." I'll kill her.
"Save her."
No, god must die and she must be sacrificed. She'll die for what she has done. It's a promise I must break. She'll die at my hand. "I only want to save you. You're all I care about John, I care so much. I-I never meant to hurt you. Believe me, please believe me."
"Shh, s'ok." He holds my hand, the one that holds the soaking dressings against his still bleeding wound. Crimson hand, too much blood. "Had a good... life. Been happy."
"Stop it, shut up, stop talking like that." It's not the end, it can't be the end. John can't die, not because of me. No, no, no.
"What happened... to you?" Please don't. His pity, his care, for the man who murdered him. I can't bear that he cares, he's too good for this world or any other. He's dying, he's dying and it's my fault. "Don't fall... apart, Sherlock. Hannah needs... you."
I already have fallen apart. I can’t do anything without you. Don't leave me. "Hate me, John, please hate me for what I've done."
"Never." His voice breaks, his eyes are grey and distant. He knows, he's slipping away from me and no matter how tightly I cradle him I can't stop it. I can't stop him dying, he's dying. I can't love him enough, he deserves more than the love of a vile abomination like me. "Can you stay?"
"I'll never leave you, you have me forever, John, forever." Forever isn't that long. "I'm so sorry." I know I'm crying still, he's not stopping me.
"Just- Shhh, you ok?"
No, no I'm not fucking ok. "John." It's a sob, hardly his name anymore.
"'salright." He tries to hold himself together, even now when there's nothing to do but wait until it's over. "What's out there?"
"Hell." I should be doing more. He's suffering because of me and I'm doing nothing but breaking down like he's already gone. I have to be more than what I am, just a little longer. "Can I give you something? For the pain."
"Don't... don't go." I see the fear in his eyes, he'd rather suffer than risk dying in the moments I'll be gone.
I won't leave him.
"It's going to be fine." Why? Why do I lie for the sake of false comfort he doesn't believe anyway? Is it for me? I don't deserve comfort, I'm the one who did this! My only friend, my only love. I've destroyed him, I've killed him. He trusted me. "Please, John."
"I know," I watch him swallow hard, every sign that he's alive. He's shaking, his body is shutting down. Slipping away from me. "I should... be brave but... shit, I'm so fucking scared."
"You needn't fear anything, you're too, you're John and you're... everything and I'm- I'm here, you won't be alone." I can't, I can't- this can't be happening, I want to take it back, I'd give anything, please. "Oh god, John, my John." I don't deserve to love him. "Please keep talking. God, I'm so sorry." I need to hear his voice, to hear my name. "It's alright, it's alright, I won't leave you." The blood in my hands, it's getting cooler. There's too much of it, he's so grey. "Please."
"You -agh." He's struggling, fighting to stay alive but he's losing. It hurts, dying hurts. My knife. I did this. I did this. He's giving up, no, no, please, I've seen that look, I saw it in the tunnel. "Say goodbye... to everyone... for me."
"No, no goodbyes. Please don't say goodbye, don't leave me." I'll follow him if I must, we won't be parted. I need him.
"Sherlock."
"Don't, no, please, hold on, hold on." No, no, please, please. No, no, his eyes, his eyes, please. "Look at me, look at me, you can't have let me killed you. Please, please, please no goodbyes. I love you, you can't die, I love you."
His eyes... blank.
No.
“John?” I shake him gently, then harder. He’s not waking. He's not waking. “John. Wake up. Wake up! You're fine, you're fine now wake up! John please don’t leave me, I have to take you home, you have to try and let me love you. I can be better, I promise, I promise you, I can be better. I'll do whatever you want for the rest of our days just please, please give me a chance. I love you so much John, I’ve been through hell for you, you can’t leave me, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, no, no, no, no, no.” I hold him as close as I can and kiss his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his closed eyes. “I love you, I love you.” I whisper into his skin so that he might feel me, kissing his cheeks, still warm, so perfect and finally, finally his lips. Kissing him, finally, I found him.
My John, real John.
