A/N: Hey guys! This is going to be another story I will be starting to work on in the next month or two. I just wanted to get it posted because I was hoping for feed back to see if the storyline in Chapter One is compelling enough. There really isn't anything John/Lock in this chapter save for a singular kiss. But, this will be my first attempt at a true Slow Burn John/lock story. I've never been good at slow burns as I tend to let the characters lead the story and don't always plan out my plot in advance. Anyway, just wanted to get this up here.
Don't expect an update of chapter two for awhile because I have to finish several other stories or at the very least update them all.
FUTURE REFERENCE WARNINGS: JOHN/LOCK WHICH MEANS SLASH WHICH MEANS MALEXMALE LEMONS AND OTHER THINGS. TAME FOR NOW BUT WILL BE M RATED AND WILL TRY TO POST CHAPTERS REGULARLY WHEN I FINALLY FOCUS ON THIS STORY FULLY! FOR NOW CONSIDER THIS A "PREVIEW" UNTIL THE NEXT FOUR CHAPTERS ARE WRITTEN.
Also, I am not a medical person, not a doctor or nurse or anything. Everything in this story related to a person's health, surgery, legal matters are all based on LIGHT research only. Please do the proper amount of due diligence in regards to questions you may have as everything in here is very VERY loosely based on medical actuality and mostly just basic infor I looked up.
Chapter One
The Death of John Watson
In the entirety of the eight years that John Watson had known William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the world's greatest and only consulting detective, there had been many times where the man went above and beyond the call of duty.
Saving lives, solving insanely intricate crimes and going to such extreme lengths to do such things, that John often felt like the man had a death wish. Then again, in the eight years that John had known Sherlock, the man had been stabbed, shot, committed fake suicide, nearly drowned….twice….almost poisoned, nearly asphyxiated by a serial killer, almost blown up, almost drawn and quartered, hung, cannibalised, burned with acid, tortured, beaten, survived three separate car crashes and had nearly been buried alive in concrete.
All of these possible ways to die had come and gone with the best of them, none ever able to claim the life of Sherlock Holmes, and in John's mind, everytime Sherlock managed to walk away from some kind of sure fire death sentence, Death sat upon his throne and grew more and more frustrated. Those skeletal hands gripping some stereotypical weaponry, almost always a long handled scythe, and growling in agony at once again having missed his target by only inches.
So, on the day that John found himself becoming a human shield of sorts, he thought that perhaps, this was a chain of events that Death had put into play on the chess board of Sherlock's life.
For, in the grand scheme of things, over the past eight years, it was almost always John who had liberated Sherlock from so many of those possible ways to die. Either being the ace up Sherlock's sleeve and waiting patiently in the shadows to release Sherlock, or coming to find him in the knick of time and set him free or pull him from the fire.
So, in John's mind, as he lay on the street bleeding out from a bullet wound to the side and a knife wound to the ribs…..it's a long story…...he thinks this must be Death's long term goal. Kill John Watson and Sherlock Holmes will be right behind, the most difficult man to kill would be a sitting duck.
This theory, not random at all as John has mused over it for several years, comes to him in a flash as red and blue lights glow around him, the cold air gets pulled past his shuttering lips and down into his one remaining lung, the knife having done a good job at deflating the other.
He thinks, perhaps, it was the stupidest thing he could have done, but he wouldn't have changed his actions. No, because Sherlock Holmes needed to keep going, to save more lives, to solve more ridiculously intricate cases and continue to elude Death's obsessive grip.
"S-Sherlock….Sherlock, mate…..stop…." John urges, the man above him looking down with wide eyes and gritted teeth, determined to somehow elongate John's life though pressing on the wounds and stopping the blood flow. John, being an army doctor, knows damn well it's not going to happen. Blood loss, punctured lung, bullet to the side, choking on his own blood and suffocating slowly, the bullet had felt odd going in, not the same way as the one that had sent him home from military service. It was not the best way to go but….it's not so bad because he can look up into that face as he fades, see those bright blue eyes, those stupid cheekbones, the lips he has glanced at one too many times.
He raises a shaky hand, placing it on Sherlock's face, using his last remaining strength to pull Sherlock close as he whispers in his ear, "You be good, take care of Rosie. She's our daughter, Sherlock. Yours and mine and Mary's, tell her lots of stories about me, yeah? About Mary, make sure she knows us."
