SCREAM Your Heart Out

By: Raven612

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters of songs and I will not profit off of them. They all belong to their rightful places.

Summary: There are precious few moments left before Sherlock's heart beats its last and then it will be no more. Established J/H. Very sad!

A/N: So, I am feeling rather evil today and have decided to write a painfully sad fic for everyone. I'm not sure where the inspiration came from, but it has settled in and now I must let it go. Please leave me a review and let me know how you liked it. I really love reviews, they help to keep the evil away ^.^

When our time is up
When our lives are done
Will we say we've had our fun?

Will we make a mark this time?
Will we always say we tried?

Standing on the rooftops
Everybody scream your heart out.

Rooftops by Lost Prophets

The last few days had still not prepared the greatest mind of England for what he was facing now. There existed nothing on the face of the earth that could prepare anyone for losing some that they loved so fiercely. Sherlock had looked, oh yeas he had, he had looked for anything to help him and to help John, but there was nothing. There doesn't exist a more painful word, according to Sherlock, than the word nothing.

"There's nothing we can do."

"Nothing can cure him."

"Nothing will help him."

"There's nothing to do now but wait."

"Sherlock, I've told you, there's nothing you or anyone else can do for me."

Every time Sherlock heard that word it was as if another piece of his heart was taken from his chest. He could feel the way each letter burned its way into his body, the way they seemed to slither around inside of him before finding his heart. Finally they would twist around the muscle until it was almost too painful to breath. Each time a doctor or a nurse said this word to him and to his husband his fists would clench and his jaw would tighten. He never wanted John to see the way this was affecting him because John needed all of his strength. Although that singular word caused Sherlock to feel pain, he could never imagine what it was like to be John and to suffer from the disease.

To be a medical man and to know exactly what was happening to you and not be able to fight it, that must be the worst torture imaginable. Sherlock knew John suffered with those thoughts, he could see the way they played out in his blue eyes. It was when Sherlock saw this that he would sweep his long pale fingers through John's sandy blonde hair. He would lift John's hand to his lips and press a kiss between each knuckle and murmur useless platitudes to help ease the ache in John's chest. John's eyes would flutter and a small smile would appear on his lips. He'd raise his other hand and press it against Sherlock's prominent cheek bone and sweep his thumb across the alabaster skin. Sherlock smiled then because then John was still at home and in their bed.

Now John was in the hospital; a private room thanks to Mycroft. John had battled his disease as well as he could outside of the hospital and Sherlock knew this would only quicken John's journey to the end, but Sherlock allowed this because then he could still see life clinging to John. Now in the hospital Sherlock could see the way his body was starting to give up. Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand hoping that he could will air into his struggling lungs, and for a moment Sherlock thought it might have worked because John pulled in a deep shuddering breath, but it took him too long to let it out. Sherlock glared. He decided a long time ago that he hated John's lungs, hated them for the little air sacs inside that would fill with fibrotic tissue over the progression of time. Sherlock hated them even more now because they dictated just how long John would remain breathing.

John had come home late from the clinic one night. He wore only a light jacket because the day had been nice, but a snow storm grabbed the city later in the afternoon. John was forced to walk a few blocks before he could hail a cab and get home. All week he'd been feeling sick and it was finally Friday. He was looking forward to a nice weekend at home with Sherlock, granted the detective remained case free. These thoughts moved through John's body and brought warmth to his joints and muscles. He slid into the cab with a warm smile, the cabby mistook it for friendly when really it was predatory and directed towards the man John currently had on his mind. The cab ride home was longer than usual due to the fact that everyone driving seemed to go nutty and lose their brains as snow fell on the city. John cursed the drivers in the back of his head and leaned forward with a shuddering cough into his hand. He hacked for quite some time before breath finally wheezed into his lungs. John slumped back and closed his eyes as he caught his breath. Sherlock had been on his arse to see a doctor and John ignored him. He was a doctor and bloody well knew what he had and knew that medicine and rest would make him right as rain.

"Sherlock?" he called as he opened the door to their flat. He patted his arms to clear them of the fine dusting of snow and stomped his feet on the rug. "Sherlock," he called again and peeled his coat from his body. He sneezed and a shiver raced down his spine. John sighed and straightened his spine to ease the ache his lungs were starting to feel. The sooner he could get over this cold the better.

John's blue eyes darted around the flat trying to spot his eccentric partner, but he didn't seem to be anywhere. John frowned. He took out his phone and looked at it. He didn't have any new messages. He furrowed his brows. It wasn't likely Sherlock had a case because he would have texted John to meet him and likely with Bart's, if Sherlock had gone there to do a few experiments he would have let John know. John shrugged, he was used to the oddities of Sherlock by now so he knew not to worry too much, he would show up sometime or at least let John know if something serious did arise. John moved into the kitchen then and rummaged in the fridge and pulled out the few things in there that were edible. He set them all on the counter and then doubled over into another coughing fit. He could feel the mucus in his lungs, but no matter how hard his body worked to dispel it nothing ever came forth.

