Based on this drawing: consulting-homosexual{dot}tumblr{dot}com/post/75629634873/anonymous-asked-you-drawimg-prompt-sherlock
Not beta'd - all mistakes are a result of writing this late at night :) Also, I don't know how the UK health system works. The only experience I have is in the US.
John paces the flat nervously rubbing his swollen midsection. Sherlock was supposed to have been home an hour ago and he wasn't responding to any of John's texts. Molly said he'd left Barts with Greg but planned to be home soon. There had been plenty of instances when Sherlock would get distracted by a case or experiment, losing track of time. However, as John approached his due date Sherlock's instincts were kicking in and his times away from the flat had become fewer and fewer.
John's nerves are only compounded by the pregnancy hormones raging through his body. He had been trying to keep busy in an attempt not to think of the worst case scenarios. Unfortunately, his mind had other plans. It's racing with the possibilities of where Sherlock could be or what might have happened to him. He's been fighting the urge to call Greg, knowing that there's a perfectly logical explanation for Sherlock's absence. On the other hand, if something had happened he was wasting valuable time. Finally, John relents and calls Greg. He picks up after the third ring.
"Hey John," Greg greets, "how are you and the little one doing?"
"We're both well, thanks Greg," John responds, "is Sherlock still with you?"
"No he left a little over an hour ago. Said he was headed home. He's not there?"
"No, he didn't make it home and he's not responding to any texts. He didn't mention wanting to go anywhere else?"
"Not that I can remember. He's been nervous all day. Rushing through everything. I assumed it was because he wanted to get back to you. Have you tried Mycroft?"
"Not yet. I figured he got distracted. I guess I'll be calling him next."
"Okay. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Let me know when you find him, yeah?"
" 'Course, Greg. Thanks, mate." John hangs up the phone and the gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach is growing steadily. He's trying not to get too upset, knowing it's not good for the baby. He scrolls down to Mycroft's number in his mobile, one he rarely uses. His left hand rests on the top of his bump as he brings his mobile to his ear. Unlike Greg, Mycroft picks up immediately after the first ring.
"Good evening, brother-in-law. To what do I owe the pleasure of your phone call?"
"Do you know where Sherlock is? He left the Yard over an hour ago and never made it back to the flat." John doesn't bother with pleasantries. His worry is getting the better of him and panic is starting to creep in at the edges.
"Contrary to popular belief I have not employed a 24/7 tail on my younger brother." Mycroft's nonchalance agitates John.
"Could you please try to locate him?" John grits through clenched teeth. "I'm beginning to get worried."
"I'll do my best, John. Try not to upset yourself. I've heard high blood pressure can be detrimental to fetal development. I wouldn't want my niece or nephew to suffer for my brothers blithe disregard of spousal communication."
"Thank you, Mycroft. I'll keep that in mind." John hangs up before Mycroft can offer any more advice.
John sits down on the couch, his chair has become more and more difficult to use as his pregnancy progressed. The baby decides at that moment to unleash a series of particularly vicious kicks, seeming to indicate his or her dislike for sitting down. Heaven help John if this baby turned out to inherit Sherlock's tendencies when bored.
"Calm down you," John scolds, resuming his strokes, "Papa just needs a quick rest. Your Daddy is driving me crazy."
John's mind wanders for a bit, trying to think of what could possibly have kept Sherlock from returning home. He is pulled from his thoughts by the ringing of his mobile. He answers, assuming it's Mycroft.
"That was quick," John muses.
"Is this John Watson-Holmes?" The unfamiliar voice startles John. He looks at the screen of his mobile but doesn't recognize the number.
"Yes," he replies cautiously, "who is this?"
"I'm Alice Taylor from Barts A&E," John's stomach twists. "Your husband was in an accident and has been brought in -"
"I'll be right there." John cuts her off and hangs up before he can hear anymore. He's scrambling for his wallet and coat, tugging on his shoes and searching for his keys simultaneously. He's nearly out the door when he remembers Greg and Mycroft. He calls Mycroft first and he starts to hail a cab. John doesn't let him speak when he picks up.
"Sherlock's been in an accident and taken to Barts. I don't know anything else."
"I'll be there shortly," is Mycroft's clipped response. A cab pulls up to the curb and John climbs in carefully.
"Barts Hospital, please," John requests without even looking up from his phone.