"Stop it-" Sherlock says abruptly and John chuckles, "Eh- it was bound to happen sometime S-Sherlock….Death wants you, I could only keep his greedy hands at bay so long...before….be….before….he would remove me so he could have you."
And Sherlock's eyes look into his with confusion and fear before John says softly, "Since I'm going first, I'll make sure he keeps his grubby hands off you as long as possible. But….watch your back….no unnecessary danger….can't promise Death won't outsmart me, but...I'll do my best."
"You're talking nonsense." Sherlock spouts, tears in his eyes as he sits up and looks off to someone, "Where the HELL is the ambulance, doesn't matter, Lestrade, bring me your car!"
"S-Sherlock, mate, I got one more thing...it's important." and John coughs, can feel the blood sputtering past his lips as the pain in his side presses him back to reality for a moment, gives him the few more minutes he needs to focus his thoughts.
"Help me get him in-"
"We shouldn't move him-"
"We don't have time!"
It's all just incoherent things, words that aren't quite registering but John is just barely aware that he is being lifted and the pain erupts, he lets out a yell, hands fisting at someone's coat.
"Lestrade, get in back, apply pressure to the wounds, I'm driving!"
John's eyes search for Sherlock, see the faded outline of silver hair and a familiar face, "Gre…..Gre…."
"Easy, John. Hold on, stay with us, mate! John? JOHN!"
"Where's…..Where's….Sher-"
Then it's bright lights, a thousand faces that smear and the chattering of animals that drives him to suddenly scream, "Sherlock!"
The smears seem to press back, are shoved away at his sudden yell and then he is there, sliding into view through the fog and John smiles as his weak hand raises, Sherlock's fingers threading through his own as John knows that when he goes, he wants to go looking at that face.
His fingers slide into hair, give the weakest pull as he brings lips to Sherlock's ear and whispers, "I love you, ya bloody idiot." and then he turns his head, bloody lips finding Sherlock's and giving them the soft kiss he has always thought about, but never…. he's glanced at those lips so many times...always wondered….but he'd never admit to it….
Having said his peace, having shared everything that was the most important to him, he lays his head back and says, "See you next time, mate." and then the world goes black and John Watson dies.
PAGE BREAK
The waiting room is silent, only the sounds of pacing feet as Sherlock crosses from one side to the other. Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Anderson and Mycroft all sitting around the edges in leather chairs of greater than average comfort.
Then again, this is one of those hospitals that is greater than average in their services. It's a private hospital, the one Mycroft, Sherlock and many of the higher ranking members of MI6 and other such groups use.
Privacy is a must here, and though the building looks average from the outside, the inside is full of secrets. There have been many great figures that have recovered here and walked these halls, found recovery, many special forces that have been revived or lost here. The rate of success outways the rate of loss and Sherlock had called in a favor to his brother to bring his friend to such an unknown place as this.
But all of that, it doesn't matter, all that matters is John. Sherlock's mind reels as he tries to come to terms with the fact that John Watson had just admitted to loving him, had given him a kiss goodbye before he had….you can't die, you won't...I don't like it, I won't allow it...I'll come find you in Hell, drag you back….you can't leave me….
John was in the Emergency Room now, the staff either trying to revive him or marking the time of death. But it had been nearly an hour and no one had come to speak with them. That was a good sign. The longer they were gone meant that they were still trying, still working to save him. There was still hope as long as the head doctor did not return.
"Stupidstupidstupid...IDIOT!" Sherlock suddenly screamed and he spun around and grabbed up a chair, flinging it across the room, everyone with him jumping or watching in surprise.
"You shouldn't have, it should have been me, you have a daughter! Rosie! Rosemund needs you! Selfish, stupid….idiot, idiot, IDIOT! I need you! I can't...I don't understand...I don't UNDERSTAND! Why, you deserve to live, you deserve to survive….idiotidiotIDIOT!" and Sherlock aims to grab another chair when a hand comes to his arm and he jerks to see Molly standing beside him, eyes red and puffy but face calm.
Slowly, over several seconds, she pulls his hands free from the wooden arms of the chair and brings him to stand.
Their eyes meet and she raises a hand, cups his face, runs a thumb over his lips as her brow furrows and she says softly, "Come with me." she takes his hand and guides him away from the others.
