A/N: hey all, so here's my new venture, I have not stopped writing 'It takes John Watson to save your life' but this is a spin off from it all about the recoveries. The stories may just be one off chapters and others multiple you enjoy.

First chapter, awakening in hospital after chapter one 'bothersome trees'.


Chapter 1 - Awakening

John Watson stood at the foot of the hospital bed with his arms folded in discontent. He had been allowed to accompany his best friend in recovery after his surgery. Something told him that Mycroft Holmes has something to do with this, and although partly annoyed by big brother sticking his nose in again he was thankful to be here because Sherlock Holmes waking from major surgery never went well.

The detective was propped up slightly on the bed, his blackening eyes still restfully closed and an oxygen mask strapped to his face. John was expecting him to wake up any time. The anaesthetic infusions and drugs had been stopped not so long ago and going by the man's track record of drug use he would fight of their effects in no time. John pursed his lips in both annoyance and worry, narrowing his eyes as he watched Sherlock's hand twitch slightly, his pulse oxymeter clearly agitating him. His other hand was now snugly in a plaster cast; so much for just a sprained wrist. John sighed. The emergency doctors had been horrified but the categorical amount of blunt force trauma injuries, Sherlock must have taken quite a beating from the suspect before they both fell from the building. John shuddered visibly, why had he gone out on the case with without him?

The detective let out a weak cough from the bed followed by a low groan. His eyes flickered open then closed again quickly. His free hand grasped for the mask but missed by a mile. He was silent for a moment and his breathing evened out somewhat, head rolling a little to the side. The doctor watched him for some minutes.

"If you're waiting for me to leave so you can make your escape, you can think again." John stepped closer to the side of the bed, he had picked up enough deducing abilities from his best friend by now, "I know your not sleeping so you might as well open your eyes."

"How?" The younger man croaked, his eyes cracking open blearily, he quickly managed to pull the mask from his face letting it rest on his neck.

"I'm a doctor, I can tell when someone's pretending to sleep Sherlock, I'm not that much of an idiot."

"I wouldn't say that much." The detective coughed again, throat irritated by the recent breathing tube. He winced, his face screwing tightly into a grimace before he stifled another moan.

"Hurts does it?" John said harshly, "well that's what you get when you rupture your spleen, then have someone slice you open to repair it." He added.

Sherlock shot him a death glare, even in his drugged state it was one stare that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of, but the doctor shook it off like nothing. His own anger was seething internally.

"You're bloody lucky you didn't actually lose your spleen!" He cried, "they nearly had to remove it."

"Oh well, I'm sure I could have used it for an experiment, I need to look into the..."

"Sherlock!" John was trying to hold his fury back but it was proving more than a little difficult. "It's not a bloody game. Do you have any idea how close you were to dying!?" The last word broke slightly on his voice but his eyes gave a glare back to his friend.

"Well I didn't did I?" Sherlock smiled.

"You unbelievable bastard." John growled, rounding on the bed and placing two fisted hands onto the white covers, his face was filled with infuriation.

"You're unimpressed?" The detective replied plainly.

"Oh I'm more than unimpressed Sherlock, to say I was livid would be an understatement" John inhaled deeply, trying regain a little composure.

"I don't understand?" The detective furrowed his brows, "why would you be angry?" He braced his hand on the side of the bed and slowly tried to pull himself into a more upright position. But as his body bent a little he let out a choked and strangled howl. His breath hitched in agony.

"Don't do that." John said simply, the deep frown in his face softening, he pulled the oxygen mask up and replaced it over his friend mouth and nose. "Let me see about getting you some more pain relief."

"Why?" Came a muffled voice from beneath the plastic.

"Because despite being angry at you I still care." The doctor snapped, turning to leave, "don't you dare move a muscle." He skipped out the room in a flash, catching a nurse in the corridor outside and collaring her for a doctor. She went rushing off in search of one immediately.

When John hurried back inside the small private room he found the detective already with his bare feet half way to the floor, the pulse oximetry probe and oxygen mask discarded and the giving set to one infusion pump straining from the distance it was now having to stretch.

"What the fuck are you doing!" John was on his friend in a second. Sherlock already had his eyes tightly closed, he heaved in heavy breaths and with each exhale let out a strained moan of pain. The sound made the doctors heart break. "Lie back." He said firmly, grasping his friend's upper arms gently he tried to push the detective down but was met by shuddering resistance.

"Can't." Sherlock grunted, leaning some of his weight into his best friend. "Hurts John." He murmured meekly.

"Then hold tight for a second." John said sadly, "the doctor is on his way with something for the pain alright."

"No." the detective sounded like a child. "I don't want it." He gasped and shook a little and John held him steady as a wave of pain seemed to go through him making him cry out again.

"Tough, you're getting it." The doctor grimaced at his friend's agony, he retrieved the oxygen mask from the bed and gently replaced it yet again to its rightful spot. "I'm not having you like this."

"But... disappointed." Sherlock groaned into his friend's chest, he was now fully leaning on John for support, his good hand clinging tightly to the other man's clothes in desperation.

"What?" The doctor almost laughed, "Sherlock?" He was perplexed a little, "I'm not disappointed if you take drugs because you're in pain."