"You should see a doctor John," a deep baritone rumbled behind the doctor.

John jumped and turned to face the tall pale man, "Jesus Sherlock, don't sneak up on me like that," he scolded between coughs.

Sherlock frowned and pushed his frame from the doorway and entered the kitchen. He walked up to John and looked down at him. He uncrossed his arms and settled the back of one hand on John's head, "You don't have a fever," he remarked and slowly moved his hand away to cup one side of John's face.

John shot him a glare and pulled his head from his hand, "I know Sherlock; I told you that I have a little cold. It should be gone in a few more days, I'm already feeling better than the past few days," he told Sherlock with a slow and knowing smile.

Sherlock shivered and nodded his head, "Fine, if you are not well in a few more days then please see a doctor," he conceded as he slipped his long arms around John's waist and pulled the shorter man into him. Sherlock always seemed to get his way when he used to word please with John, it was like his own personal treat.

John grinned up at him and wrapped his arms around Sherlock in answer, "Alright mummy, I promise," John teased before pushing up on tip toes to claim Sherlock's lips in a soul searing kiss.

That conversation replayed itself again and again in Sherlock's head because now, after the fact, he knew how petty and useless it was. There was nothing they could do to save John. After another week John allowed Sherlock to drag him to the A&E. In that week John had lost his appetite and had started to complain of chest pains. Sherlock did not like the fact that John was in any pain. The disease would only worsen and Sherlock could do nothing but support John in any way the doctor needed it.

That first doctor's visit left a sour taste in Sherlock's mouth because the useless female had filled him and John with false hope. She had told them that it was pneumonia and that with lots of rest and fluids he should be better within a week. She then prescribed John some antibiotics and ordered him on bed rest for a week to help ease the pressure and exertion on his lungs. John accepted her diagnosis because he had come up with the same thing on his own. He shot a glare at Sherlock that said told you so. Sherlock had shrugged, he was just happy to know what was wrong with John and that John would be okay in a week.

John wouldn't be okay in a week. After the long week of antibiotics, fluids, rest, and food forced down his throat, John was no better. He was still about the same, but because of his disinterest in food he had dropped a few pounds. Sherlock did not like this, not one bit. It also alarmed Sherlock that even after a whole week of bed rest John still felt tired and weary, he could hardly even manage the walk from their room to the kitchen. Something serious was wrong with John and Sherlock hated that he didn't know what it was, but he could see John trying to diagnose himself and struggled with it between wakefulness and sleep. It was early morning in January when Sherlock knew that John had finally figured out his ailment and Sherlock could tell by the rigid way that John was holding himself that it wouldn't be good news.

Early Monday mornings in January were always particularly nasty in London. Sherlock had been up most of the night watching John. The doctor had a slight wheeze when he slept and every once in a while he'd seem to struggle for breath. Sherlock was worried that John would stop breathing altogether in his sleep so he kept a vigil. He ran his fingers through the short blonde hair and whispered endearments and pressed kisses to various places on John's face and neck hoping the actions would stop the shudder of his chest. John murmured sleepy replies to Sherlock, and snuggled closer to him but never came fully awake when Sherlock spoke to him. He'd nestle his head under Sherlock's chin and clutch his long body closer to his much shorter one. Sherlock would allow a smile to grace his face in these moments because somehow he knew they would be numbered, but he never believed the thought. Soon he drifted into a light sleep curled protectively around John. A few moments later John woke and started to cough. Sherlock roused next to him and his limbs moved off of John as he pushed himself into a seated position with his back resting against the headboard. He had his eyes squeezed shut as the dry coughs scraped out of his throat. Sherlock could only watch and run his hand soothingly along John's back in hopes that he was comforting the doctor.

"John?" Sherlock ventured as the coughs came a bit slower and less harshly. His grey eyes blinked as he ducked his head to catch John's blue orbs.

John turned away from him, "I'm sorry Sherlock," he whispered as his head hung lowered.

Sherlock blinked. John had nothing to be sorry for. Sherlock furrowed his brows and pulled himself up some so that he could gently grab John's face in both of his hands, he lifted the doctor's head to force him to meet his gaze. Sherlock almost gasped, "John…"

John blinked back the tears he could feel in his eyes and gently shook his head, "It's not good Sherlock…not good at all," came his wet whisper.

Sherlock clenched his jaw, damn him for knowing exactly what John was telling him, "John…tell me," was his tight reply.

John pulled in a shuddering breath and brought his hands up to cup Sherlock's on his face, hot salty tears rolled down unbidden to land on Sherlock's slender fingers, "It's Ideopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis," he said.

Sherlock blinked. He'd never heard of this before, but surely there was a cure…there was a cure for nearly everything imaginable. "Well good, now you know what afflicts you so you can get better drugs," he said to John and was feeling a bit more relieved now.

