Slowly, Sherlock stood, training his face into an impassive mask. It was the second time he'd had to witness John dying and it was not any easier than the first. He stood, completely still and silent, flexing his fingers before curling them in a tight fist and then flexing them again.

He sucked in a breath, looked back in the direction of the cornucopia, and past that, Howard and Wyatt.

He was under no illusions now that Wyatt was suffering from the same thing that John was - that Howard would be soon left there alone with a lifeless body next to him. They'd come pick up the corpses soon, he knew that much, but that didn't mean he should waste time. John would be able to see everything from the other side, so leaving Howard alone was not an option. Damn, damn, damn. All his plans---

He broke into a run.