White room or darkness

(sequel to 'My light' and 'The long way home')

John POV:

I hate this room more than I ever thought was possible to hate a thing just for being there. I hate this cold hopeless atmosphere, the white walls and these bedsheets. There are not soft enough not as soft as the ones at home, the ones Sherlock was used to. But Sherlock hadn't complain about the softness of the bedsheets or about the dullness of the room or the steady stream of people who walk into the room; Nurses, doctors, visitor, the cleaning stuff and once a lost child looking for his grandfather (he was on the wrong floor). Sherlock was still sleeping not caring for the world around him. The only real sign that he was alive was the load beeping sound of the heart monitor.

I have to sigh again and hating myself for being inpatient, Sherlock´s doctor (a specialist Mycroft had picked) wasn't worried about the fact that his friend was still sleeping. He hadn't woken once since the short moment in the cell back in Serbia where his eyes had needed far too long to focus and were shut before he had been able to answer the smile probably.

My hand around Sherlock´s gets tighter and I had to let go for a moment to collect myself. 'Sherlock will wake up, he will be fine and I will hit him for letting me behind' after his wounds are healed of course. I´m not a monster, I´m just a very hurt and a bit angry human being that will tell his friend that this is not the kind of behavior you should have as a friend.

I had to take Sherlock´s hand again to make sure it was still warm. I need it since the moment as I walked into the cell. I need to feel him alive. Before … before the fall we were not the kind of friends who hug each other or have to touch but now I feel lost without his hand.

"Hope you don't mind me holding you hand. If you do you can just wake up and tell me to let go." I tell a still sleeping Sherlock. I´m often doing that, talking. First day I felt a bit stupid but not anymore. This is my friend in front of me. My friend who needs me to reminds him of a world outside of the pain. Hopefully he still remembers that there is an outside of the cell.

When I think about the weeks he had spent down in this hell howl I feel nausea again. Not that I would show it to Sherlock but his body looks worse than I had imagine down there. After cleaning and treating all his injuries I saw his medical records and that sends me to the toilet. When Sherlock wakes up and his wounds are healed he will need help, probably. A different kind of help I can´t provide. There is no way someone would survive that without getting at least a few scratch on his psych.

I will stay on his side and will help him in any way he needs it. There is no way he will be able to let me behind again. I will stay here right to his side, whatever happens.

"Do you hear me you stubborn, childish, arrogant …caring idiot. Come back to me and open you damn eyes. I want to tell you that I´m here for you and that you better get used to that. I won´t let you go again. Please Sherlock come back to me. Please give me another miracle." All the pleading doesn't change Sherlock´s condition, he is just lying in his hospital bed, eyes closed and connected to machines who keep him alive. So I begin to sum my old childhood songs my mum used to sing for me. Sometimes I don't have words to say and to fill the silence I sing or better sum. Not everyone needs to hear me except Sherlock, Sherlock who is alive. The most important thing right now. Sherlock Holmes is alive, next to me and at least physical on the way to getting better.

Sherlock POV:

I don't need to open my eyes to know that I´m back in the dark room in my Mind Palace. I´m safe here, no one can reach into this room. Outside this room in the sad reminds of my Mind Palace, there they can hurt me; pull me out back into the cell, back to the pain. But inside this room I´m safe. The darkness surrounds me; I can feel the wall behind me, sitting in one of the corners again and my knees pulled up to my chest, hugging them with my arms. The only thing that is missing is John. He was always here with me, calling my name, asking for his miracle and keeping me company when I´m lonely. But he is gone like everything else.

Only the dark room which protects me is still here. If I´m lucky they will kill me before they are able to pull me out. I´m so tired of pain and being hurt. But without John´s voice it doesn't feel warm anymore. It was just a matter of time that I would lose his voice; I´ve wondered that it had taken so long anyway but now it´s gone. John is gone, I´m alone.

Silent tears run down my face, I try to remember his voice, his face, a smile anything. The last picture of him must be a dream, he coming into hell to save me, he called my name but it was just a dream, a dream or a wish. John can´t come to save me, he doesn't know I´m still alive. I let him behind so he was safe, I left him behind and now I get my punishment. The last picture of him is a blur version of him saving me, like he did it so many times.

…my light. If I would ever call him that he would laugh at me. He still things I´m the one who saved him from a bullet he had planned to put in his brain but John was strong and stubborn and caring, he wouldn't do that to his family or give up on life. He had lived without meeting me. But I, I would have died, if not by the cabby case than later on some stupid idea of mine or I had taken drugs again just to forget the world for a bit.

John had saved me constantly, alone was not what protect me it was John. John who stood up for me against Donavan and Anderson, he had laughed with me about things no one else understands. John who shows me that life isn't suffering and now I lost the last bit of him. The dark room was empty and I was alone. I will stay in here for the rest of my probably very short life.

John POV:
"Do something Mycroft. He isn't waking up. You have to help him." I started to shout, not the first time during Sherlock´s hospital stay but even the most patient man starts to shout if something need to be done and no one listens to you.