John would be okay, John would stop his coughing fits and he would be okay again.

Sherlock smiled.

John shook his head, "I'm sorry Sherlock," he whispered again and he forced the silent part of his message to gain ground in Sherlock's brain.

Sherlock blinked and slowly shook his head, "No John…no…don't lie to me, for God's sake do not lie to me. There is a cure, there has to be a cure or a treatment," he pleaded, his hands tightening some on the doctor's face.

John managed a weak and sad smile with the shaking of his head, "No Sherlock. The disease is so rare that the drugs they are developing are still in the experimental stages." Sherlock's eyes lighted a bit when John said 'experimental.'

"But there are drugs and they could work?"

John sighed and pulled his head from Sherlock's grasp and wiped the tears away, "All the drugs would do now is provide a few more months un-"

"But they could work," Sherlock said seizing his opportunity.

John gave him a look and Sherlock shrank back from it; it was a look of pity. "I'm sorry Sherlock," he whispered for the third and final time.

Sherlock blinked slowly. That conversation was months ago. He'd pleaded desperately with John to find the treatment that would cure him because Sherlock was selfish and he couldn't grasp the fact that some disease had taken up residence in his partner's chest and was slowly killing him. Sherlock then dove head first into research on the disease in hopes that he could find something the scientists and doctors were missing because they had to be missing something, they just had to be. He devoted hours upon hours researching and testing before John told him to stop. Sherlock listened; he stopped his work because he wanted John to be happy, wanted the man he loved to be as happy as he could for as long as he could be.

A shudder worked down Sherlock's spine, he'd never imagined that his time with john was limited, never imagined that he'd only have a little over two years to spend with the one human who existed to make Sherlock feel anything. The only human in the world that could reduce Sherlock to nothing more than tears and silent prayers; the only human who could then build the man up like he was a conquering hero. Heroes didn't exist though. Sherlock knew that, and that's why he always knew that no matter what he did, what he offered to God, to Jesus, to the Devil would ever be enough to make John well again. Sherlock just couldn't find what it was that any deity that may exist wanted in exchange for John's life…not even his own life would do. Sherlock would be more than happy to give away his breaths, give away his mind, and give away his existence if it could prolong that of John's good, whole, and happy existence on earth. The world needed more John Watson's; not Sherlock Holmes. The world could still spin without Sherlock, but Sherlock doubted it could continue spinning without John Watson; he knew his world would stop when John was gone…there were no two ways about it.

"John, I think you need to be aware…given certain events that have transpired in the past few weeks that I do not intend to continue living once you are gone," Sherlock announced one morning casually as his eyes skimmed the newspaper.

John snorted and shook his head, "You're too proud to do such a thing Sherlock and dare I say…egotistical?" John offered with a raised brow and slight grin.

Sherlock glared at the paper before lowering it so that John could see the look on his face, "Wrong. I'm not egotistical John. I'm selfish and I refuse to live without you."

John glared, but somehow he knew this was how Sherlock felt because he was very selfish. John sucked in a deep breath but it sent him into a small coughing fit. Sherlock started to rise from his chair but John motioned for him to sit. After the coughing subsided John got up from his chair. He looked frighteningly calm as he walked over to Sherlock. Sherlock grinned up at him expecting something sweet; John slapped him right across the cheek; hard. Sherlock was stunned. The slap didn't hurt so much in a physical sense as it hurt in an emotional sense.

"Sherlock Holmes, I will not tolerate such talk from you. You will not…do you hear me…will not in any way, shape, or form harm yourself after I am gone. I have accepted that my allotted time on earth is nearing an end, but I will not accept such an act from you. The only way that I am okay with this is that I know you will continue on after I am gone. You will continue to challenge yourself and to use that brain inside of your skull because the world needs you to do that; I need you to do that. Can you promise me that?"John hadn't noticed the silent tears falling down his cheeks, not until Sherlock reached up and wiped them away with his thumbs.

"Will you hate me John if I can't promise you that?" he asked the doctor quietly.

John looked at him, studied his grey eyes and the storm that was rolling inside of them, inside of his long and lean body. John blinked, tears falling again and he raised his arm to wipe them away, "I could never hate you Sherlock," he finally said in a broken whisper.

Sherlock nodded and maneuvered John to stand between his knees. Sherlock looked up at him and John gazed down. His blue eyes swam with tears. Sherlock hated to see that. He gently tugged on John's arm to make him sit on his thigh. Sherlock cupped John's face. "I love you," he whispered and rested his forehead against John's and gently closed his eyes.

John closed his eyes too and lifted his hands to gently grasp Sherlock's ebony curls on either side of his skull. John nodded and his body shuddered with a silent sob as he pulled Sherlock's head down and pressed his lips firmly in the curls, "I know," he whispered and slid his hands down to cup Sherlock's face and raised it so that he could meet the detective's gaze. "So help me…I love you too Sherlock. So bloody much it hurts," John confessed before he angled Sherlock's head and pressed their lips together.

