"Shit, shit, shit, bugger, fuck" were the words that John Watson had currently been reduced to as his flatmate lay on the floor, writhing in pain.

Sherlock coughs, spit running down the side of his mouth as his eyes roll back. John kicks the bottle of pills away from Sherlock's hand as he dials an ambulance. He may be a doctor but there was no way he was leaving Sherlock's health purely down to what he could do here in the flat.

John explains things in a rush down the phone before he pulls Sherlock into a sitting position, allowing the phone to fall to the floor. Without much second thought John tilts Sherlock forward and shoves his fingers down the man's throat.

In no time, Sherlock is retching up the contents of his stomach.

"J-Jim..." Sherlock coughs the word between emptying his stomach onto the living room floor.

John frowns, wondering why on Earth that was the name on Sherlock's lips, as he rubs the man's back and lets him get it all out. He doesn't even make a face as the detective continues to vomit everywhere. It's hardly pleasant but it needs to be done. John couldn't simply wait and hope pumping his stomach was enough.

There's footsteps hurrying up the stairs just as Sherlock stops being sick and scoots away from the mess in disgust.

He rolls over so he's spread over the floor in much the same way as John found him. His eyes are screwed shut and his chest is moving rapidly. John throws a near destroyed old blanket over the vomit, not wanting to see or smell it and in no position to clean it just yet.

John was expecting to see paramedics rushing through the door but much to his surprise when he looks up he sees James Moriarty stood in the doorway, eyes focused on Sherlock.

John can't bring himself to move until Moriarty has stepped in the room and is making his way to Sherlock. John automatically throws himself between the two, glaring at the criminal as he does.

"You just stay away.." He warns.

Jim glares at John, as if he were an annoying fly that he really did not have time for right now.

Then Sherlock is lifting a shaking hand. "Jim..." He whispers, voice hoarse.

Jim's expression softens immediately as he sinks down to Sherlock's side, taking the outstretched hand in his. John was too shocked to do anything other than stare.

Slowly, Jim raised the hand to his own cheeks, quickly turning his head to place a kiss on his palm.

"Oh, Sherlock..." He whispered the words, voice heavy with emotion.

"Jim.. I.. I'm dying.." Sherlock opens his eyes, meeting Jim's for a second before they fall closed again.

Jim shakes his head, a pained laugh escaping him. "Dying isn't an option, my dear"

Sherlock manages a faint smile but he's obviously still weak. "Sadly, it is"

John was very confused by this point, naturally, but didn't question it. Sherlock would be okay, his mind reasoned against Sherlock's own words, the ambulance was on the way and they'd have his stomach pumped within the hour. He may not even need his stomach pumping, seeing as he'd emptied in onto their floor already but better safe than sorry.

"No, Sherlock" Jim spoke sternly. "John saved you, again. You're going to be fine. Help's on it's way"

Sherlock shakes his head. "Not that, Jim.. It's.. It's.. Cancer. Lung Cancer"

It's almost violent how quickly a sob takes over Jim's body. He leans down, shaking his head repeatedly until his forehead is against Sherlock's.

"Why didn't you say anything? You silly man, you never tell me anything..." Jim whimpers again, feeling his heart crumble as he held onto the man he loved.

"I've got six months.. at best" Sherlock wheezes before coughing once. His eyes fall closed and he goes limp, slipping into unconsciousness.

Sirens wail in the background, lights flashing by the window. Jim quickly scoops Sherlock up into his arms and begins carrying him out.

John follows, stumbling as he hurries to keep up.

*-*

Sherlock's hospital room held a very tense, very awkward atmosphere.

Mycroft and Lestrade stood on one side of the room, both carefully watching the criminal mastermind that held Sherlock's hand and seemed completely oblivious to their heated stares. At first, Mycroft demanded that Jim be whisked away into custody but each time Jim's hand left Sherlock's the detective would whimper and latch on tighter in his sleepy, half conscious state.

Lestrade seemed ready to move should the need arise and Mycroft seemed to have one hand hovering over a small button on his umbrella.

John was on high alert, naturally, as well but after the little scene at the flat he wasn't sure what to make of the criminal. No heartless man bursts into tears when he hears that his supposed enemy has lung cancer.

"Did you know..?" John asks quietly, his question rather obviously directed to Mycroft.

The government official shook his head. "I did not. He told no one, it seems. I believe it was a self diagnosis but I've had him checked and sure enough he is approaching the last six months of his life"

Mycroft's words held his usual cold tone but he spoke in a lower volume which seemed to add layers of emotion to his voice. 