They enter into a unisex bathroom and she shuts the door, guiding him to the sink where she takes a perfectly folded white hand towel and gets it wet. She turns to him, Sherlock's sharp blue eyes watching her carefully as she reaches up a hand and starts to whip his lips.
His confusion is quelled when his eyes glance into the mirror, his hand raising to grab her wrist and stop her actions. Sherlock stares at the bloody kiss that John had left on his lips, sees another smear of blood where the man's hand had come to hold his face, specks resting like freckles across his cheeks from when John had coughed.
"He loves you. He will survive, even if only to tell you he told you so." Molly says softly. Sherlock's hand finally releasing her so that she can finish cleaning him up.
The silence is tense as Sherlock realizes that Molly put it together and was trying to help him accept the situation and offer comfort.
"Molly-" he starts and she looks down, "It's fine. I...I think I knew. How you felt, how he felt, I've noticed things….over the years….I just didn't want to admit it...cause I….I love you too. But, it will be easier now...for me….to move on. When John gets better-"
"If he gets better-" Sherlock says so softly and Molly takes his face in her fingers sternly.
"No, when he gets better Sherlock, John is a fighter, just like you. He will survive. Right now, you need to focus on trying to stay calm, don't let your emotions….don't let your mind carry you away to what if's and regret. It will bury you if you do. He will survive, and when he comes back to us, you need to tell him….how you feel. I waited….I thought if I waited...you might...come around on your own. But...maybe...if I had been clear sooner, if I had just told you how I felt, what I wanted from you….maybe I would have had a real chance. I know now, you are more than capable...I was just scared. But, you can't let fear hold you back. I missed my chance, and I….well I'm just glad we are still friends….after…..after-"
"Sherrinford." Sherlock offers and Molly's lips roll together and she nods, continuing to clean his face and sooth his fears.
"John told you, showed you...so...now that you know, when he comes back to us, you best do everything in your power to-"
"Don't be so stupid, Molly. It was just the rantings of a dying man-" Sherlock says sharply, but Molly can hear the thick rim of anguish in his voice, catches how he looks away to hide the fact that he is near to letting tears fall.
She brings a hand to his cheek, turns his face to look her, "Sherlock, you know better than anyone, the truths we learn when standing at Death's door. If he said it, if he shared that with you, it's because it was important to him that you know. It is because he meant it."
Sherlock stares at her, his lips parting softly before he reaches out gentle arms and pulls her into a soft hug, the man resting his forehead against her own after, "I love you." he says softly, much the same as he had all those months ago during that heart shattering phone call.
"I love you too, Sherlock. Please, for me, when John comes back to us, don't waste it...because….because it's gone before you know it…"
And those words echo in his head like a drum of war, Just text her. Phone her, do something while there is still a chance. Because that chance doesn't last forever. Trust me, Sherlock. It's gone before you know it. Before you know IT.
Sherlock lets out a shuddering sigh, realizes that Molly is essentially telling him that she is giving her permission to try and pursue the man he cares for so deeply. She is saying she will be fine, and that in the end, his happiness is still all that matters to her.
"Thank you." Sherlock whispers, though he doesn't need to. Nothing has happened between them, they are just….friends…..they never took any steps forward after what happened and Sherlock realizes that this woman….is remarkable.
"Promise me, you'll try-" she says softly.
"I will." Sherlock replies instantly and Molly nods, pressing up and giving a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, "Good luck." and they smile at each other softly.
A knock sounds on the door and their eyes grow wide before Sherlock strides over and opens it, Greg waiting outside, "Nurse….they need-" but Sherlock is moving past him and back into the main waiting area, Molly and Greg right behind.
"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" the Nurse asks
"Yes, I am."
"You are John's primary. As well as his Power of Attorney." the Nurse starts.
"Wha- really?" Greg asks in shock and the doctor looks between them, "Did you not know?"
"I….I didn't-" Sherlock says and his eyes scan to his brother who looks just as surprised.
"Well, as it is, we need you to sign this."
"What is it?" Sherlock asks, taking the clipboard and running his eyes down the fine print.
