They fell asleep curled up next to each other, their hands interlocked and John's head snuggled in Sherlock's shoulder. It was almost unspeakable to say how happy John was, Sherlock was alive, he had his first kiss, and Sherlock was his first kiss. Not some stupid girl he'd end up dumping in two months, Sherlock Holmes. But what now? Both of them knew Henry Knight was just waiting for them, and John's parents have no doubt lost all hope in finding their son, he needed to get back to his time eventually.
"Sherlock?" John muttered, shaking the sleeping Sherlock softly next to him. His eyes opened lazily and a crooked smile emerged on his lips.
"Good morning." he muttered.
"What are we going to do about Henry Knight?" John asked, wanting to just get it over with now. Sherlock's smile faded a little bit when he realized what John was saying.
"Well, what do you want to do?" he asked. John could hear the nervous hope present in his voice, which made John's heart hurt with guilt.
"I know I promised you, so I think you should come with me." John decided.
"Well..." Sherlock started.
"Think about it," John decided, cutting him off, "You could be dead for all they know, they'll get a new servant and still think you fought until you absolutely couldn't anymore. Irene will have to marry someone else; you don't have to make any excuses because as far as they know, you're dead." Sherlock considered this, but John knew he had a point.
"I suppose that would work, as long as your family is willing to take me in." Sherlock decided.
"I'll tell them I was kidnapped and so were you, and we ran away just as he was boarding a flight to Australia or something." John shrugged.
"What's a flight?"
"Airplane, huge car like things except they fly over the oceans and stuff." John shrugged, less concerned about the future right now.
"What will your parents say if they knew, you know?" Sherlock asked nervously. John gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, which made Sherlock smile shyly.
"It doesn't matter what they think does it? I think we've decided nothing, not even something small like parents, is going to keep us apart."
"Not even time." Sherlock agreed. He looked rather excited to have a love like that, something different and daring, risking it all for someone you so dearly loved. John loved Sherlock just as much as any old romance movie, and here he was, deciding to take the biggest trip of his life with him. It was actually pretty exciting.
"But first we need to find this nutter." John decided, pulling himself to his feet and cracking his neck with a twirl of his head.
"You're only a nutter if you're wrong, and I think we have the means to say he was right." Sherlock pointed out.
"Maybe about time travel, but sorry to say there is still a couple more decades coming before the end of the world." John shrugged.
"I thought it was scientifically proven that the world would end in 2012?" Sherlock said.
"Who told you that?"
"I think it was an Indian calendar."
"Sorry to break it to you, but that's rubbish." John decided. Sherlock nodded, standing up next to John and stretching out, ruffling his hair a bit before looking ready to go exploring. John's heart couldn't help but flip in his chest when Sherlock ruffled his black curls, something that was definitely going on John's bucket list.
"Ready?" Sherlock asked.
"As I'll ever be." John decided. They walked out of the woods, not paying any attention to the grave marker or the spot where Sherlock had lay dying not days before. There was no game plan really, show up, find him, get whatever method he might have, go home and start a new life. John couldn't even imagine Sherlock's face when he saw a truck, or a plane, or even a TV. It would be truly adorable, like a little loving something so simple, like trains or something, the look of amazement on their faces. They walked into the 'minor' wing, looking around for anyone that happens to have a blinking time machine next to their bed, but believe it or not there were none. It was so nice to be walking along Sherlock in the wing, and not carrying him around like an annoyed firefighter.
"Excuse me, could you tell me where we could find a Mr. Henry Knight?" Sherlock asked a passing nurse.
"Oh, so you recovered?" she asked, not answering Sherlock's question.
"Yes, but we really need to find this man, do you know where he might be?" Sherlock asked again.
"You could try the other wing, I'm sorry to say not many people make it through here though."
"Is there a recovery wing?" John added.
"Yes, over towards the East side, but I doubt it's very full." She admitted.
"Thank you anyway." Sherlock muttered, walking off out the door and onto the docks in which they first arrived. They walked over to the other door, marked 'severe', ignoring the man outside the door saying they had to be sick to go in. When they walked into the room they found it was much different from the other one because it was so dark. There were barely any windows, why was beyond John, but it was lit mostly by oil lamps, giving the wood an almost oranges glow. There were not many nurses as well, as if they have given up hope on these people long ago. This building was were the screams were from evidently, screams from the dying. People were coughing everywhere; people were shaking uncontrollably or simply lolling their head off of their pillows until a nurse pushed them back up. They were helpless and sad, and the entire room stank of Death. Sherlock didn't hesitate though, considering he's gone through all of this he didn't seem to have much of a problem with it.