Sherlock wound his arms around John's waist and crushed their bodies together as he answered John's hungry kiss. A moan was swallowed in Sherlock's mouth as his tongue danced with John's. Sherlock could never get enough of the man he loved. He could never get enough kisses or feel enough skin or taste enough of him, of John, to satisfy himself. Sherlock always wanted, always needed more. More John. Always more John. John scraped his teeth along Sherlock's bottom lip; this elicited a moan from deep within the detective's chest and John grinned. He loved being pressed so close to Sherlock that he could feel everything the man did. John moved his fingers back up to tangle in Sherlock's curls as his tongue scrapped across the top of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock shuddered and arched his back pressing their hips together. John grinned. He loved to reduce Sherlock to a hot and pliable mass of sex.

"Not here John…bedroom," Sherlock rasped as he pulled his head back to pull in breaths and to allow John to breath.

John shuddered as his lungs struggled to fill with enough oxygen. He'd learned to mask this action so as to not cause Sherlock unneeded worry. John smiled, "I couldn't agree more," he whispered and ducked his head to gently nibble Sherlock's sensitive ear lobe.

Sherlock growled low in his throat and his hips raised in an attempt to create friction, "John," he grumbled by way of warning. He felt John grin against his ear. Sherlock's arms tightened possessively around John and he rose from his chair in one fluid motion. John had lost a bit of weight, a fact Sherlock didn't like, but it made the smaller doctor all the more easier to carry. Sherlock hadn't known he'd like the activity so much until he'd tried it, now he was looking for excuses to carry John around the flat. He loved it because it made the doctor closer to him and Sherlock wanted to believe that by being so close to him he'd force life into John.

"Sherlock," John moaned into the detective's ear before running his hot tongue along the outer shell. John grinned when he heard Sherlock curse and pick up his pace. John would only admit this to Sherlock, but he enjoyed being carried by the detective. Something about the way Sherlock's long arms felt underneath him provided him with a false sense of security, like if he could remain within the detective's grasp he wouldn't die.

"John…God John," Sherlock moaned and kicked the door of their bedroom open. He strode over to the bed and deposited the doctor onto it. Sherlock stood back to admire his lover as John crawled up the bed and settled on his back. He had learned a few weeks back that he was not allowed to undress himself; only Sherlock was allowed this small pleasure. John smiled at Sherlock, the smile that always made his knees buckle. Sherlock shivered and kicked his slippers off.

"Sherlock," John pleaded as he started to wiggle on the bed. He wanted…no he needed to feel the detective on him…inside of him. He needed the contact. His fists clenched and unclenched beside him as she fought the urge to shoot up and grab the lapels of Sherlock's robe and pull him down onto the bed.

Sherlock grinned a predatory grin. He slowly peeled the robe away from his shoulders. He slanted his shoulders a bit so that the silk could easily travel down his pale arms and pool around his feet. Sherlock did not break his gaze from John's. Another shiver worked its way down the detective's spine as John licked his lips and moaned. Sherlock grinned as his cock twitched within his pajama pants. Next he gripped the bottom of his night shirt and slowly dragged it up his chest. He let his cool knuckles scrap across his skin as the material moved up. Sherlock gasped and shivered again. He threw the shirt mercilessly to the floor.

John couldn't take it anymore. His breath hitched and he was afraid for a second that he would start coughing again and ruin everything, but thankfully he didn't. His chest did hurt, but he ignored it. No pain in the world would keep him from his detective. He grinned at Sherlock and placed a hand on his own chest just below his collar bone. His look was challenging as he slowly slid his hand down his torso.

"John…" Sherlock warned his voice heavy with lust. His grey eyes tore from John's mirthful blue ones to watch the doctor's hand fall lower onto his abdomen. Sherlock licked his lips. With a growl he moved towards the bed and climbed on. He was kneeling next to John. He settled his gaze back on John's face. Sherlock reached down and gently grabbed John's wrist to still his movements, "My job," he said before lowering his lips against John's.

John's hands came up to fist in Sherlock's curls. He pressed the detective's head against his own as he melded their lips together. John opened his mouth willingly to the detective's probing tongue. John moaned under the man and arched his back as his grip tightened on Sherlock's curls. Sherlock moaned and slid his hand along the path John's hand had made only moments ago. When Sherlock's hand came to the end of John's shirt he traced his index finger along the sliver of skin that was exposed between his shirt and the edge of his pants. John shivered at the contact and pressed his pelvis into Sherlock's hand. Sherlock grinned as he dominated the kiss. His tongue moved over each of John's teeth to pick up every taste he could. John shuddered when Sherlock's fingers dipped into the waistband of his pajama pants. They followed the heat that radiated from John's hard cock.