John swallows, his throat feeling full of nails. His best friend was dying of lung cancer. Sherlock Holmes, his best friend, was on his last legs. Six months to live.

It didn't take an expert to see the way Jim's shoulders tensed up as Mycroft confirmed Sherlock's words. John could see he was fighting the sobs that wanted to once again take over.

Jim blinks down at Sherlock's face, salty tears silently falling down his cheeks. His Sherlock. His beautiful brilliant Sherlock. Dying.

They'd always had a joke, since they began the charade of 'he is still my enemy' that dying wasn't an option. It'd been their way of promising that what they had was real and there would be no tricks or trying to kill each other. It was both a promise and a joke.

It made their relationship stronger than ever, knowing that could understand each other through that simple phase. It was their way of saying they cared. That they loved one another and would always be there.

They'd wrapped all that up in one single phase. And now..

Now, Sherlock was dying. The life being pulled from him before he got to fully live. Sure, he'd achieved a lot and had more experiences than many ninety year olds but he didn't get to grow old and that on it's own is an experience that everyone should get.

Sherlock was dying. He was leaving Jim forever. They wouldn't grow old together and possibly have a family like they had promised at the start of it all.

Jim lifts his free hand to wipe away tears, sniffing quietly as he does. No one says anything.

Over the next few hours they moved very little. Jim had moved to sit on the side of the bed, his hand still in Sherlock's. That had caused both Lestrade and Mycroft to momentarily launch forward to protect the unconscious man. John had frozen a little but otherwise remained the same.

John left the room to fetch them all chairs, including Jim. Mycroft remained standing and Jim remained sat beside Sherlock's leg, his thumb stroking over the skin of his hand.

It seemed like they'd spent a full day in that cramped room when Sherlock blinked and came to with a gasp. His grip on Jim's hand tightened and the moment he opened his eyes and focused he latched onto Jim, pulling him down into an embrace.

"Jim.." He whispered into the embrace, his head tucking into the crook of Jim's neck.

The criminal hushes him, ignoring the way everyone had taken three steps closer. "It's alright, love. I'm here. I'm always here"

Sherlock manages a choked laugh. "Not true"

They pull out of the embrace, both chuckling softly. When their eyes meet however it all comes crashing down on Jim again and his lower lips trembles. Sherlock turns his face away, feeling guilty.

"Don't cry over me, Jim.. It's really not attractive" He tries to joke but it fails miserably.

Jim takes a deep breath before he speaks again. "How long have you known? -- and don't give me that 'I didn't know, Jim, I observed' stuff. I want to know how bloody long"

Both the men were successfully ignoring their little audience, who had back off but were all watching them with interest.

"I..." Sherlock sighs and drops his eyes from Jim's once again. "A few months.."

Jim nods, not saying anything else. If he only had six months left with Sherlock, he wasn't going to spend any fraction of that time angry and shouting at Sherlock for his raw stupidity.

Sherlock looks back to him, speaking with his eyes. Then, he seems to decide that isn't enough.

"I may be dying.." He chokes on the word and Jim squeezes his hand. "But, my love, dying is still not an option"

Jim can't help the smile that slides onto his face. "No, my dear, it isn't"

Then Sherlock turns his head towards his brother.

"If you arrest my fiancé, I will be furious and I will tell Mummy about all those missing Bakewell tarts"

"Your what?" Three voices chorus.

Sherlock ignores them, looking back to a smiling Jim. "Mr Holmes, I do believe you finally accepted my proposal"

Sherlock shifts up the bed, making a small pained noise but smiling none the less. "And you didn't even ask this time"

"How many times have you asked?" John questions, shocking them all. It's the first time anyone beside Sherlock has directly addressed him since they'd arrived. The doctor only sounded curious and easily brushed off the odd looks he got from Mycroft and Lestrade.

"Sixteen" Jim answers the same time Sherlock says 'Fifteen'.

Jim sends Sherlock a mock glare. Sherlock only snorts. "I refuse to count the first time"

"Why?" Mycroft questions as Lestrade and John's faces light up in understanding.

John smothers his giggle with a cough. Sherlock and Jim openly laugh at Mycroft's clueless face. Lestrade just pats the man's shoulder and says 'oh, you poor thing'.

The oldest Holmes brother frowns, clearly not used to bring the only one in the room to not know something. No one takes pity on him as he bristles about the fact he doesn't understand.

Eventually Sherlock takes notice of the rest of them. There's little discussion about his condition as they all knew that talking about it didn't change the facts. John and Sherlock had a moment where John had said 'it's all fine' a few times and Sherlock thanked him. Jim smiled at John during the conversation, clearly understanding that was John's way of accepting him.