"Excuse me ma'am, do you know where I can find Mr. Henry Knight?" he asked, flipping his hair just so that one of his curls hung loosely over her forehead.
"Last bed on the left, but be warned, he's a little bit cranky."
"Is he recovering?" John asked hopefully.
"The opposite I'm afraid, which is a shame, he's been here for so long." She sighed, but bustled along, away from the two and helping another man drink water from the bedside table. Sherlock cast John a sideways look before shrugging, what could be the worst thing that happens? They approached the bed, seeing it occupied by a hopeless looking man lying with the covers pulled up to his chin. He had a sort of square face with a squashed looking nose, but just like Sherlock he was as pale as a stupid vampire drama movie.
"Henry Knight?" John asked nervously. The man's eyes opened up suddenly, eyeing the two of them with anger.
"Have you come to make fun of me?" he asked in a scratching voice, coughing a little bit to himself.
"Of course not, we need your help." Sherlock assured. He looked at them suspiciously, still looking plenty angry.
"And why would you need my help?" he hissed.
"My name is John Watson..."
"Is that supposed to mean anything to me?" he snapped. If this guy did have a machine he didn't seem like the type to lend it to strangers.
"And I'm from 2015." John ended. Henry's anger seemed to fade, rolling his head to look at John, his eyes wide with amazement.
"You don't mean..." his sentence dragged off, not knowing what to say.
"Unfortunately I do, and I have no way of getting back there." John admitted.
"That's, that's fascinating, it's real then?" he asked, apparently even a dying man could smile. Unfortunately he had a couple of teeth missing, so it wasn't all that beautiful.
"It's all real, but I need to get back home, it's a matter of urgency." John admitted.
"Tell me about 2015." Henry decided.
"Well, we have things called video games, TV, airplanes, internet, cars, we even sent some people to the moon on a rocket ship." John decided. Henry laughed quietly, which quickly turned into a hacking cough. Sherlock gave him some water, but it didn't seem to do much to help him. Even though he looked like Hell, Henry smiled.
"I knew it." he muttered. John smiled sympathetically at him; living proof of what so many people laughed at, it was almost like he was some sort of trophy on display.
"But, um, the problem is I have no idea how to get back, do you have any time travel thing I could use?" John asked nervously, finding out that it was quite a big favor to ask. Henry coughed again, looking less amused now for some reason.
"No one believed me." he muttered.
"I'm sorry to hear that, but right now it's kind of urgent." Sherlock chimed in, looking at John with a sad look as he said it. Immediately John felt bad; it must be pretty upsetting to have to ask for the one thing that would ruin your entire life.
"There is this." Henry held up his hand, but there was no beeping devise, no flashing crown or anything. The only think on his hand was a leather ring, looking worn and sun bleached, nothing special at all.
"And, sorry, what is that?" John asked apprehensively. Was this guy just loopy on the plague, or was he being serious. Henry's shaking hand slid it off of his finger, handing it to John almost anxiously, as if he were happy to get rid of it.
"That is a time ring." He said, coughing once again, but thankfully no blood came up like Sherlock.
"A time...ring?" Sherlock asked. John twirled the leather ring in his hand, stiff and over worn, completely insignificant.
"Put it on your finger and twist it twice, it can take you two stops I believe. And then you are trapped in that decade." Henry said. Sherlock looked at John nervously, obviously both unbelieving and not wanting to believe anyway.
"How do I stop off then?" John asked.
"Think about where you would like to go, any date or time or place, and it will take you there, but only two stops, or you'll be stuck in space and pulled apart atom by atom." He pointed out, coughing once again. John bit his lip a little bit, looking down at the ring and highly doubting it's power.
"Thank you Mr. Knight, thank you very much." He decided, nodding to the man sitting in the bed, but Henry only smiled.
"I don't have long, it's good to know I did something good before my time comes." He decided.
"You still might survive, I did." Sherlock pointed out.
"Obviously you weren't done with life; you still had to go on, while I'm here because I am useless."
"That's rubbish." John defended.
"I'm rubbish." Henry agreed, making Sherlock crack a small smile before turning it into a hasty cough.
"You just helped me get back to my home, that's more than anyone here could do." John pointed out. Henry smiled to the ceiling, as if thanking God and not John.
"I suppose you're right." He muttered.