"As John's Power of Attorney, you also fall under the Healthcare Proxy. He had the paperwork all filled out and ready but you never signed it. This is the legal paperwork for you to accept the responsibility of such a title and these here are saying that you are giving consent for invasive surgery-" this is one of those things, the reason this hospital is so private. Any other Hospital would have had to track down John's lawyer, would have had to wait for the proper channels, Sherlock is relieved he made the choice to bring John here, "the bullet ran around a bit, nicked a hip and bounced a little, we need to track it down-"
"What are the chances of survival?" Sherlock asks quickly.
"I...I'm unable to say at this time. But, it looks-"
"Nurse, we need you, now!" a voice sounds from down the hall and the woman looks back to him, Sherlock signs without thought, knowing there is no other choice and the nurse nods and takes the board. Turning and hurrying back down the hall.
He stares after her, wanting to follow but instead when Molly takes his hand and guides him to a chair by Mycroft he follows and sits, hands falling to his knees as he stares off. Twenty minutes or so of silence follow and it isn't broken until Anderson speaks, Sherlock still not sure what the man...or Donovan….is doing here.
"The first time I talked to John, he told me to not be such a prick." Anderson says and he chuckles, arms pulled across his chest as he thinks on it fondly, "He was rather protective of you, Sherlock, even before he really knew you, knew how….difficult you could be. I've had pints with him since….every other Thursday….we talk about cases, he lets me try to sort them out...use your methods...he was always so….willing to let me practice my own deductive skills….following along on cases you'd already solved...to try and get better."
Sherlock is trying to register the words Anderson just spoke, can't understand what he is trying to say, "I never knew." Sherlock says softly.
"Yeah, he didn't want you to. Thought you'd come along and just spend the time cutting me down. I think he liked the idea of helping me get better, maybe someday even being able to challenge you….like….actually challenge you. It was a waste of time, I knew it, but...I really enjoyed our Thursdays."
The silence is just an impregnated paused before Sally speaks, "I...never understood why he followed you around. Why he...put himself in harm's way over and over to just be another dog for you to kick around. But, after….after you died….I saw him once on the street….he looked….broken. Like his whole world had just been taken from him. I didn't approach but...the next time I saw him...I wish I had….so I offered him lunch...he said no, I thought at first it was because he was trying to respect that fact that you and I never got on….but as I looked at him….I realized….he was punishing himself. For not being able to save you...for failing to protect you...I'd never seen such loyalty….or...such crazy...but...I respected it. I respected him, always had...always will. He was..is...a good man."
Greg chuckled and said fondly, "Oy, Sherlock, remember when you got him to stand on that 'X'...he thought he was the bait for a sting we were doing, trying to catch the Black Cat Burglar-"
Sherlock hung his head, a small smirk coming to his lips as he gave the faintest shake of his head, "You got him to stand there and wait for two hours, then when you caught the guy cross town, the newbies from the Yard-"
"Arrested John instead." Sherlock murmured and Greg chuckled, "I think that's what I liked about him best, his sense of humor. He was good about taking the punts ya gave him, never complained...sometimes I think he liked it...damn masochist." Greg says with a laugh.
"He's not dead yet, Greg, do yourself a favor and stop referring to him in the past tense, hm?" Sherlock snaps and Greg looks down, "Yeah, right...sorry."
Sherlock stares a moment, realizes his tone was too harsh and he stands, "It's….fine." he whispers.
"I remember….that time we went for cake…you said you didn't really want any….John got you to eat a piece….Rosie threw the rest all over...ruined Sherlock's coat….covered my blouse..." Molly offered.
"My birthday." Sherlock nods.
"He is so good with Rosie, such a good father, a great friend….he will be fine Sherlock. He's strong." Molly says.
"Loyal." Greg agrees.
"Kind." Anderson offers.
"Determined." Sally said as well.
"He's a rather intriguing man. The only one who could put up living with you, brother mine, I should have known. I didn't suppose he would last a week….three years later...the only reason he left was because of your untimely death."
The silence fell again before Sherlock spoke, "He...he was thinking of moving back. We'd talked about it, reinforcing his old bedroom….so that Rosie would be safe from the hazards of Baker Street. I was...hopeful, liked the prospect of not being alone again-" and Sherlock stops, seems to loose his train of thought and Molly is quick to wraps her arms around him, Sherlock just barely able to reciprocate.
"I can't….not have him...John...balances me...He is….my heart….my conscious… he makes me better….makes me….human."
