Hi!

New story!

New beginning! This story isn't Not Sherlock enough's sequel.
No beta for this story so, please, excuse my bad english (sorry -_-!)...

Hope you'll enjoy it anyway :)

Chapter 1 – You killed me too

John's point of view

First there was a sound. A high pitched tone that pierced my ears, then a muffled sound, a word and an echo, a strange sensation as if...as if I was in a pool.

The pool.

I feel the weight of my soaked clothes. I am almost drowning. My right arm hurts, a feeling I've already experienced. I've been shot. The water is tainted. I'm losing a lot of blood. And there he is, eyes closed hair floating round his face. I try to pull him on the other side of the pool. He is bleeding too, his head. His coat is heavy I try to take it of his shoulders but I can't. I kick off my shoes and put my left arm around his waist and try to swim. Then I reach the ladder. My head is out of the water now and I can see the fire. The cubicle's doors are burning. There is smoke in the air and fragments everywhere. He did It, he did shoot the explosives and I've thrown myself on him, to protect him, to prevent us from receiving the ceiling on the head, prevent us from being shot by the snipers. Seems I missed that one. He is so heavy, my arm is useless but I pull him out of the water. I feel dizzy and sick. God I'm about to throw up. Everything is moving. I can't ear anything now except a hight pitched tone. He is not moving and the earth is falling. I want the earth to stop and him to move. I want him to move now! Suddenly everything is black. Please help me.

Help me!

Sherlock!

I opened my eyes and closed then almost immediately. Too much light. I growled and lift my arm to my face. Something was wrong, someone put me on a drip. I opened my eyes slower than the first time to give them time to adjust to the white light. Everything was wrapped in a heavy blur and for a minute or two I felt disoriented. Then things found their shapes back, I turned my head and saw the needle in my left arm and the bandage on my right one. I tried to move but a violent pain made me understand that it was a really bad idea. I was... yes, I was in a hospital. My mouth was dry, I felt numb. How long have I been here? I wanted to read my file which hanged at the end of the bed but it was just to far so I searched for the call button and pressed it several times. A few seconds, maybe minutes later (it could have been a year since my sense of time was completely off), a nurse came into the room. She smiled.

"Oh you are awake," She looked at the perfusion "I'm going to call the doctor, he will be right here." She left.

I tried to say something but my throat burned so much that I could barely breath. A man in white blouse came in.

"Mister Watson, I'm Doctor Finch. How do you feel?" Bad, thank you. I shook my head still unable to speak.

"You've been caught in an attempt, a bombing and you've been shot in the right arm. No muscles or bones have been touched, seems you were lucky. It will hurt though." No kidding? I rolled my eyes but the doctor kept talking. "You are bruised but no broken bones. You inhaled a lot of carbon monoxide so your lungs and throat will burn for a few days."

I tried to speak but I just managed to croak, I tried again "Been here, how long?" My voice scared me.

"It's been two days." Doctor Finch answered.

"Where...Sherlock?" I said

"Excuse me I didn't understand your question, maybe it's better if you don't try to speak right now"

"Wasn't alone, other man, where?" I tried to make him understand without hurting too much, so I contented myself with short words and no phrases.

"I'm sorry I don't know about any other man. I know the police wants to talk to you, It will wait until you can speak though..." He kept talking. No other man, no Sherlock. It wasn't possible.

"No! Police now..." I said and the doctor frowned "Please".

"Look, you can't speak, I don't think it's the best time for that, it can wait until tomorrow."

With that he hanged the file, took a lamp out of his front pocket, checked my eyes, throat and pulse. He smiled at me. "You have to rest. I'll tell the inspector he can come tomorrow. Ok?" No I'm not okay with that! I nodded, what else could I do?

"DI Lestrade. Please?" I croaked again.

"Ok, Mister Watson, I'll see what I can do." He got out of the room.

I closed my eyes. Sherlock wasn't here. Maybe he decided he didn't want to go to the hospital, he could be so stubborn sometimes. No, not sometimes, all the time! But maybe he was in a different hospital or maybe Mycroft decided a public hospital wasn't a good place for his brother to be. I will have to wait until tomorrow to know. God, that was annoying!

I slid into sleep again. When I woke up Mycroft was standing right at the feet of my bed. I blinked several times, what time was it? Was it the same day?

"Mycroft?" I said, my voice still hoarse.

"John." He nodded

"What are you..." I trailed off

"John," he caught my eyes and I felt something was wrong. "John I'm here to " he paused, he seemed to be searching his words and it scared me. "John I'm here to tell you something."