"Congratulations!" exclaims the cabbie. John looks up confused with the mobile pressed to his ear.
"Oh, no, no, no!" he hastily corrects the cabbie as he realizes. "I'm not in labour. My husband's in the A&E." Thankfully, John's saved from any further conversation as Greg answers his phone.
"Where was the cheeky git this time?" Greg jokes.
"There's been an accident Greg. I just got a call from Barts A&E." John's voice is shaking now. He's on the verge of a collapse.
"Where are you?" Greg demands.
"In a cab, on the way to hospital. Can you come?" The thought of waiting around with Mycroft is almost as terrifying to John as the thought of Sherlock critically injured.
"I'm on my way." Greg doesn't bother telling John that everything's going to be okay because they both know it might very well not.
After the longest 15 minutes of John's life the cab pulls up to the entrance. John pays the cabbie quickly, not bothering to engage in any more conversation. He walks as fast as he possibly can with his protruding middle passed reception and straight to the nurses' station.
"Excuse me," he addresses one of the nurses briskly, "I'm looking for Sherlock Watson-Holmes?" John wants to shout and make demands but he knows that would only slow things down. The doe-eyed nurse, clearly still a trainee, looks to the others for help. One of the other nurses responds.
"Are you John?" she asks.
"Yes, he's my husband. Can you tell me what's happened?"
"My name's Alice. I'm the one who called you. All I know is that he was in an automobile accident and is being treated for multiple trauma injuries. I can show you the waiting area," she glances down at his belly, "and find a doctor to fill you in."
"Thank you, Alice." John breathes a sigh of relief. At least they're not being difficult. He follows her back to the main waiting area.
"Would you like me to fetch you something to drink and maybe a bite to eat?" she inquires.
"No thank you, I'm fine. I just would like to speak to the doctor." John's legs bounce up and down nervously.
"Okay, I'll bring someone back as soon as I can." As Alice returns to the nurses' station John spots Greg and Mycroft walking through the entrance. He stands up, getting reading to call out their names. Before he has the chance, they see him and walk towards him.
"What happened?" Greg asks as soon as he's within earshot.
"I don't know. The nurse said he was in an car accident. She's going to get the doctor now." The trio sits down. "I knew something was wrong. I could feel it."
"John, you know this isn't you're fault," Greg reassures.
"Of course, I bloody know that," John snaps. His legs resume bouncing and his hands are fidgety, trying to distract himself from the terror of not knowing. The three of them sit in silence. Greg's mouth opens and shuts a few times, as if he's going to say something but nothing every comes out. Finally, Alice returns with a doctor. He looks quite young, especially without the white coat. John silently hopes that the reason he's out here is because the senior doctor is working furiously to save his husband's life.
"Mr. Watson-Holmes?" he asks. All three of the men stand up.
"That's me," John answers.
"It's Doctor Watson-Holmes," Mycroft adds.
"Ignore him," John states as he rolls his eyes.
"Apologies, Dr. Watson-Holmes. My name is Dr. Robinson and I've been helping treat your husband since he arrived."
"Can you tell me what happened?" John pleads.
"Your husband's cab was involved in an automobile accident. The other car struck the cab on the side your husband was sitting causing numerous injuries." Dr. Robinson explains.
"Is he conscious? What's his GCS? Is he breathing on his own? Does he have a spinal injury? What about swelling in his brain?" John is talking himself out of breath.
"Dr. Watson-Holmes, I need you to calm down." Dr. Robinson turns to Alice and asks, "Can you fetch some water?" Alice nods and walks away. Mycroft and Greg ease John back down into the chair.
"Take some deep breaths for me," Dr. Robinson instructs. John concentrates on breathing for a moment and then looks up ready to ask another question.
"I'll explain and answer your questions, as soon as I'm sure you're okay," Dr. Robinson preemptively replies. Alice returns with a small cup of water. John takes a few sips and looks to Dr. Robinson once again.
"His GCS was a 5 when he was brought in and he's remained unconscious the entire time. He is breathing on his own but we had to insert a chest tube. We were able to take off the neck collar after his films came back clear. They're taking him up to CT now for a head and abdomen scan. They suspect some swelling in his brain as well as some internal bleeding. He'll most likely need surgery to repair his punctured lung and repair the cause of the bleeding in his abdomen. I can take you up to the surgical waiting area, if you'd like."