"Sherlock." Molly starts out softly and then all eyes look up as a rather frazzled Mrs. Hudson rushes in with two large brown paper bags in hand, "Oh, Sherlock. I'm sorry, I was with my sister, I got here as fast as I could...any word? How's my boy? Both John and you?" and Molly moves out of the way so that the older woman can embrace her tenant (and surrogate son, though both she and Sherlock play dumb on the matter).
"In surgery. We've been waiting, haven't heard anything else...which is usually good." Sherlock offers and Mrs. Hudson nods before she holds out the bags, "I brought...well...just some snacks. Sally, Phillip, won't you-" and the pair are quick to stand and takes the bags, crossing to a small desk and laying out the spread slowly.
Sherlock looks at her and smirks, "You are a wonder."
"Don't be so happy, it's not decent. Come then, you look a bit peckish-"
Sherlock leans in and gives her cheek a gentle kiss, "I'm alright, make sure the others eat. I...I'm not hungry just yet."
Mrs. Hudson eyes him doubtfully but nods, taking Molly's hand and guiding the girl over to the food stuffs, Greg close behind.
It's another two hours before the Doctor finally comes out. In that time there had been little discussion save for Molly and Mrs. Hudson offering to get coffee or drinks.
When the Doctor finally comes out, Molly is woken from resting against Greg's shoulder, Sally and Anderson abandon their card game and Mycroft stands stiffly as Sherlock approaches.
"How is he Doctor?" Sherlock asks softly.
The Doctor, clearly fresh out of surgery meets his eyes and smiles, "He's stable."
The relief in the room is palpable as Molly and Mrs. Hudson cheer and Greg hugs the young pathologist and Sally and Anderson breath out loudly. Mycroft looks down and away before saying softly, "But?" and this grabs everyone's attention, the doctor eyeing the group carefully.
"Unfortunately there are decisions to be made. We've brought him back twice now… his heart stopped and we had to-"
"What is it you need from me?" Sherlock asks suddenly, his patience wearing thin and Molly puts a steadying hand on his arm and Sherlock takes a deep breath.
"We need your permission to proceed. We've removed the bullet and closed the knife wound. We stopped the hemorrhaging, have a chest tube in place for his puncture lung...but….after we brought him back the second time he suffered a seizure and then slipped into a coma….he's on full life support….it falls to you to make the decision on whether we allow him to remain so or…"
"You will not pull any plugs. You will-" Sherlock starts but the doctor is quick to interrupt though he manages to keep his tone respectful and polite.
"Mr. Holmes, you need to understand….he didn't suffer any head injuries….there isn't any swelling in the brain….he died….twice….sometimes this happens, the body just can't handle the trauma...the loss of blood and lack of oxygen to the brain-"
"You will leave him as he is….for now. When can I see him?" Sherlock asks adamantly and the doctor nods instantly, "Very good. Allow us another hour to finish and get him settled into his room."
Sherlock only nods and the doctor adds on, "Are you his…" and the man pauses, waiting for Sherlock to fill him in and Sherlock just stares...his brain going blank as he realizes he knows how he wants to say but honestly no longer has any clue now that John said….
"My brother is John's friend and flatmate, they work together. They aren't romantically involved if you are concerned about the possibility of infection-"
"No. I just like to know the relations to my patients, your friend...he has a very strong heart. There is reflexive eye movement which is a very good sign. If anyone can pull back from this, I think his chances are good. I just wanted to make sure you understand that-"
"I do." Sherlock says swiftly.
"I don't understand….infection?" Greg asks as the doctor walks away.
"I've been here before." Sherlock says.
Greg still doesn't get it and so Mycroft explains, "It's no secret my baby brother has used drugs in the past, I brought him here once or twice for recovery. Sherlock has been lucky to not pick up anything unsightly from his many dances with the needle...but-"
"Once an addict always an addict." Sherlock murmurs as he turns away and heads for the exit, "Where are you going?" Greg calls and Sherlock simply holds up a pack of fags in response as he walks away.
PAGE BREAK
Sherlock taps the end of his cigarette and the ash drops to the cement floor of the parking garage. His mind replaying the scene from nearly five hours ago.
"You think you're so clever, Sherlock Holmes, the modern marvel. Well, let's see how you fair with a knife in your gut-
"Sherlock!"