"Mycroft..." he wasn't himself and I felt fear crawling up my spine.

"Sherlock is dead." He finally said in a toneless voice.

"What?" I sat up on the bed and the pain pierced my arm, I growled. "It's impossible! No!" My throat ached, my lungs burned. "No!"

"John lay down please, don't hurt yourself." He moved to put his hands on my shoulders.

"Hurt myself? Mycroft what happened? After the pool? What happened?" There was a fire in my throat but it was nothing compare to the explosion in my head.

"The police found you at the pool, you passed out, you've been shot, and Sherlock was shot too, in the head. He was already dead." He looked down, he was about to cry. Mycroft was about to cry.

"No, I pushed him in the pool to avoid the bullets and the explosion. And I dragged him out of it, I dragged him..."

"It was too late John. The sniper shot him in the head." He squeezed my shoulders a little. "It's not your fault John, You did everything you could. No, it's not your fault."

My eyes opened wider ."Moriarty." I whispered. "It's Moriarty"

Mycroft nodded.

"Did you find him? At the pool? Did you see him?"

"No. We found no corpse, we found nothing. As far as we know, he might still be alive or rotting somewhere. I put my best men on it." He stared at me, his anger was burning in his pupils.

"I know you did." I said. I couldn't doubt that.

"Some of my men are watching you John." I opened my mouth but he rose a hand to prevent me from arguing. "Please, John, If the madman his still alive he might want to finish the job, let me do that, please. You were my brother's closest...only...friend. I owe him that, I owe you that, please."

I nodded.

And after telling me he would come back to talk about that night, Mycroft left.

I felt I was about to be sick but my stomach was empty. I wanted to cry but my eyes remained dry. I needed to get up but couldn't. I couldn't even scream. I was completely alone. Frustrated and alone. Sad, frustrated and alone. I took the glass which was on the bedside table and threw it to the wall where it crashed. It wasn't enough I took the plastic jug and even my pillow. Then I laid down and rub my face with my left hand. My eyes weren't dry anymore.

The nurse came in and found me completely hysterical.

She sedated me.

They were talking. I heard them. No words exactly. I opened my eyes and saw Lestrade and Donovan. They didn't see I was awake.

"And what can we say now?" Donovan asked, "You're not even master in our own house, you can't let him tell you..."

"Donovan shut up!" Lestrade said sharply as he watched me. "John?" he took a step closer to the bed and Donovan frowned, her mouth still open.

"John, are you okay?" the DI asked.

"Ok..." I croaked, the burning was still here and I pointed to the new glass on the bedside table. Lestrade took it and helped me drink. I felt numb again and it incensed me. I sat up and breathed in deeply to calm myself.

"Thank you." I managed to say to the DI who was watching me as if I was about to fall into pieces. "Stop watching me like that. I'm okay." I said sharply.

"Did anyone tell you..." he trailed off.

"Yes Mycroft told me." Donovan snorted end Lestrade glared at her. She folded her arms and pouted.

"I'm really sorry John." he looked confused. "Can I ask you what happened? Is it okay for you?"

I told him what happened, the bomb jacket, Moriarty, the snipers. I told him about trying to save us by jumping in the pool. I told him I failed. He patted my shoulder, I hated it.

He told me nothing interesting, nothing useful. At this point I thought Mycroft was the only one who could find informations and act properly. I wanted him to find Moriarty and call me. I had a lot of fantasies about how to make him suffer and die.

"Mister Watson, I really think it's not a good idea to leave now.."

"Doctor Watson." I cut Finch off. "I can take painkiller and change a bandage, I'm lucky to be left handed, am I not?" I gave him a cold smile.

I've been in this hospital for four days, I've been down for the three first days and the fourth they let me eat (hospital food) and take a shower. Staying here another night was just impossible to imagine.

"Doctor Watson, please."

"No!" I took the coat Harry had brought me in the afternoon with a complete set of clean clothes and went out of the hospital room.

With my right arm on a sling I decided to take a taxi home. Half an hour later I was in front of 221B Baker Street. I stayed on the pavement watching the door. The simple idea of opening it scared me to death. After a moment I shook my head, took the keys out of my pocket and opened the door.

I was in the hallway when I heard our apartment door opened. I lift my eyes and saw Mrs Hudson. She was pale and her eyes were puffy and red, when she saw me she lift her hands to her mouth and opened her eyes as wide as humanly possible. I climbed up the stairs as fast as I could and she collapsed on my left shoulder crying.