“I won’t let you go, I’ll take you home with me, we’ll go together. I won’t leave without you.” Calm, yes, we'll go home together. "I promise, I promise you." I rock with him for a moment, humming one of the songs he'd request on those Sunday mornings when he was happy for no apparent reason. For a moment I'm back there, playing for him as he makes breakfast for us both. The smell of toast beginning to burn under the grill, the bubble of the kettle, the rattle of crockery and cutlery that John keeps as quiet as he can so he can listen to me play. His footsteps move unconsciously in time with the music, almost like we're dancing together. "I'll play for you always."
First things first. I lay John gently on the ground for him to rest. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, my love.” I promise before turning to the girl. She’s crying, this burnt thing, the vessel of god. How I loathe her.
“John?” She asks. I care not.
I approach and take the pillow from behind her head. I see the fear, she knows, she knows. This is her fault, all her fault. This must end. I count to two hundred before I remove the pillow from her face. I can go now.
I pull John back on to my lap and rest his head on my shoulder. I hold him tight, I want to keep him safe. He's in my arms where he's always belonged. “Let's go home together. I love you, my John.” I take out the gun, it feels cool on my skin. "You'll love me too."
Squeeze.
~~~*~~~
"NO!" Sherlock! I look away from the sight of my brother's body slumped over John's. I could do nothing to stop it. Nothing.
"Sir?"
Damn you. I hang my head but there's no time to ponder the failure and its disastrous implications. "Please inform the prime minster that we have not been successful. A state of emergency is now in force and he should follow Contingency Plan: Halo accordingly."
He leaves without a word but his ashen face speaks volumes. God is coming and she will consume us all with our darkest nightmares and deepest hatred. There will be no hiding in the nuclear shelter, but it is at least something to keep the higher echelons level headed until they realise they are doomed like everyone else.
I arise from the blasted circle and its damned candles. I'm alone, the others have left the room to make last calls to their families. I won't stop them, there is nothing to be done. Sherlock succumbed to his own weak heart. Killing the child was pointless, she will awaken shortly and from the pure hate that killed her god will be born. At least John Watson had killed her with compassion, slowing her arrival.
My brother is dead and our last hope is gone. Even James Moriarty cannot stop this now that my brother has foolishly hastened the end of the world. All it took was one man to unravel my dear Sherlock, a simple army doctor to break his brilliance. The familial love of our family was never enough, even bound through blood there were... difficulties. Sherlock was never an easy person to love such is his spiteful tongue and my equally detached ways. He was my brother and despite all, I did love him.
I extinguish the candles and put on my jacket. There is no use in mourning what has been done. There is no bomb powerful enough to destroy this god, no incantation to stop her. Our attempts to find some unknown object or force known as Flauros have failed miserably. James Moriarty toyed with power beyond his control and now the world ends.
I take a small silver pill box from my jacket pocket. It belonged to my grandfather once upon a time. Now it contains only one solitary pill.
The sirens.
Yes, indeed the shift does hurt. I hear the screams of others. A look out of the window sees people collapsing in the street, the ground shifting to metal. Was this what Sherlock saw when he vanished from my view? The feeling is quite sickening, I hold my stomach as the pain builds. The sirens are getting louder, the walls turn to blood and rust, the... smell, metallic and foul. The world is fading away as light cedes to darkness.
The sirens fade leaving behind the ominous clanking of machinery and the distant cries of a child. It has only been a minute and it is done. There is nowhere to go, no task to achieve. This is purgatory at its most hellish.
I hear footsteps, multiple ones. I have a choice to make. I wait at the door, curiosity peaked at what I might be shown. The footsteps come closer and now I see. Three figures, their representations clear. Sherlock as I last saw him, weeping and destroyed, his skull bearing the gruesome wounds of the bullet that he turned on himself. His mind lost in both ways, insanity and the bullet. My father, armless but for the belts that dangle from his sockets, no doubt a legacy of my brother's vision. And my mother, her one hand on the shoulder of the Sherlock figure. Fitting, she always liked him more than me.
I need not fight them for there is no end for the unbelievers. The battle is already lost so I face the same fate as my brother. It is a shame that the last thing I shall see is the twisted horror of my family. I close my eyes and attempt to picture them as they once were. A summer's day in the garden, my mother smiling, my father reading a book with his pipe in hand, my brother and I playing chess on the grass. Yes, that would have been a good day to die. I put the cyanide pill to my lips; it will be my own gift of mercy.
The world is now hers.