"Thank you Mr. Knight, I hope you get better." John decided, and led Sherlock, wordlessly, away from the bed. The nurses watched him from under their perfumed masks, no doubt what business they had here, but John just smiled and walked on. He held the ring very carefully in his palm, not wanting to drop it but not wanting to crush it too much. So far this was the only thing he could possibly use to see his family away, and it was worth more than his life, but had gotten it for free.
"That was easy." Sherlock decided as they walked back, shieling their noses from the thick black smoke that was once again burning. John didn't look at the heap of corpses; he didn't want to have so see something like that again.
"Too easy." John agreed.
"Well that's beside the point, you got it didn't you?" Sherlock agreed.
"Don't pretend that's a good thing." John muttered.
"It's a very good thing."
"Not for you." John pointed out.
"I'm not the problem here. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." Sherlock assured. They approached the graves once more, the trees covering the patch in shadows. John leaned against the bark of a low hanging pine tree, twirling the ring in his fingers.
"Is this it then?" Sherlock asked, leaning against his own tree and looking at John.
"I have to get you off this island." John debated, having no intentions of actually leaving Sherlock now.
"No you don't, it's called quarantine for a reason, I'll go to a recovery station and live there for a while until this whole plague thing is history."
"It's already history." John pointed out.
"Ya, for you, soon enough." Sherlock agreed. John could tell his voice was forced; he was trying to act like the thought of losing John for good wasn't tearing him up, keeping himself calm like he was always trained to do.
"I don't want to leave you." John muttered, looking back up at Sherlock and dropped his hand back to his pocket. They had just started being happy, Sherlock had only just recovered, finally everything seemed fine. He couldn't leave now; he couldn't leave Sherlock all alone.
"Don't worry about me John, I'll be fine." Sherlock assured.
"All I've been doing is worrying about you." John debated. Sherlock smiled shyly, his overgrown curls falling over his eyes.
"Well maybe that's what pulled me through." he said with a forced laugh.
"I promised you..." John pointed out.
"And now the only thing to do is to leave me be. I'm alive, you're alive, that's all that matters, and the last thing to do is to make sure you truly are happy." Sherlock pointed out. He was right of course, there was a sort of hole in John's heart, one which his family and friends had once occupied, and not even the glorious kiss had filled it.
"I can't leave you."
"I'll be dead in two seconds, it's not like you'll have to worry about me." Sherlock pointed out.
"Don't say it like that; you're not really helping anything." John debated. Sherlock stepped closer until he was close enough to John to take both of his hands, gently cradling them in his own and smiling down with a sad yet radiant smile. John wanted to burn his beauty into his brain forever, there seemed to be nothing more he wanted to see.
"Just promise me you'll stop by before I die, I could always use a surprise visit from an old friend." He decided with a smile. John gripped Sherlock's hands anxiously, this was all happening too fast, was this really the last time he's see him?
"Sherlock I don't want..."
"I don't want to hear anything about that, just look at me." Sherlock decided. John brought his eyes once more level to Sherlock's, both of them treasuring the other's company for the time they still had. John wanted so desperately to kiss him, but would it be an appropriate time? It might be the last time they see each other, well for John it would only be a second, but Sherlock would have a whole life time before he actually see him again, if John could figure out how to work this darn thing.
"I'll miss you." John decided.
"Quite right to. And I'll miss you as well, every day I'll think about that little deadbeat living in my barn." Sherlock said with a hesitant laugh. John smiled back, but it wasn't really the time for jokes, and yet he didn't want it to be the time for goodbyes either. He stared into those emerald eyes, wondering when the next time he would see them, and just took the leap. He leaned in, pressing a loving kiss to Sherlock's lips, quick but meaningful, pulling away almost as quickly as he leaned in. Sherlock's eyes were closed slightly, as if he were trying to absorb the feeling, but once John was fully away he opened them back up. There was a tear brimming in both of his eyes, making John feel even more on the verge of crying now, but also eating his stomach away with guilt. He was the reason for Sherlock's tears, and he didn't like it one bit.
"I'm sorry." He muttered.
"I love you." Sherlock decided, spitting the words out once again.
"I know. And I love you too." John agreed, pulling Sherlock in for one last embrace. He smelled of smoke and grass, but just the feeling of him in his arms was enough to make John smile one last time. This would be the last time... When John pulled back he twisted the ring nervously in his forefingers.
"Do you think it will work?" he asked nervously.
"If it doesn't then we look quite pathetic don't you think?" Sherlock said with a laugh.
"I guess we would." John agreed. "Goodbye Sherlock." He muttered, looking one last time into his eyes.
"Goodbye John." Sherlock agreed. And with that, one last look, John shoved the ring onto his finger and the world evaporated.