When the world crumbled around them, a once-army doctor was laid in his bed, eyes closed and sleep heavy, unaware of the destruction that surrounded them and his roommate played a sober tune on his violin.

They noticed Mrs. Hudson's absence first.
She never arrived back at the flat after an errand run.
For the first hour, they didn't miss her.
The second hour, the usual time when she would visit with tea and biscuits for the two, the doctor started to feel uneasy.
The third hour is when the detective placed his violin in the case and flipped his coat collar up and promptly stepped into the world.
The doctor followed.
This was the first mistake.

They should have never left.

Outside, it was gloomy and a slight chill hung over them.
The streets were empty.
They couldn't hail a cab.
They walked.
No words were said and nothing was exchanged between the two. Only the small look of worry from the doctor and the crease on the detectives forehead was communicated.


The tall man, the detective, slipped his phone out from his pocket.

Mycroft Holmes lit brightly on the screen.

A small, tense hello and then soft murmurings from the two brothers filled the air. John listened on quietly. It was several minutes in the phone call when the conversation turned heated.
"That's not possible-they don't exist, Mycroft!"
He hung up for the last time.
That's when they lost the British Government; or, more, per say, Mycroft.
They hadn't known, unprepared and lost.
They weren't welcomed in this world anymore.

Keyboards were dialed and people were called.
No one picked up, no voices were head except for the two.
The Army Doctor and The Consulting Detective.
And maybe, it wouldn't be so bad after all.

The first one they saw, they watched from the window above as it aimed around the city; wanderlust gone and only going through the motions now.


It fell with a shot.

John held the gun in hand.

Sherlock played the violin.

Almost like old times.

The days started to blur together and time started to blend and soon weeks passed.
It didn't feel like it.

Spring rolled around and so did their life. It was a small mistake but it cost them their flat.
The dead infiltrated.
They found Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen.
What was left of her anyway.

They took refuge in the park for several hours. The small moments of peace was like a breath of fresh air. It would be the last one for awhile.

By the second month, they were like veterans.
Two oiled machines that didn't go without the other.
They danced around deaths flames and played with their victory.
It wasn't going to be too long before they were burned.

The fifth month, they were the only ones.
They didn't mind.
The blood pumping through their ears and the thrill of being alive in this world, surviving was too great.
They chased after each other, blood staining them from head to toe and feeling on top of the world.

A year they survived in this hell.
One year, three days and six minutes.
Always running, never stopping.
Until now.
The doctor made a mistake and it cost him.
It was okay though.
They went down with a bang.
But they ended with a whisper.

"No no no, goddammit Sherlock. I was gone for five minutes. Five." The short doctor didn't falter when he spoke to the corpse that resembled his friend. Resembled, because it was not Sherlock, Sherlock was dead long before he turned into this mindless body that stood before him.

His blue scarf still wrapped around his neck in his usual fashion and his curly black hair piled nicely atop his head, he could almost pass as the arrogant arse John bad come to know; Had come to know and had come to love.

His arm shook slightly as he pointed the gun at Sherlock's head. The corpse didn't react and instead moved forward.

"It always ends like this, doesn't it Sherlock? With me crying over your bloody body because you were stupid." A bitter laugh fell out and suddenly John wasn't sure why he bothered anymore. "Not this time though; I'm done picking up the pieces, Sherlock, I was an idiot, still am. But this? This is the edge and I'm falling down." He took a deep breath, aimed and pulled the trigger.

A shot rang out.
And it was echoed twice in the night.

Gave a shot at writing a zombie apocalypse AU! I've never actually wrote a Sherlock fic alone before haha but I think I should because this was fun! First attempt at portraying BBC's version of these two, tell me how I did!

Opinions? Thoughts? Reviews are welcome!