A/N: Not beta'd if you dont like slash dont read. this story is completed work i'm transferring over from another fanfic sight.

CHAPTER 1. SPEECHLESS

John drifted in the warm sea of his own blood, he was sure of it. The bullet had ripped through him, before he could react; right through him into the younger man he was trying to save. That bullet, the tearing and the burning. Then the sounds of yelling, it was alright then, John thought. He was going to die, and he didn't want to, not just yet.

"Please God let me live." He thought to himself at first, only as a knee jerk reaction. Because who really wants to die? Then what did he really have to live for? It was easier like this, he felt people circling around him, sensing their disappointment towards him. Someone was trying to rouse him. They should move on, others who deserved their ministrations, their frantic efforts. It was ok, he could go now.

The hot desert air sharp against his skin, the sun and the sand drinking the blood that poured out of him in a steady stream with every beat of his heart. His eyes felt so heavy, too heavy to open. Despite the sun John thought the day must be night, he was so cold. The desert always turned cold in the night time.

He was a decent doctor he tried to be a good man, a good brother, a good friend, he'd even tried being a good boyfriend. He failed at most like kicking over a domino, one after the other. It was alright, this is a fitting end. Cut down by a snipers bullet.

He thought he could see Harry, her head shaking in disapproval, they never got on. It was alright, ten years was a big age gap. He would never understand her and she likewise. He wanted to tell her sorry, he couldn't remember for what but he should say it. The anger he felt for her simmered just a bit above the surface, but the pain was overwhelming and he couldn't remember why he would be angry at Harry. Goodbye Harry.

In this shadowy place where no sound penetrated the fluid emptiness blanketing the soldier's vision he could make out his sister's pale face.

Then there was Mike, looking worried. John wanted to move towards his friend, but the soldier's legs would not carry him from the dark and shadow he was sinking blissfully into. This same darkness surrounded his friend, but did not touch him. John thought to himself sadly, he should have left a note for Mike, a friend would have left a note. Mike was good, he was safe at home in London, far from bombs and bullets. Goodbye Mike. John wanted to wave to him, he could see Mike wearing his lab coat, pushing his spectacles up over his nose. He looked amused, the place he stood in was shaded by dark, but the white in Mike's lab coat was almost luminescent. Mike was a good person. John should have told him that.

Then the figure of Mike slipped away to reveal a tall handsome man leaning on an umbrella, a look of boredom, a striking figure in his expensive gray suit with the blue silk tie. John knew this was a dream, Mycroft Holmes looked just as John would always remember him. More regrets, Mycroft had been a good friend and John failed him too. It was too bad they couldn't stay friends, Mycroft was always good for a laugh even if he didn't know he was being teased. Goodbye Mycroft. John wanted to say, the dieing soldier wanted to shake the tall man's hand.

John sensed the frown before seeing it forming on Mycroft's usually stoic face, the soldier wanted to ask why, and he realized there was someone else here. Even in this dream he sensed Mycroft's disapproval. It was alright the man standing in his perfectly starched uniform, just out of reach was Carter. John sighed, shaking his head, the man even now was persistent. John would have shook his head if it didnt feel so damn heavy. Carter with his brown eyes full of concern. John had tried to be a good boyfriend but he didnt love Carter. Carter needed someone else, someone that wanted to be treated with kid gloves, who needed to be provided for and cared for, John didnt want that kind of love. He wanted smug and overconfident, rough and unyielding. John made his own pay he wanted a partner not someone that thought him incapable of doing thing on his own. The soldier smiled sadly, Carter was the perfect man, just not the perfect man for a soldier like John. Goodbye Carter.

Finally he could see Sherlock, impressively tall like his brother and equally as mysterious. Mycroft had an air of a monarch in power, and Sherlock only projected entitlement and prestige. Befitting a brother of a monarch, naturally. His graceful neck, John remembered how his lips would whisper kisses into the warm flesh, so flawless. Sherlock carried a bored expression, John wanted to throw his arms around the beautiful man, to pull him close to be encased in those languid arms, the smell of tobacco and coffee. The feel, to allow his hands to roam over the expensive black suit, leisurely touching the equally spendy blue silk shirt underneath.

John's dream remained here with the dark haired man with beautiful silver eyes. He wished to press one more kiss to those supple cupid's bow lips, to run hands through the mess of curls. I love you. John wanted to say, but then like all the other dreams Sherlock turned his back and sank into the surrounding darkness. I love you.

This was nice, this feeling of drifting, the soundless calm, except that was his breathing, his staggered breaths. Someone was trying to pull him up from the waters threatening to submerge the whole of his body. It's ok, he wanted to tell the hands that grabbed at his shoulders. It's ok. I'm fine here. Leave me here.