bakerstreet | Guess I'll die, then.

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[meme] shipping

Guess I'll die, then.

i will follow you into the dark;
a darker shipping meme

It's the end of the line for you.. No matter how long you've been here on this planet, in this universe, that time is over now. Pain wracks your body, or perhaps it doesn't as you drift away from this life. All that remains is that ever fading light -

And the face of the one you care for the most.

For they are joining you on this last journey, as difficult or as easy as it can be. This could have been planned - you wanted to die together - or you both happened to be in the same place at the same time. Your world could be crashing down around you in a final armageddon; you could not be missed, the world turning without you two in it. One of you brought this onto you both; you tried to save your companion. You killed them yourself. It was all an accident...this wasn't supposed to happen...

How you've come to this doesn't matter so much in hindsight, though your sight is dimming as it as. What does matter is how you spend these last few moments with the person who means so much to you. If you're lucky, the two of you have lived a long, happy life together. Those who find themselves faced with a more tragic ending will have just realized their feelings for each other.

You don't have long, only a few moments. Make of them what you can. Reveal your secrets, touch their hand one last time, give them an embrace or a kiss. Apologize, if you see fit. Do what you did in life, but make it count and hope that you will see them again somehow.

Comment with your character and preferences. If you have any ideas or anything you do not want to touch, be sure to include those, too.
You can play this as serious and as dark as you'd like.
Reply to others on the meme. Discuss scenarios, AUs, and crossovers.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

ooc | ota. cross-canon, assumed, cr, and aus welcome.

Vanya has always had a complicated relationship with Sherlock. She's known for a while that they're probably not meant to be because Sherlock can't give her the affection she needs and she can't keep up with his intellect the way he needs, but yet they still went on. She likes to think that the better times--the times when they played violin together, the times they went on wild adventures that made her feel alive, the times when they made each other laugh, the times when he made her feel like he thought she was special beyond all odds--those times outweighed the bad.

And now it feels like it's coming to an end.

"One foot in front of the other," she says, her voice ragged and shaky. He's much taller than her measly five foot nothing, but she's still trying to support them as they walk out of the warehouse. Bodies of human traffickers lie behind them, but they'd both been shot, Sherlock in the chest and Vanya in the gut. She bandaged Sherlock as much as she could, giving her own wound only token consideration before trying to walk him out. "I called an ambulance. We just need to be by the road. Come on, Sherlock."

He tries not to bear down on her too heavily, though it's pointless to tell her to leave him behind. He wonders if the encouragement is just to keep them going, but he doesn't have much strength left once the adrenaline and panic from being shot runs out. She could bleed out before the ambulance gets here.

It might take a long time. 8 minutes was a long time. The road is a bit far. Maybe too far. The pain in his chest threatens to overwhelm him and knock him down. Like she says, one foot in front of the other.

He wonders if he ought to waste his breath on talking or not. He's not great at expressing himself and that he'd rather not die and he's sorry that he's not good at emotions and he hasn't been able to fulfill her needs in that department.

Sweat breaks out on her hairline. Her hands are cold. She doesn't pay attention. If she pays attention, she will have a panic attack, and she can't have a panic attack now. Not when he needs her.

"Almost there. We're almost there."

The door is open. The chilly night air hits her stomach and it's just so wet. She doesn't look. Look and she'll panic, and she'll be useless, and she can't be useless not now not for him.

"Little further, Sherlock. We'll be at the sidewalk and we can sit down, alright?"

She doesn't know if she's talking for him or for herself, but talk she does. She's afraid that if she stops, then he'll stop too.

He's breathing heavily, continuing ti step forward slowly. Somehow dragging one foot in front of the other.

It takes forever. There isnt enough hurrying. Sit down. Won't want to get back up. He grunts that he's heard but can't seem to get the words out. His chest hurt his lungs hurt his arm hurt. It all hurt. Her stomach hurt. He wasn't sure what he ought to ask. If anything. Should he apologize for anything? And did doing so mean he had given up or was dying?

The questions and need for data kept his feet moving, although much slower than he would have liked.

"Okay, okay, right here, sit here."

Thank God, they make it to the edge of the road. There's a bench. Vanya struggles to balance Sherlock long enough to sit him down gently. Don't let him fall, don't let him fall, don't let him--

As soon as his weight is off her, the pain hits Vanya. The wetness has traveled from her stomach down her legs. She shakes as she sits down besides Sherlock, praying neither of them go into shock.

"Stay with me, please," she begs, folding her hands over the wound on his chest. Her tongue stumbles on her words, tasting like copper, and her vision blurs at the edges, but she has to keep going. Long enough for the ambulance to get there. "Please, Sherlock, stay with me."

It really hurt. It hurt more on the ground byt he does not have the strength to get back up and he tries putting pressure with his hand on the wound but its not really working and its a haze and he hears Vanya pleading and then he can't see or hear her anymore then there's bustling and someone else is asking him something he can't comprehend or answer. He moves his wet hand in a very helpless sign and he means to ask if Vanya is alright but... can't.

"Tell her..." tell her what that he loves her? That he cares? Something important. He definitely passes out and will definitely wake sometime later in an immense amount of pain. It felt like his chest was being sat on by the weight of some creature with a trunk that weighed over 2 tons. He can't remember the name of it.