Sherlock leaned back to allow the doctor time to breath, "My John…my beautiful and good John," Sherlock whispered as he kissed a tender line along John's jaw to his neck. John moaned and tilted his head in the opposite direction to give Sherlock as much access to his neck as he could. Sherlock grinned and traced his tongue along the tendon in John's neck. He dipped his hand into the molten heat between John's legs and wrapped his agile fingers around the doctor's cock.

"Ah, God Sherlock," John moaned and raised his hips. His blue eyes fluttered before they finally closed against the feelings of bliss at having Sherlock's fingers around his hungry cock. His fingers fell from Sherlock's hair to grip the sheets beneath his writhing body. "Sherlock please," John forced out in a strained whisper. His hips were moving in tandem with Sherlock's stroking but he needed to taste the man.

Sherlock sucked the skin between John's neck and shoulder between his teeth and bit it. He wanted to leave a mark, a mark to let anyone know that John was his and no one else's, no matter what John's body was doing to him. Sherlock pressed a few more kisses against the column of John's throat before falling away. John groaned and watched as Sherlock picked up one knee and settled it on the other side of John's body. John stared up at him with a look of pure lust and want.

"Sherlock," he rasped and reached for the detective. Sherlock grinned and leaned back a little. He still had his fingers wrapped around John. He slid them up John's cock and then moved his thumb across the head of his member and pressed down right in the center. Sherlock felt it give a happy twitch. He always felt proud when he could elicit such actions from John.

"John," Sherlock moaned back. He would commit this morning to his memory just as he did with all moments with John. He would catalog them and file them away into the part of his brain where nothing was ever deleted. He would hold onto these moments and use them to help him though the tough times to come. He would need them to survive until John would take his last breath.

"Argh, Sherlock, bloody hell I need to touch you," John finally moaned and jerked his hips when Sherlock's thumb swirled the precum around his engorged head. Sherlock grinned down at him and started to slide himself down John's legs. He let go of John's cock and gripped the waistband of his pants. He also caught John's shorts with the pants and pulled them both down at the same time.

"I need to feel you John…that's more important," Sherlock murmured as she dragged his body back up John's. He pressed his chest against John's groin as it moved over his cock. He grinned as he felt a wet line form between his nipples. He raised his arms and pulled John's shirt up his chest and the doctor removed it entirely. Sherlock lowered his head into the pubic hairs that surrounded John's cock. He inhaled the scent that was all John. He moaned and his own cock twitched with want. Sherlock scraped his teeth along the sensitive skin between John's navel and hair. John's hands came down to grip Sherlock's curls. He tried to pull the detective up his body so that he could taste him, but Sherlock refused to budge. He needed to taste John, he needed to remember these tastes, and he needed these things to help ease the ache inside of his chest. He slid his hands gently along John's sides until he reached his chest. He gently ghosted his hands over the doctor's sides until his fingers found the two hard nubs. Sherlock grinned as he dipped his tongue into John's navel and brushed his thumbs across the hard nubs. John gasped and arched his back in an attempt to bring Sherlock's hands closer to his hard nipples.

"Sherlock PLEASE," he breathed out and his hands twisted in the detective's curls. Sherlock didn't let it faze him. His lips were now slowly working up John's abdomen while his index and thumb pinched and twisted each nipple. John bucked and twisted under him, but Sherlock was an expert in all things John and he knew just how to move to avoid being dislodged by his animated lover.

Finally Sherlock had worked himself up John's torso and to his chest so he let his mouth take over on one of John's nipples. Sherlock laved his tongue against John's nipple and scrapped his teeth across it to make John moan hoarsely. This was one of Sherlock's favorite moans, it sounded like sex. His cock twitched again with need. He moaned against John's nipple and felt it vibrate into the man's chest. Sherlock loved this, making John feel good was his favorite past time activity, one he now cherished above all else because his time was limited. He moved his left hand up John's body and along his neck and over his chin and pressed his fingers against his mouth. John gasped and eagerly accepted Sherlock's long digits. He lavished them with his tongue and suckled on them with such force that Sherlock could feel them beginning to become engulfed with blood. He moaned. He started to kiss a line up John's chest as he was now overcome with the urge to taste John again. He removed his fingers from John's mouth and kissed him lightly. Sherlock pulled back as soon as John tried to deepen the kiss. Sherlock grinned at the angered look but because of the need he saw in John's eyes he lowered his head again. John's hands came to the back of his neck and pressed against the pale column. His finger tips danced against Sherlock's neck and eased the tension his muscles carried.

"I love you so much," Sherlock whispered as he broke the kiss to stare into John's eyes. John blinked up at him and smiled drunkenly. He brought a hand up and caressed the side of Sherlock's face. Sherlock pulled in a shaky breath and his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the touch. "God do I need you John," he confessed and nuzzled his head between the doctor's neck and shoulder, "I need you so much," he whispered as he alternated sucking and biting John's skin. "You can't leave me," he pleaded as his fingers tightened on John's hips as if to anchor the man in that spot forever.

