Chapter Text
*
“Don’t be afraid; you’re only dying.”
John’s eyes were wide, rolling in panic. Sherlock reached deep into his coat, found the pewter locket, released the safety pin that held it to the lining, lifted it out.
“Smoke inhalation. I tried. John. I tried.”
John looked at Mary; she covered her mouth and squeezed her tearless eyes shut.
“I’ve got you,” Sherlock said, face close to John’s. He grinned weirdly, tipped a pile of bluish powder onto his leather-glove-clad fingertips. “Breathe,” he urged, and he blew the powder into John’s face.
*
It took most of the night. John shivered and moaned. They lay side by side in Sherlock’s bed, and Sherlock stroked the back of John’s hand and murmured words as close to comfort as he could muster.
*
Two weeks later. John in his chair, his fingers beginning to go black at the tips. Teeth loose, dehydrated, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t eat. Lines appeared in Sherlock’s forehead and never went away. John’s mouth hung partly open. Sherlock treated his chapped lips with petroleum jelly mixed with clove oil.
“Right as rain,” Sherlock murmured, and patted John’s shoulder. “I’m lost without my blogger.”
John’s bright blue eyes glistened. Tears rolled down his face. His decaying hand caught Sherlock’s sleeve.
“Don’t you worry,” Sherlock reassured. “We’ll get it all sorted out. I’ve got you.”
*