Sherlock sat by the hospital bed, looking at the burns on John's body. He had gotten too wrapped up in his last case. He had ignored his own safety. More importantly, John was in a coma because he had saved Sherlock.
John had tried to push him away from a molotov cocktail the arsonist had thrown. He had gotten hit with the brunt of the blast instead of Sherlock.
The arsonist had burned himself alive, chanting to some god he called Firehawk. He had been part of a cult.
Sherlock placed his hand on John's arm, one of the only places that wasn't covered in angry burns on the man.
"John... I won't apologize. I don't think you would appreciate that. A nurse told me you can hear me. So, instead, I want to thank you. You constantly throw yourself into danger to save me... But you haven't just saved my life. You save my humanity daily. You remind me to be human. You've made each day worth living. Even when there isn't a case going on." Sherlock stopped, his head lowered.
He used to say he was a sociopath, but John had made him care about people. Specifically, John and Mrs. Hudson. Maybe even Geoff? Was that Lestrade's first name? It didn't matter.
"John, I love you," he murmured.
A moment later, John's closed eyes twitched as the man started to stir.