John cups his hands around his mouth and nose. His mind is trying to absorb all of the information. After a few moments he manages to nod his head. Greg and Mycroft sit in stunned silence, unable to interpret some of what the doctor had said. The group make their way silently to the surgical waiting area. The room was smaller with fewer people.
"I'll just let the nurses know you're here and one of the surgeons will update you as soon as possible." Dr. Robinson turns and leaves. John leans back and closes his eyes, letting out a long breath.
"I assume you understood everything Dr. Robinson said," Mycroft breaks the silence.
"Yeah...oh, yeah...sorry," John opens his eyes and transitions into full doctor mode. "A GCS is used to measure a patients consciousness. Anything 5 or below is considered severe. If they had to put in a chest tube, it most likely means his lung collapsed but they said he's breathing on his own so that's...good. There's no sign of a spinal injury so we dodged a bullet there. They're doing a scan to determine the reasons behind his sustained unconsciousness and internal bleeding." Mycroft and Greg's expressions grow grimmer as John explains. "Oh, God" John chokes. He's about to lose it. His head is filling with images of Sherlock open on the operating table, being taken apart and put back together.
"Hey," Greg tries to get his attention. "Look at me," he commands firmly. "Sherlock is going to be fine. He's survived much worse than this." John nods his head, hoping to convince himself. The baby kicks, reminding John of his or her presence.
"It's going to be okay," he soothes, himself or the baby he's not sure. "It's all going to be okay."
The next few hours pass in silence. John, Mycroft and Greg watch as surgeons come in to deliver both good and bad news to other waiting families. John can't seem to sit still. He's up every 10 minutes, puttering around, trying to keep himself busy.
"Sit down, John," Mycroft orders. "You're giving me a headache with all your pacing."
"I apologize for the inconvenience," John sneers.
"John, as much as I hate to admit it Mycroft's right," Greg ignores John's eye roll. "You can't help Sherlock by pacing and I'm sure the baby would appreciate it if his or her Papa wasn't so stressed." John begrudgingly sits back down. Not five minutes later the surgeon John assumes is Sherlock's, they are the last family left waiting, walks in. John's instantly back on his feet, ignoring the exasperated sighs of Mycroft and Greg.
"Dr. Watson-Holmes?" he asks.
"Yes?" John's sick of having to confirm his identity to every new doctor.
"I'm Doctor Parker, one of your husband's surgeons." He shakes John's hand.
"How is he?" John knows he won't be able to see Sherlock until he's out of recovery so there's no point in asking.
"He's stable and in recovery. We'll monitor him there for about an hour and then he'll be moved to the ICU. We repaired his punctured lung and had to preform a splenectomy and liver repair. The surgery went as well as could be expected. He lost a substantial amount of blood so we had to transfuse. However, providing there are no complications, he'll recover in the next couple of months. We do have accommodations for one family member to stay overnight. Other visitors must return during visiting hours."
"I'll stay," John volunteers. Sherlock's not out of the woods yet and John won't consider leaving his side.
"I'm not sure that's the best idea in your current condition, Dr. Watson-Holmes," Dr. Parker advises.
"He's my husband. I'm staying." John replies definitively. "Are there any signs on the CT of brain damage?"
"None that we could see. There is some swelling but we expect that will go down as his body recuperates. Do you have any other questions?"
John has numerous other questions but none that Dr. Parker could answer. John shakes his head.
"I'll have the nurse bring you to his room when he's brought down. If you think of any other questions have the nurse page me." Dr. Parker places a reassuring hand on John's shoulder. John looks up and offers him a weak smile. As soon as Dr. Parker exits John sinks back down into the chair.
"John, if Dr. Parker believes it unwise for you to be spending the night here then perhaps you should go sleep at home. I can remain and call you if there are any changes," Mycroft offers.
"I'm staying," John repeats, "I won't say it again." They lapse back into silence, having nothing to say.
John stands up as the nurse walks in an hour and a half later.
"He's stable and has been moved to his room. I can take you there now," she informs him. Greg stands up and pulls John into an embrace.
"I'll be back tomorrow, yeah? Take care of him." Greg goes about gathering his things as Mycroft stands.
"Please keep me updated," Mycroft requests.
"Of course," John promises. Greg and Mycroft leave and John follows the nurse out of the waiting room into the corridors. She leads him to Sherlock's room. John hesitates at the door, taking in a deep breath.