The moments of the scuffle hitting his mind's eye like bright flashes, John sliding down against the wall, the knife sticking out as he gasps, shock and then pain ringing his features as he starts gasping and coughing and Sherlock tries to shake it away-
He rushes over, kneels down next to him, "John, John, just hold on-"
"Quite a loyal friend you've got there-" the man says from his spot on the floor, John having shoved the man away and caused him to tumble. But he isn't done, wants to put an end to the man who had ruined his glorious revolution.
He pulls out a small pistol from his boot, aims readily while Sherlock's eyes are locked on John, but the blonde is more than aware despite the fact he has a knife sticking out of his side.
"S-Sherlock….Sherlock…..move!" and the sound of the bang is faint as time slows and Sherlock is shoved back, John taking the bullet in his side before coming to rest on his stomach, seemingly out cold.
Sherlock doesn't want to remember what happened after, how he charged the man with the gun, how his fists flew like hell fire falling from the skies. The way the man went limp after several minutes, how his face was caked in blood and bruises, looked deformed, and teeth that were on the ground next to his head. A foot colliding with his side, stomach, hip...over and over….Sherlock wouldn't have stopped if it weren't for Greg, weren't for the arrival of the police. He had seen red….and then John had groaned….and all hell had broken loose.
He shakes his head again, blows out the smoke burning his lungs as he turns away from the open space of the garage and presses his forehead to the cold cinder blocks of the wall. More flashes, of Victor, of his sister...the man who nearly killed his best friend….Victor again….slowly dying in that well from hypothermia...exhaustion...starvation…fear…
John now following….dying from the lack of will to live…I'm not enough to save him, I came back from the edge of death for him, because….because I love him….it's so bitter on my tongue...such an unwanted feeling….yet...despite myself, my desire to remain above it all….emotions….sentiment….love...connection….I have connected to John in a way that I thought would never be possible….it's so vile….yet….the feeling of it….and he doesn't feel that way for me….has no reason to fight to come back….his wife is beyond our view...waiting….and eventually we will all go to meet him….or some such rubbish….John believes in that tripe….right? He'll give up….move on to the next life….the better life….I'm not enough to pull him back...to make him fight for it…..
"May I join you?" comes the shrewd voice of his brother and Sherlock's first instinct is to bite out some horrible comment, to tear at him viciously but as he turns to look he sees in his brothers eyes the things he wouldn't show in front of anyone else.
Concern, regret, worry….but not for him….and Sherlock comes to realize that Mycroft is just as miffed over the idea of losing John Watson as he is. Sherlock takes a breath, stills his instinctual response of attack and shoves a hand into his pocket, trying to play off his sudden understanding of the man's approach as annoyance.
Mycroft takes the cigarette and allows Sherlock to light it for him before he takes a gentle drag and eyes the smoke thoughtfully before looking to his brother, "It is...regrettable. The situation."
"It is a situation that shouldn't have happened. I let my guard down. As soon as John was down I should have focused on Davis, but I couldn't….I was distracted by sentiment. I was a fool. The gun shot could have been avoided if I had just-"
"It's too late to dwell. Nothing good comes from such things as that. What I want to know...is if you will be able to-"
"Don't." Sherlock spits, turning his back to his brother as he takes another drag and refuses to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
"I...wish to let you know...that if such a decision should need to be made….I will….I will see to it."
Sherlock turns around swiftly, staring at his brother with large eyes and confusion as Mycroft takes another drag and clarifies, "No need for you to go through such a thing. I've done it before, I am willing to ease your burden. I am more than capable-"
"It's not your responsibility." Sherlock says suddenly as his blue eyes narrow, scanning his brother and trying to understand why he would offer such a thing.
"No. That does fall to you, but, seeing as John neglected to inform you of his change in Power of Attorney, you've not ever taken the time to prepare for such a possibility. You could give it to me, I would be willing to act in your stead...once the proper amount of time-"
"There is no proper amount of time, Mycroft." Sherlock snips and Mycroft hums his agreement, "Yes. But, it would not do to have you suffer-"
Sherlock lets out a sigh and instantly crosses to his brother and embraces him, the older man shocked but after a few seconds of uncertainty chooses to return the hug, though delicately before Sherlock pulls away and gives the faintest of smiles, "The time for you to protect me has long since passed. I need to be able to stand on my own one of these days, no better time than now. It's time for me to grow up Mycroft."