Lestrade had been reluctant but agreed that he would not arrest Jim. He didn't seem overly bothered by Sherlock's relationship with the man, just seemed irritated he couldn't make a career changing arrest.

Mycroft had been the hardest to talk out of dragging Jim away and seeing to it he never returned. Jim had been behind many downfalls in the government and Mycroft wasn't prone to outbursts of brotherly compassion. He caved in the end, sliding in a comment about how in six months he'd be free to do as he pleased.

That lead to Sherlock and John holding back a rather furious Jim as Lestrade quickly shoved Mycroft out of the room. Lestrade had bid Sherlock a farewell before leaving to find Mycroft and no doubt yell at him. Sherlock had never understood the relationship between his brother and the DI.

Jim calms down once Mycroft is gone. He turns to Sherlock with a huff and a glare at the door. "I really hate your brother at times, Sher"

John had smiled at the nickname as he retreats to the other side of the room. The doctor exchanges goodbyes with them both and promises to come visit Sherlock in the morning. He leaves after Jim thanks him, for everything.

"Finally" Sherlock whispers the moment the door closes. Then there's a hand at the back of Jim's neck and he's being pulled down into a kiss.

*-*

A month after Sherlock's 'moment' as Jim had taken to calling it, the pair had been wed. A gold band placed on their hands and a hyphen added to their surnames. The ceremony had been a small one, held in a beautiful outdoor garden. The group of seven had then gone out for dinner by way of a party before Jim had whisked Sherlock off to an isolated isle which he owned.

All was good. Some may even say perfect.

In the following month Sherlock slowly gained his strength and he seemed to be in as good health as ever. Then one day, he collapsed in the middle of Regent's Park on one of his and Jim's late afternoon strolls. Jim had scooped him up and carried him to the nearest cab, almost threatening to shoot the cabbie if he didn't get to the hospital as soon as possible.

Sherlock was checked over and it turned out he collapsed due to the lack of food. Jim became even more persistent about Sherlock's eating habits after that.

In wasn't until Sherlock turned to him one day and said "We only have around two months together" that Jim gained a mental timer in his head.

He was counting the days, without meaning to, and that just made them seem to go even faster than before.

When their mental stopwatches were down to one month it all seemed to sink in. For everyone. Everyone wanted to spend as much time with Sherlock as possible. During the night, the two found themselves holding onto the other just that little bit tighter. In the morning they'd spend an extra five minutes laying there wrapped together. Throughout the day, they'd share more kisses.

Sherlock found it harder to let go of Jim, even to do simple things, and Jim found it just as difficult to let go of Sherlock. Often, the days passed in hours of cuddling and masses of kisses.

Sherlock was more than content to do that until the day he would leave Jim forever. And even though it highlighted what was bound to happen, Jim was happy with the hours passing that way too.

Much to Sherlock's annoyance, he lasted longer than six months. He was overjoyed by the fact he'd have more time with Jim, of course, but he hated the way that he didn't know how long he had left with Jim.

Any moment could be his last.

People still wanted to spend time with Sherlock but nine times out of ten he'd turn them away and spend his time with just Jim. Usually John was the only exception (and occasionally Mary came along but Jim very strongly disliked her thanks to the shooting). Mycroft's presence was forced upon them and it nearly always ended with Sherlock holding Jim back while Mycroft raised his eyebrow in a silent question of 'this is what my brother married?'.

John was, surprisingly, the most accepting of their relationship. Truly accepting. Not accepting because Sherlock was dying like the other 80% of those one attended the wedding and considering only five attended the wedding that made John the 20% that did accept.

Sherlock's parents (who didn't attend the wedding) were too busy being both happy and sad for their son to care he'd married a murderer. In fact, they were just glad Sherlock had found someone to make him happy until the end.

Lestrade still wasn't fussed, although sided with Mycroft if it came to one of the Holmes brothers argument. Sherlock being on his deathbed certainly did little to make them more brotherly towards one another.

Ms Hudson had disapproved of the relationship for obvious reasons (Sherlock feared for any soul that dared mess with something the woman cared for greatly. Jim clearly got an ear full on how trying to kill someone is not seducing them) but she had smiled and cried like most people do when hearing news such as a wedding and cancer in one go. She'd been happy for them on the day of the wedding of course but even she couldn't bring herself to accept Jim as trustworthy.

Sherlock was thankful his best friend had fully accepted it. He wasn't sure he'd be able to easily deal with John turning his back on them. John was a little jumpy around Jim and at times would make a comment or two about what he did. Which was understandable, really. John never seemed to despise Jim though and Sherlock decided that was good.

Yeah. Things were good. Very good.