"Dr. Watson please calm down. There is no use in disturbing other patient. I have already consulted every doctor in the country. Sherlock is physical able to wake up. There is something else that keeps him unconscious and we both can imagine what that might be." Mycroft look at least a bit sorry because it was partly his fault that his brother was tortured in the first place. He was the one who had given the information about Sherlock to Moriarty. But before I could say what I want to say in my angry and desperate mood, Mycroft steps closer to Sherlock and takes a lock at of his brother's face, looking defeated.

"Wake up brother mine. You are needed here." It was a bit heartbroken to watch' mister ice man' to have tears in his eyes but John wouldn't leave not even for a private moment between two brothers, except both would tell him to. But without Sherlock waking up there was no one who could make him let go of this hand longer then the two minutes he need for a run to the toilet.

"John." I look back to Mycroft. Using my first name is not really helping but it let me at least stop the shouting. "Yes Mycroft?" Meeting his eyes and a tear falls down.

"My brother will wake up; there is no doubt about it. Please make sure you will be there. You were always the only one my brother deeply cared for. Don't let this hand of his go." He didn't need to tell me this but I nodded, not for his sake, not really.

Sherlock POV:

It doesn't feel that cold anymore, not that I would mind, it doesn't matter. But something wasn't right … more wrong then normally. The body part which was really warm was my hand. Sometimes it feels like someone is holding it but I have to fear that the Serbian soldiers are hurting me right now. Burning my hand or chopping of fingers or acid. It´s amazing how creative people can be if the task is to hurt another.

Sighing I hold my hand closer to me. It won´t be for much use anymore. Dying makes you a bit not good. I should care about what they do to me. I should care and do something so that I can go home to John, to see the real John again. I promised him a miracle and I had intended to keep it.

My light will be very sad if I die.

… He thinks I´m already dead it won´t make a difference to him.

I miss his smile and his protective side and his tea and his presence. I miss how he can explain people's emotions to me without making me feel like a freak. I miss his angry outburst to the injustice of the world. I miss how he manages to chase away all the demons that follow me my whole life.

I miss you John.

…wake up. Please Sherlock wake up." I had to open my eyes. That was John´s voice, here in my safe room where nothing from the outside world should reach me. That means there is still a bit of my John in this room left. It sounds small like a lost child. Not like my strong and brave soldier. A left over of a memory that calls me, like in my dream.

"Sherlock, open your eyes. You are safe, back in London. Come back to me." John´s voice gets more intense. But these words are strange. Why should John say he is saved? How could he be safe in this cell? There is no way he is back in London. There is absolutely no way John is here with him. The already warm hand gets warmer, nearly hot but not pain like hot. It feels good.

My eyes are still open even if the darkness had eaten all light to protect me inside myself. But as I look down where my warm hand should be I see it. There is another hand holding my and I can see it because the hand who is holding mine is glowing.

"Sherlock it´s me John, come back to me."

"Sherlock I know you are not the one for touching but if you want me to let go of your hand you have to tell me that. So wake up."

"Sherlock I don't know how long I can keep myself from biting of your doctors head, or you brother´s dependent on who pisses me off more that day. They all say you are able to wake up. I´m a doctor I know that too. But it would be nice of you to prove it."

"Sherlock wake up."

John´s words float around me. It´s like waves which filling the room with John´s voice, John´s words and more important John´s light, he is filling the darkness with his light. The things he said, the still glowing hand on mine. John must be close, he has to. Or I just start to lose it. … lose it more than already.

Surrounded by John´s warm present I know now it the time to make a decision. I have to choose to believe that I was saved and are somewhere with John or my mind is playing a trick and when I wake up I will be back in the cell with the man who tortures me right now.

Not really an easy thing to do. How broken is my mind to play that kind of trick on me? Thinking about how insane I am, is probably insane too. But it wasn't really a decision to make. If John was with me and asks me to wake up. I would do it and if I´m insane and back in the cell there would be no difference. Than I have still three options left: Die, go back to the darkness in my mind palace or talk. Number three is out of question, one and two depends on my condition.

To get out here I should start to unlock the door again. John is still calling me and holding my hand. I guess if I´m safe we have to talk about it.

The lock is gone and I follow the light, my light the way out of my self-made prison of darkness.

John POV:

My voice got raspy and painful around an hour ago but what else could I do. There was nothing left to do then to talk to Sherlock, to call his name, to ask him to wake up even to bait him. I guess the nurses and doctors are all at the point to call us a couple. But if he wakes up it´s the last thing I would care about I only want him to wake up.

"Sherlock wake up." I hold his hand tighter and nearly start to fear I would hurt him or crash it but he has to tell me to stop holding his hands before I will let go.

Suddenly there was a change on the heart monitor. The rhythmic beating of Sherlock´s heart had increased. My eyes flicker from the monitor to Sherlock and sees for the first time since the day in the cell Sherlock´s beautiful blue-green eyes. He needed a few seconds to focus and looking around the room but his search ends with me. We lock our eyes and see the other person. Not half dead after torture or pumped up with adrenalin from panic and fear. There we were; we both against the world. I had to smile a bit, not too much but enough to get the message to him.

After looking in each other´s eyes I had to say something to make it real. "I asked you to stop being dead." Sherlock look changed from open and neutral to serious.

"I heard you."