Breathing hurt. He doesn't know much else. When he's not as sedated and been extubated he will definitely ask if Vanya is alright. More than once.

Vanya almost passes out from relief when she sees the ambulance. Then she passes out for real.

The advantage of a shot to the gut is that a person can still keep walking afterwards for a certain amount of time. The disadvantage is that mortality rates are very high.

The nurses who talk to Sherlock say that Vanya is in good hands and they're doing the best they can. But she's still alive, and Sherlock should take care of himself so he's ready to greet her when she wakes up. If she wakes up.

She needs a lot of blood. People scramble to get in touch with her family, to find someone who can make medical decisions for her, but Vanya's family is out of reach as they always are. The doctors are stuck making the decisions themselves, and they do their best to save her life.

When Vanya wakes up, it's sluggish, in and out. She's not entirely aware of her own body, like she's floating above it, and everything from the waist down is stiff. They ease up her sedation and extubate her to talk about what comes next, but she just asks if Sherlock is okay. If she can talk to him. We is okay, right? He has to be. The nurse has to go arrange for them to talk before Vanya would bother entertain the doctor.

It takes some arranging to get the two patients to speak to each other, but they don't seem to be occupied with anything else. He can't fully remember why he was there or that they killed the traffickers.

Is that important? At some point they put Sherlock in the wheelchair because while he was shot in the chest, he's not putting as much pressure on the wound if he sits than if they did the same with Vanya. Besides. Sherlock isn't making it easy to look after him. Maybe getting out of his room will be good for him.

He's concerned of course, but not sure how to express such concern or what that concern might mean.

Vanya manages a tired smile when they roll Sherlock into her room close to her bed, but her smile falters when she sees the look in his eyes. It's not as sharp as she's used to, but then again, he's probably under the influence of a lot of medications just like her.

Vanya reaches out. Her arm is hooked up to an IV, but she can still rest her hand on Sherlock's.

"It's good to see you," she says. Her voice is ragged from the tube they'd shoved in and out of her throat.

"It's... excellent to see you as well, though - they waited a bit too long. Still hurt everywhere?" He isn't sure how best to express that he was concerned at first and worried that he had been the only one to live.

"At least you had the fortitude to call Emergency after being shot." He isn't sure if that's a thank you or not. There's a lot he doesn't remember completely about how they got out of there but he knows she couldn't have carried him. He remembers some walking but not all the way to the road.

His speech seems stilted, but Vanya is foggy too and it's hard to tell what's injury and what's drugs. She nods, but she stops the movement abruptly because it makes her nauseous. Yeah, she's still hurt everywhere. She's still not entirely sure she's getting out of this. And she's okay with that thought, honestly. Vanya had been passively waiting for an end for a long time.

"You call it fortitude, I call it panic," she says, trying to smile. "What do the doctors say about you?"

"I expect I'll live though the risk of infection is still a concern along with the fact I will need physio after the risk of infection lessens..." he looks a bit pale as though he really shouldn't be up.

"What about you?" She's not saying her own so she either hasn't asked or it's poor.

She manages a small shrug. "I'm not sure," she admits. "Probably not good. I'm on a transplant list now."

Her blankets hide a mess of tubes running into her gut attached to all sorts of machines. The bullet tore through multiple organs. She hadn't really listened when the doctor tried to tell her about it, distracted as she was by wanting to make sure Sherlock was alright.

"...A couple transplant lists, honestly." Kidney and intestines. And she knows intuitively that decreases her chances significantly. Why give two organs to a woman at high risk of dying anyway when you can give those organs to two different people who will likely be right as rain after?

She takes a deep breath. It's uncomfortable to breathe with all these tubes in her body, tugging at her every time her lungs expand. "Have you called Mycroft? You should let him know what happened." Vanya of all people is sympathetic to Sherlock's distant relationship with his brother, but she's afraid that without anyone there to push him into taking care of himself, Sherlock is going to spiral into a self-destructive hole again. She doesn't think she'll be there to stop him.

Sherlock frowns when she talks about transplant. His chest definitely ached but he hadn't paid attention. Not too much.

Tried not to. He looks very uncomfortable when she says that he should contact Mycroft. He thought Mycroft already knew about his condition he just had to make Sherlock listen about his sentimental tendancies and hadn't come to see him yet.

Maybe he ought though, maybe his own kidney would suffice (one can live with one after all). Maybe Mycroft could cause some influence if Sherlock asked him. But there's this risk that his brother could mock him for sentiment.

She knows that face. He's not a fan of the idea.

"Think about it, okay? I don't like the idea of no one there when you go home."

Because whether she makes it or not, she's not getting out of this hospital any time soon. She tries not to think about it too hard. It'll be a lonely day when Sherlock leaves the hospital and she doesn't.

"I'm not leaving here for sometime, I expect." Infection risk is too great, plus it could heal and then get infected as well, as that's the risk with being shot in the chest.

He also will need physio to learn how to deal with the injury, and he won't like that either, but he expects if he can see her every so often... it might be more bearable.
He should contact Mycroft though he expects his brother already knows about him being admitted already. Mostly he needs favors which means doing Mycroft's legwork from his bed in exchange or Mycroft will want legwork later.