The younger man didn't answer, shuddering and clearly overtaken with pain he continued his weak whimpering with each exhale like a beaten dog. All John could do was hold still for the time being, he carefully wrapped his arms around his friend, mindful of the surgery site and potentially causing more agony to him. Sherlock's eyes were closed tightly, lines of pain surrounding them, his jaw clenched and unclenched against the pain.

"Just hang on a moment, won't be long I promise." John ran his hand through his best friend's unruly and knotted curls in a bid to comfort him.

It turned out to be more than a moment. It was well over five minutes before a doctor appeared through the door with a tray of medications and syringes in hand. The department was clearly stretched thin at this time of night, John looked at the clock on the wall which read 3.48am. He glanced down at the curls under his chin. Sherlock had either passed out or fallen asleep in his arms, which one John couldn't tell. The doctors own arms were beginning to shake from the strain of holding the lanky figure in position, too concerned that moving the detective would cause more pain and agony.

"What happened?" The young doctor asked as she drew up a vial of morphine and then another. She eyed the pair of them with curiosity, John knew they were about to become a topic of conversation over nurses station.

"He tried to get out of bed." John replied finally, feeling a little awkward with his friend's slumped figure in his arms.

"Well next time make sure he stays in bed." She berated.

John stifled a laugh at this but as his body gave a short jerk his friend moaned out in agony, body tensing, "sorry." He whispered.

The young doctor checked the detectives intravenous catheter which seemed to still be in situ despite the strain it was under. Slowly she injected the opioid into the line and John felt his friend's body begin to relax again, he took the opportunity to lower him back to the cot. Gently his head fell back against the pillow, blackened bruising stark against his pale skin.

"Stupid cock." John growled, pulling the lanky mans legs back up onto the bed before covering them with the blanket. He turned to the doctor. "Unless you want him doing that again then I suggest you don't just keep him well analgesed but sedated too for at least 24 hours, perhaps some midazolam added into the mix wouldn't go amiss."

The doctor didn't reply but simply bowed her head in agreement and left the room.

John slumped into the chair next to the bedside, spent. He had been waiting around for nearly five hours since they had arrived at the emergency department. Sherlock had been rushed off almost immediately for surgery upon arrival and John had had nothing left to do except wait around and worry. He had dared not leave for fear of the worst happening, he was a doctor and well aware of prognosis of internal bleeding, so fear had gripped him for hours while awaiting news. Now that Sherlock was in recovery the tension within him left a little, as did his energy it seems. He was glad to have his friend back awake again even if he was in a considerable amount of pain. Sherlock was alive, and to John this was first and foremost the most important thing.

"You're an absolute moron do you know that?" He turned to the sleeping detective, despite the many bruises littering his skin and multiple catheters and monitors his friend actually looked somewhat peaceful. "I really wish you were a little more thoughtful about what you get yourself into, or at least consider letting me know." He looked up to the monitors, happy to see the numbers green and within normal limits, for once the detective was recovering by the book.

Happy with Sherlock's perimeters John sat back letting his eyes slip closed, he was beyond exhausted.

He must have drifted off because the next thing he realised was he was being shaken gently awake by a familiar face.

"Bloody hell John have you been here all night?" Lestrade was bent over him. "Actually don't answer that, I know you have." He smiled sadly.

"Eh." The doctor blinked awake and looked around the room quickly re-orienting himself with his surroundings before letting his gaze fall back on his friend, still fast asleep it seemed. "I guess so." He stretched, "what's the time?"

"9.35am." Greg looked at his watch before offering John warm takeaway cup. "I brought you some coffee." He offered, "thought you might be here."

"Oh, thanks." The doctor took the beverage and cupped it in his palms, he stared at it.

"How's he doing?" The inspector looked on at the younger man covered by the blankets, the nurses had clearly been by to make him more comfortable. He was tucked into the covers

John rubbed his eyes and exhaled. "Ruptured spleen, they managed to repair it thank god." He took a long gulp of the coffee and relished in the caffeine and strong smell hitting his sinus's. "Fractured wrist too, even though he insisted just a sprain, cracked ribs, multiple contusions. Bloody cock." He swore, suddenly aware of the sedative infusing into the detectives IV line. "Thankfully they've sedated him for now, he's already tried to get out of bed once."

"Christ." Lestrade frowned, "when will he ever learn."

"How's the suspect?" John asked, raising from the chair with a groan, his muscles stiff and sore.

"Not good." Greg grimaced, "multiple injuries including a severe head injury, they're not even sure if he'll regain consciousness."

"Huh." The doctor swayed a little on the spot, his eyes drooping despite the coffee.

"Go home John." Lestrade could see the tiredness of the doctor. "Get some more sleep, have a shower and some food. I'll keep an eye on him."

"Sure?" John furrowed his brow and stared at the detective in the bed sleeping soundly, he was pretty happy that the man truly was sleeping this time, the trickle of drugs doing the job.

"Your a wreck mate," Greg replied, "honestly, I'll call you if there's any change, take a break."

John hesitated, suddenly feeling exhausted, a few hours sleeping in a chair had done nothing for his aching body. "Okay." He finally replied, "but I'll be back later, and you call me straight away if there's any change right."

"Of course." Lestrade settled himself into John's chair, setting down his own coffee and bag. "I promise, but please go home and get some rest."

The doctor relented, "thank you." He smiled, "I won't be long."