Well.. As good as things can be when someone dying.

*-*

Two years pass and Sherlock was still up and about. Much to everyone's delight. It still irritated Sherlock that he had no clue how long he had left with Jim. That was all he worried about.

If he was honest, he was scared.

Not of dying, no. He was scared of leaving Jim.

He knew (Jim often said) he was all Jim had in the world now. He is Jim's whole world.

It scared the hell out of Sherlock to know that he'd be taking Jim's world away when he dies. He didn't want to be the cause of such heavy and dark emotion in a man who didn't mind giving into his darker side.

Sherlock didn't want Jim to lose himself. The side of him, the real true him, that Sherlock saw on a daily basis.

Jim was a tender but twisted soul.

He enjoyed listening to sound of the rain fall on the roof, yet part of his mind would be imagining a helpless butterfly getting pelted by the rain and washed down a gutter.

He liked music, loved it in fact, but part of his mind would be calculating just how much trouble he could cause within the duration of the song.

He had a soft spot for cooking but part of his mind would be imagining all the different ways to drug someone through what they ate or drank throughout the day.

He never felt the urge to harm Sherlock, of course, but Sherlock knew all too well how the darker impulses could not be forever ignored. Especially not with a mind like his Jim's.

"Love" A soft Irish lit pulls Sherlock from his thought. Immediately he is aware of the fact Jim is nibbling at his collarbone. Jim chuckles against his skin. "You got a bit lost in thought there"

Sherlock hums, mind else where now Jim was grazing his teeth over Sherlock's skin and sucking at his skin. Sherlock's hand slides up Jim's back as his husband uses his tongue to tease at the skin over his collarbone.

It was a move Jim knew all too well how it affected Sherlock. Within minutes Sherlock is pushing Jim's jaw up to claim his lips in a demanding kiss.

*-*

"...Dying isn't an option, my dear" Jim spoke softly, his eyes wet as tears fell silently.

No one was here now. They'd all gone home long ago. John had stayed with Jim a while longer, stood beside him in silence in case he wanted or needed anything. Jim didn't mind if the doctor stayed with him or left.

The doctor did leave though. He placed a hand on Jim's shoulder and the action said many things that didn't need to be said aloud. Then he'd disappeared towards the setting sun to return home to his wife and daughter.

Now, Jim was alone. Yet he wasn't. Because Sherlock was here. He was below the ground but he was also around Jim. He didn't know if it was a presence or simply the fact that Jim knew even after death, Sherlock would be with him.

He'd promised. After the night Jim pulled him from his thoughts, they'd gone to bed and Jim had shown Sherlock once again what he meant to him. As had Sherlock. Then as they where just dozing off to sleep Sherlock had turned to him and promised he wouldn't ever truly leave Jim alone, even when he was dead he'd stay close even if they rules of death didn't allow him to do so. "I'll find a way," he'd said, "because, my love, dying isn't an option."

That had been almost five years ago. Sherlock had survived seven years longer than even he had expected. And it had been a glorious seven years spent with Jim and Sherlock loving each other with all their hearts.

Jim sniffs as more tears fall, a smile on his lips at the memories flooding him.

It's funny how he can smile as he stands here looking down at the glossy gravestone that simply said 'Sherlock Holmes-Moriarty'

Jim felt it didn't need more than that. As had Sherlock when they'd briefly discussed it in those first six months.

It was oddly relaxing here in the graveyard. By Sherlock's grave.

Jim expected to be distraught. And perhaps he would have been if Sherlock's body had collapsed when predicted.

Suddenly, Jim smiles again, remembering the way Sherlock had mumbled about his 'transport' finally being good for something. He'd quickly looked at Jim with a sheepish expression before sliding closer and kissing Jim. Then he'd announced that his transport had always been good at responding to Jim.

There were many memories similar to that. Sherlock complaining but then reassuring Jim he was always the exception even though they both already knew that Jim was very content in the fact that Sherlock loved him.

Jim had found it both annoying and adorable when Sherlock constantly reassured him that he was most definitely the exception to all of Sherlock's cynical views on the human race and life in general.

With stiff limbs, Jim bends down and places the single red rose he'd been carrying with him today beside Sherlock's grave. There were other flowers, naturally, but Jim's stood out among them. It's petals were vibrant and the thorns on the stem just added to the character.

Jim hums, his fingers tracing over the engraved name. It was cold beneath his fingers but he still felt warm. He still felt loved. His whole world was gone but it was still here. And it always would be.

In his heart, in his memories. All around.

Because... "Dying isn't an option, my dear. But, in the end, unfortunately, it is a necessity"