John sighed and brought his hands up to gently run his fingers through Sherlock's curls. He let his nails gently scrap along his scalp, "I know Sherlock and I need you too. I need you to be strong and to be brave," he whispered and bent his head to kiss the unruly curls.

Sherlock shuddered. He didn't want to respond to that with words so he moved his hips and rubbed his erection against John's. John gasped and ground his hips into Sherlock's. His hands pulled on the sheets as he tried to control the want that coursed hot through his veins. He hissed when he felt a drop of Sherlock's precum hit his balls. Sherlock kept his lips against the pulse point on John's neck as he reached a long arm over to the bedside table and fumbled around until he found the bottle of lube. He pushed himself up onto his knees and grinned down at John as he flicked the cover open. John shivered as he watched a line of lube fall from the bottle and into Sherlock's palm. Sherlock moved his palm then and the line of lube fell onto John's hot and aching cock. John hitched and his hips surged up at the contact of the cool liquid.

"Jesus Sherlock, stop torturing me already," he demanded. A primal look of hunger flashed through his blue eyes and shivers raced all along Sherlock's spine. Sherlock smirked as he used one hand to snap the cover shut again. He tossed the bottle behind himself uncaring of where it landed. John flashed him a look but it quickly passed when he felt Sherlock's hands stroking him again. He sucked in a breath and arched his hips. He wanted to gain as much contact with Sherlock as he could and Sherlock wanted all the contact he could get. He let out a soft moan as his fingers tightened around John's erection and he pulled his hand upwards.

"I need you John," he pleaded again. He ran his thumb over the engorged head of John's cock and very gently scraped his thumb nail along the slit. John shivered and pressed his head back into the pillow beneath his head. His legs bent and he planted his feet firmly onto the mattress. His toes curled into the sheets. "God John, I need you so bad," Sherlock said again and brought his other hand, also slicked with lube, to cup John's balls. He squeezed them and stretched them as his other hand worked on John. He traced his thumb along the line that separated the two halves of John's sac while his thumb on John's cock traced the vein on the underside of him. John whimpered and by the thrusts of his hips Sherlock knew he was close to the end.

"Sherlock, God…I'm about to cum," he wheezed and bucked his hips up.

Sherlock shook his head, "Not yet John…not yet," he whispered and bent his long torso up to press his lips against John's. John's hands immediately wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders to bind him there while his tongue explored the wet hot cavern of his mouth in search of satisfaction; he could never get enough of the way Sherlock tasted during sex. Sherlock grinned into the kiss and traced the index finger from the hand holding John's balls down to the entrance of him. John shuddered and moaned into Sherlock's mouth as he raised his hips and Sherlock circled his finger around the tight hole. John squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered; begging Sherlock to fill him already. Sherlock grinned and pushed his long finger into him. John's mouth opened into a gasp and his hips bucked as Sherlock began to stretch him. Sherlock soon added a second finger and he curled his fingers up to scrape along John's prostate. John gasped and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Sherlock thought he'd come undone right then and there but his soldier held on. Sherlock grinned. He pumped his fingers a few more minutes before the need overwhelmed him. He broke his lips from John's and leaned back. He grasped his cock and slicked it with lube. He stared down at John.

John stared back up and Sherlock. He raised his hands to trace them along Sherlock's pallid torso. John couldn't think of anything in his life that he needed more than he needed this man. This wonderful and intelligent man who loved him; God did he need him and God was John a sodding arsehole. He needed this man more than he needed life and he knew Sherlock felt the same way but John wouldn't be there for the rest of Sherlock's life. He smiled up at the detective as he chased the thoughts from his head. He couldn't think like that now. He gripped Sherlock's hips as a way to tell him to hurry the fuck up. Sherlock grinned and pressed his cock against John's opening. He moaned and threw his head back as his head broke through the tightness. He buried himself up to the hilt before he started to move again. His hips jerked him in and out of John. Sherlock's hands fell to grip John's waist. He pushed and pulled on John to his liking before removing one hand to stroke John's hardness again. He needed them to reach the brink of madness together and then to dive over it. He needed them to come in unison.

Sherlock grunted as his hips sped up and his hand around John tightened. John gasped and moaned beneath Sherlock. He felt the familiar tightness beginning in his stomach and his balls started to clench. He bit his bottom lip and his hands fell from Sherlock to fist in the sheets. He pulled at the material and his head thrashed to the side. His chest was ablaze with pain and want. His cock was twitching within Sherlock's grasp and his back arched. He was so close, so damn close. He squeezed his eyes shut, "Ahhhh, Sherlock," he managed to sputter in warning.