"Mrs Hudson hush please. I'm here, please. Don't cry." I said holding her. I helped her down the stairs to her apartment.

"Is there anything you need dear? Do you want to eat something, I can make tea?" She offered but I declined. I wanted to go in the flat, and, most of all, I wanted to be alone.

When I opened the flat's door I felt my chest tighten.

Everything was exactly the same, how everything could be the same?

Our tea mugs were on the kitchen table. Sherlock's violin was on his chair, his laptop on the coffee table. The laptop he used to send the message to Moriarty. Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to play the madman's game? Suddenly I felt mad with rage against Sherlock. Why did he do that? Why did he do that to me?

To me?

He didn't do that to you, he did it to himself. Sherlock, you, stupid arrogant twat!

You were between to madmen.

You did what you could, but it wasn't enough, John.

It wasn't enough.

I put my back to the wall and slid down to the floor.

I spent the night torturing myself, repeating how useless I have been, how stupid Sherlock have been. But mostly I fed my revenge fantasies.

I spent the night on the floor.

Mrs Hudson opened the flat's door, she was holding a tray full of food.

"John!" she said when she saw me. "What are you doing here? How long have you been on the floor?" she asked while going in the kitchen.

I rubbed my face with my left arm, I tried to get up and growled. My back was stiff, I had a coated tongue, and my right arm hurt. I went to the kitchen. Mrs Hudson was making tea. I took the bottle of pain killer in my left pant pocket and swallowed two pills. My landlady made me drink tea and eat toasts. Then she got up and made me promise to go to sleep before taking her leave.

I really needed some rest but couldn't resolve myself to go to my room so I laid on the sofa in the fashion Sherlock did when he was...in the fashion Sherlock did. I turned my head and sniffed the cushion. It smelled like him. I fell asleep surrounded by the only consultant detective in the world's smell.

I feel the weight of my soaked clothes. My right arm hurts. The water is tainted. I'm losing a lot of blood. And there he is, eyes closed hair floating round his face. He is bleeding too, his head. I reach the ladder. My head is out of the water now and I can see the fire. I pull him out of the water. He is not moving and the earth is falling. I want the earth to stop and him to move. I want him to move now! Suddenly he opens his eyes and stares at me.

I opened my eyes and rubbed my face. I took a deep breath.

"Hello Mycroft." I said to the man who was sitting in my chair. If he had to be here every time I woke up I may leave tea and biscuits on the coffee table for him, just to be polite. "Anything new?"

"Hello John." he said back. "Nothing new I just came to see If you were okay. I've been told you refused to stay at the hospital."

I sat with a grimace of pain. I found the bottle and took two other painkillers. Mycroft was watching me with interest and I felt like a lab rat.

"I'm fine Mycroft, thank you." I stared at him in silence.

"John, do you want to go elsewhere, I mean, move in another flat?" he looked concerned.

"No!"

"It would be a good idea, really, John." he insisted

"I said, no!"

"Fair enough. My men will keep an eye on you." he stood up.

"Mycroft, if there is anything, anything new, I want you to tell me immediately, please."

He looked at me, I must looked like shit at this time but he smiled lightly. "Of course John."

I knew he was lying.

I went in the bathroom took a shower, checked my wound and put on clean clothes. It was almost 7pm.

The tray was still on the kitchen table but I just couldn't eat anything. I went to the sink, opened the cupboard and found a bottle of scotch. I opened it and poured some on a glass and drink it down in one. I poured another and wedge the bottle between my chest and my right arm which was still on a sling, then I decided to go in a place where I could moan, a place I've never been before, I went in Sherlock's room.

He had left his nightgown on the bed, I took it and hold it to my chest. It was cold and empty but smelled like him. I spent the night talking to a ghost between to glasses of scotch. I'm not sure but I think I told him I missed him and that I hated him for leaving me. I hated him for making me the one who failed to save him. I hated myself for being responsible of his death.

I spent the next two days locked in the apartment, my phone turned off. I didn't answered the door. I ate painkillers, drank alcohol, spoke to a dead man and made plans to burn the whole planet in order to find Moriarty.

I was asleep on the sofa, wrapped around Sherlock's nightgown when something woke me up. The room was dark and it took a minute or two for my eyes to adjust to the obscurity. I scanned the room and saw a shadow standing close to the chair. A long, thin shadow wearing a long coat.

"Hello John." the shadow said and I immediately recognised the baritone.

"Sherlock?"