The first thing John notices is Sherlock doesn't look as awful as he expected. His faces has gash on his left cheek and some bruises. His left forearm is wrapped in bandages. John knows the real damage is beneath the sheets and hospital gown. Sherlock's torso is undoubtedly wrapped up.
"Just press the call button if you need anything," the nurse whispers as she leaves.
John notices the roll away bed set up between Sherlock's hospital bed and the window. He knows he should get some rest but he just wants to touch his husband, reassure himself that he's alive. He walks over to his husband's bed and sits down on the edge. He places one of his hands on Sherlock's arm. He lets out the breath he's been holding since he came in when he feels Sherlock's pulse beneath the skin of his delicate wrist. The exhaustion hits him like a freight train and John knows he needs to sleep. It's nearly half-one in the morning. John makes his way to his temporary bed and lays down, facing Sherlock. He curls one arm protectively around his bump and places the other underneath the pillow. A tear glides down his cheek as he closes his eyes and falls asleep.
It's the nurse's knock on he door in the morning that pulls him from his sleep. He sits straight up as she walks in the room.
"Sorry, love," she apologizes, "I didn't realize you were still asleep."
"No problem," John replies. He sits up on the bed and rubs his hands across his face.
"Would you like some breakfast?" she asks.
"If it's not too much trouble. I'd go out to get something but I don't want to leave him," John admits.
"I completely understand. I'll be back."
John stands up and makes for the bathroom to splash some water on his face. When he catches his reflection in the mirror, he spots the dark circles forming under his puffy eyes. He attempts to wash the stress away with some warm water and returns to his husband's side. He pulls up chair next to Sherlock's bed and sits down. He reaches up to Sherlock's head and beings to card his fingers through the curls.
"What's going on in there, love?" John asks, his voice breaking. "I know you're mind palace is interesting but it would be great if you could just check in so I know you're okay." John waits for the response he knows isn't going to come.
"I need you to come back to me, Sherlock. The baby needs you to come back," John whispers as he presses his forehead to Sherlock's. Then John allows himself to cry. All of the emotions bottled up from the last 20 hours come flooding out and he is helpless to stop them.
The next three days pass by in a blur of doctors, nurses, tests and fitful sleep. Greg, Mycroft, Molly and Mrs. Hudson all visit at some point. John's exhausted and on edge. The doctors and nurses try to placate him.
"He's doing well"
"He'll wake up when he's ready"
"Every case is different"
"We just have to wait"
John can't stand it anymore. He just wants his husband back.
It's on the afternoon of the fourth day that John finally sees signs that Sherlock might be waking up. He's reading children's books out loud to his bump, something normally done by Sherlock, and Sherlock's hand twitches. John's not sure whether it's simply a reflex or not so he waits. Sherlock's limbs continue to shift all afternoon. The doctor performs some simple tests at evening rounds and confirms that Sherlock is regaining consciousness.
"Time to wake up, you lazy bastard," John jokes, after the doctor leaves. John fights the urge to sleep, afraid that Sherlock will wake up with John next to him. Eventually, John falls asleep with his head resting on Sherlock's thigh. In the morning Sherlock still hasn't woken and John's hope begins to fade. The baby kicks rather forcefully, as if to scold John. John lifts up Sherlock's limp hand and places it over the spot where the baby just kicked.
"Your child is as stubborn as you are." The baby kicks again. "I'm just telling the truth," John laughs.
"Why is the baby mine only when he or she is being troublesome?" a raspy baritone asks.
John's head shoots up. He practically giggles with relief when he sees Sherlock's smirk and his eyes partially opened. John stand up, leans over the bed and kisses Sherlock.
"Jesus Christ, I was so worried," John murmurs against Sherlock's lips. "Thank God..."
"Water," Sherlock croaks.
"Your manners are intact as ever I can see," John teases as he reaches for a cup and water pitcher. After handing the cup to Sherlock, John remembers to hit the call button. A nurse appears seconds later.
"Glad you've decided to join us Mr. Watson-Holmes," the nurse says coming around the bed. She did a quick check of his vitals. "I'm going to call the doctor to come check on you," she stated and left.
The next couple hours were full of tests, scans and questions. John didn't care.
Sherlock was awake.
Everything was going to be okay.