Sherlock made an incomprehensible noise as his hips slammed into John's. Only a few more seconds until he would lose himself completely inside of John, he still leaned over John and his back arched as he slammed his hips one last time into John before empting into him. He moaned and felt a hot liquid spray up onto his chest. He crashed his lips against John's and tasted him as he came. There existed nothing better.

Sherlock and John continued to have sex until a week ago when John didn't wake up one morning. Sherlock had been beside himself with worry. His fingers immediately went to John's neck to feel for a pulse. There had been one, but it was entirely too weak. Sherlock didn't waste time. He got out of bed and called an ambulance. His gut clenched while he sat on the bedside and stared down at his husband as he waited for the paramedics to arrive. He silently willed John to hang on until then.

Throughout the entire ordeal Sherlock had only ever shed tears once and that was in the middle of the night when John was struggling to pull breaths in as he slept. Sherlock was watching the shaky way John's chest would raise and then shudder as it fell. The breaths were too short and quick to be any sort of comfort. Sherlock had been entirely convinced that John was going to leave him that night. He stayed up all night just watching. Sherlock, although it would be the single hardest thing he'd ever have to do, wanted to be there when John took his in his last shuddering breath and not release it. He could feel it inside of him that John was starting to near the end of his journey. Sherlock had been with him through the entire thing and he'd see it out to the end, he had to for his sake and mostly for John's. In the last few months that Sherlock and John had together they did all kinds of things to make John feel alive and one of them would be the single happiest memory Sherlock would keep.

Sherlock didn't want to take the case, didn't want to take any case that John wouldn't feel well enough to accompany him on, but John had insisted and so Sherlock had done it. He'd left their flat hours ago to help Lestrade with a missing person, a little girl and her mother. Sherlock still hadn't fit all the pieces together yet, but he was pretty sure the paternal grandparents were involved. He had to wait on an experiment to finish before he could come to a sound conclusion and until the experiment was ready he would spend his time with John.

Sherlock opened the door to their flat and frowned. It was dark, "John?" he called and draped his scarf on the coat rack.

"In here Sherlock," came the doctor's voice from the kitchen.

Sherlock's gaze narrowed. He could see a bit of light coming from the room but it flickered, almost like a bulb was going dead. He walked towards the kitchen, "John I thi-" he stopped talking when he came to stand in the doorway. He blinked at what he saw.

John sat at their completely clean kitchen table and smiled at Sherlock. In front of John sat a romantic dinner for two. There were two long white candles lit and a rose setting on Sherlock's plate. The detective blinked and smiled as he stepped into the room. John got out of his chair and moved around the table and pulled Sherlock's chair out for him. "I've been busy while you were out," John choked. Talking had started to become hard for him now.

"John…I'm not sure that was smart," Sherlock chided halfheartedly with a grin as he picked up the rose and held it to his nose.

John grinned and shrugged, "I wanted to do something nice," he muttered and resumed his seat.

Sherlock looked up and over at him, he smiled warmly for the doctor's sake, "It looks lovely John…did you have Mrs. Hudson help you?" he asked and placed his rose into the vase in the middle of the table.

John smiled sheepishly and tucked his napkin against his legs, "She helped clean and she picked up the takewaway I ordered for us," he admitted.

Sherlock nodded approvingly. "Good, I don't want you to work yourself too hard John," he said sternly and unfolded his own napkin.

John shot him a look and rolled his eyes, "Please Sherlock I…its fine," he quickly amended and reached across the table and lifted the lid to one of the three serving platters. Beneath was Sherlock's favorite curry. John smiled when he looked up at Sherlock. He then nudged a bowl of salad closer to the detective, "at least eat a little of the greens, you get frighteningly too little veggies," John teased.

Sherlock shot him a look, John ate frighteningly too little but Sherlock wasn't forcing him…yet to clean his plate. He grumbled a bit and reached forward to appease his doctor and scooped a good amount onto his plate. They passed the majority of the meal making pleasant conversation. John inquired about the case and Sherlock inquired about how John was feeling. Sherlock hadn't really been expecting anything too spectacular when dinner ended, but then John rose from his chair and shuffled over to the fridge. Sherlock perked up in his seat to see what John might be grabbing and frowned when he couldn't see. Soon the doctor turned back to the table. He had a cupcake in his hand. He smiled and sat it before Sherlock; there was a candle in it. Sherlock frowned and made a note to kill Mycroft later because that would the only possible way John found out his birthday.

"I can't believe you weren't going to tell me your birthday Sherlock, it took a lot of begging to get Mycroft to fess up," John teased and lit the candle on the cupcake.

"I already made a not to kill him later," Sherlock grumbled and looked up at John.

John rasped out a weak chuckle and a dry cough echoed from his throat. He waved off Sherlock and grabbed his wine glass to take a swig. "I'm fine, I'm fine, eat your cupcake Sherlock," John urged with a grin.

