Suicide Part 2

My fingers shook as I held the barrel of the gun to my head. I could feel tears trickling down my face as I took one last breath… "NO! JOHN!!"  I turned sharply in surprise and the gun left my face. I could see someone coming towards me, hands reaching to remove it from my possession. It was still pointed at me, but at my chest now. I froze in surprise. It couldn't be him, could it? Surely he was dead? I felt my hands clench.
There was a horrendous bang, and I felt like a red hot poker had been thrust through my chest.  My knees buckled. I looked up to see the figure who had tried to stop me, his face paler than normal and panicked as he stared at me, frozen with horror. Sherlock? No, it can't be. He's dead… There was no mistaking his curly brown hair, and the look of cocky superiority in his eyes. This time, though, it was masked by a look of horror. I was leaning against the sofa, my hand on my chest trying to staunch the flow of blood. I looked up at him once again with hesitant eyes. "Sherlock, Is that you?"
My words seemed to awaken him from his trance, and he scrambled towards me.  "John, are you OK? Please, tell me you are OK!"
"Of course, Sherlock, I'm fine." I replied, gasping for breath. The pain was still there, coursing through my body, feeling as if I were being burned from the inside out. I could not supress a moan as I felt another wave of pain wash over me.  I could see the panic on Homes' face and realised that he was stuck. For the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes didn't know what to do. I groaned again, the blood still streaming from my chest, emblazoning a red mark on the carpet. "Mrs Hudson won't be pleased", I whispered, the side of my mouth lifting in a grimace "Who's explaining this time?" Sherlock shot me a look that questioned my sanity.
Speak of the devil. I heard footsteps ascending the steps to the flat.  There were three polite knocks and the door swung open. "Sherlock, you're alive! Are you OK? I swear I just heard…" Her voice trailed off as she looked towards the gun in Sherlock's hand, and me lying on the floor, my bloody hand pressed to my chest. Her eyes widened in terror as she took in the sight. "You didn't… How could you, Sherlock? He was your best friend!"
Sherlock placed the gun on the table and approached her. I could see his hands were shaking. "Please, Mrs Hudson. I was coming back. I entered and found … the gun. It was held to his head. He was going to kill himself… How? Why?" All of this was said in a whisper that was barely audible, and afterwards Sherlock put his face in his hands. "Why would he do that? Mrs Hudson, help me!" She seemed as shocked as I by the speech, and her hand went to his shoulder. She spoke in a firm yet kindly voice. "I'll help, Sherlock. Don't worry about that. You need to call an ambulance or your friend will die."  
As if he had just remembered I was there, he span around to look at me once again. I could feel my strength fading. "Sherlock…" I breathed, "It hurts."  He crouched down beside me and replied "I know, John. Don't worry. The ambulance will come soon, and you'll be fine. I know you will." I felt my body begin to slump against the chair, and my eyelids became heavy. There were voices, but they seemed so insignificant, so far away. There was red. Blood everywhere. I couldn't stop it. The blood kept coming. In a world of pain, I felt the worst. The red, the pain, darkness. Welcome darkness…