Sherlock gave him a look and turned his attention to the sweet morsel. He didn't particularly like sweets, but he'd do it for John. He picked up the little cake and brought it to his mouth and closed his lips around it and bit in. He jerked back though when something hard clanked against his teeth. He pulled out a silver ring and turned to John with a confused look on his face. He blinked when he saw John down on one knee. Sherlock's heart hammered in his chest; he was speechless.

John smiled warmly as he looked up at him. He gently took the ring from Sherlock's stunned grasp and held it before him, "Sherlock I know I haven't much time left and I know this is the most selfish thing I can ever ask of you but…will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?" John didn't break his gaze. He couldn't, he needed to get across every emotion and thought he was feeling in that moment to Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked, still stunned. He had not been expecting this. His mouth opened and closed a few times before his brain kicked in. He grinned widely and scooted his chair back. He moved to join John down on the floor, "Of course I will John," he whispered and smiled wide.

John beamed back at him and grabbed his left hand. Both of the men's hands were shaking slightly as John slipped the ring on, and it was still sticky and coated with cupcake bits but neither of them cared. Sherlock surged forward and wrapped his arms around John and pulled him in for a hard kiss. This would be the single happiest and most heartbreaking moment in his life, but Sherlock would not trade it for the world.

It was two weeks later that found Sherlock, John, Harry, Lestrade, and Mycroft in a courthouse where Sherlock and John were bonded for life. None of the attendants thought how cruel and ironic it was that John's life was slowly dissipating with each word that was uttered, they only focused on the happiness. Sherlock and John were happy then, even if it was bittersweet; they were happy.

Sherlock didn't notice that tears had leaked from his eyes until one fell onto the hand he had resting in his lap, the other one had his fingers twined around John's, their silver rings glowed in the hospital light. Sherlock's eyes traveled up John's body. He hadn't moved or woken since coming almost a week ago and Sherlock had rarely moved from his vigil next to the bed. He never looked at the clock; it was only a reminded that his time with John was slowly coming to an end, an end Sherlock did not want to accept. Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand and let out a shaky breath. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment at he collected himself, but flew open when John's hand squeezed his own. Sherlock looked at John's face. He could see the way the doctor's eyes were moving under his lids. Sherlock was on his feet immediately and leaning over the man. He brushed his free hand through the doctor's hair.

"John?" he whispered to him, his voice shaking with emotion.

John made a small noise in his throat before his eyes slowly fluttered open. It took him a few moments but slowly his fogged blue eyes landed on Sherlock's broken grey ones. John smiled shakily, "Hey," he rasped and attempted to raise his free hand, but it wouldn't budge; only twitch.

Sherlock was beside himself, "Hey back," he muttered and leaned in to steal a kiss from John; his last kiss.

John sighed and closed his eyes as he collected himself, he opened them again and he could see the understanding in Sherlock's gaze, "I came back to say goodbye," he wheezed and coughed weakly.

Sherlock shook his head and brought John's hand to his lips and kissed the ring on his finger, "Never goodbye John…never," he whispered harshly.

John nodded weakly, "Alright then, not goodbye," he ceded and opened his eyes again.

Sherlock shook his head, "John…please," he begged once more and a tear slipped down his cheek.

John's heart clenched painfully, "I'm sorry," he breathed.

Sherlock shook his head again, "John," he breathed as if this plea would be the one to make John's spirit stay.

John tipped his head towards Sherlock, "Sherlock Holmes," he began and his smile grew, Sherlock shook his head, he didn't want John to say it, didn't want the words to slip out into the room because as soon as they were to leave John's mouth this whole thing will become real; too real for Sherlock to handle. "Sherlock…I love you so damn much," John finally uttered and his words were strong, they sounded like they used to before he got sick. He smiled at Sherlock and his eyes fluttered closed again.

Sherlock shook his head, "I love you so much John Watson-Holmes," he muttered and watched as John's chest rose once and then lowered; not to rise again. Sherlock stared hard at the cavity and willed it to rise again, to pull in the air that John needed to make the man live again, but it was useless. A sob racked its way out of Sherlock's chest and he crumbled. He fit his head between John's neck and shoulder and just let himself go. His hand was tight around John's and John's fingers didn't tighten in response. Sherlock wanted them to, God did he want to feel the firm squeeze of fingers in his hand, but it never happened. There would be no life for Sherlock after leaving here today. John wasn't here anymore and Sherlock damned well wasn't going to stick around without him. Sherlock knew that if the situation were reversed that John would continue to live, but Sherlock was not strong enough for that. He couldn't live, not without his blogger.

A/N: My goodness, that actually turned out better than I had thought it would! Again I have no beta and no one to Brit-Pick so let me know if you find errors. I combed through it, but I'm so tired and emotionally drained now that I don't think I found em all . Also, let me know what you all thought in the reviews please! Thanks so much for reading and I'm so sorry to be so evil!