The man stares at him, his reptilian eyes looking rather shocked as he tries to understand his brother's sudden strength, "I'll not let this destroy me, not let it damage me as Eurus did. I will survive this...and...so will John. At the very least, I plan to give him a fighting chance. How long can he stay here?" Sherlock asks as he takes another drag from his cigarette and Mycroft thinks for only a moment before he says, "The average allowance is six months, though….I may be able to pull some strings…"
"No. Fair is fair. The only reason John was allowed access is because of your clearance, I cannot take more advantage then that would allow. I will give him those six months, if he is not come back to me by then-" but Sherlock trails off and Mycroft simply nods.
They finish their smokes in quiet and as they come to stand before the elevator Mycroft asks softly, "Are you….in love with him?" the question is so dry of emotion Sherlock realized his brother asks simply for the sake of asking and not to belittle his often capricious nature.
Sherlock hits the button for the elevator and hesitates to answer, the pair standing next to each other with emotionless faces before Sherlock finally says in a snipped yet unemotional tone, "Yes." and Mycroft simply nods.
Neither saying anything else as they return to the waiting room and the others who look concerned from his departure and exhausted from waiting.
PAGE BREAK
Sherlock is the only one allowed immediate access and the others are urged to go home and rest, Mycroft assuring each that he will remain here with Sherlock and keep them posted if anything should change. He also explained that they would need a certain level of clearance for any return trips and that they needed to contact him if they wish to come back to visit. Sherlock had been quick to offer to bring each with him as he came and went as he had been given temporary access.
Goodbyes were given and then Sherlock is alone in John's hospital room, staring at his friend who lay prone on the hospital bed.
Privacy….you need privacy...his mind hums and Sherlock shuts the door, locks it, and then grabs a chair before bringing it next to his friends bed. He wonders if this is how John had felt the many times Sherlock had been taken to hospital. John having to wait and wonder, pace and pull his hair out.
"I'm sorry if I ever….made you feel….I know I have….I'd no idea….how….bad this can hurt." Sherlock says softly. His heart clenches and guilt swarms him as he thinks of how John must have felt after the fall, after Sherlock was shot by Mary, after his subsequent O.D. and near death via the hands of Culverton Smith. Sherlock glances the man's hair and notices the small specks of gray hidden among the gold locks and he wonders if it's from old age or stress and worry.
"How many times….have you been in my position...looking at me….worrying-" and Sherlock reaches out a hand, takes up John's before leaning in and whispering into his ear, "I beg you, I know I deserve it….but please….don't torture me as I've done you...come back to me….don't leave Rosie….or Mrs. Hudson….or Molly...Greg….don't leave me." and Sherlock, knowing the door is shut and locked finally lets the tears flow and for the next hour he mourns his friend, even though the machines are keeping him alive, Sherlock knows turnabout is fair play and if John's wants him to wait...wants him to experience this...then he will do it willingly.
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The first month is the hardest, Sherlock coming and going from the hospital regularly. The first week he barely left at all, but upon urging from his brother and texts from Molly and Mrs. Hudson explaining that Rosie needed him he had finally abandoned his perch next to his friend.
After awhile, Rosie never left his side, he focused on nothing but her and John. He refused cases, only left to go home and change, give him and Rosie a wash and pick up things he or Rosie needed from his or John's flat.
The young girl was more than inquisitive about the ever changing world around her but she was quick to recognize her father and found happiness playing with her toys, blocks or books on his bed as he lay there. On occasion she would sleep next to him, tapping at his arm and calling out, "Da Da Da Da-" only to receive no response and then turning to Sherlock who would hold her as she wanted.
Near the end of the first month Sherlock began the rotation of bringing others in with him to see John. Each bringing gifts and such to decorate the room. Sometimes they would stay for hours, other times it would be short. But even Sally and Anderson came, both bringing flowers and get well cards, Sherlock keeping his mouth firmly in check and he found Donovan much more agreeable when he refrained from talking.
He still wasn't quite sure why they were so dedicated, given their relations to John were minor, still they came. Always with fond stories or words, Sally even offering to watch Rosie for a day so that Sherlock could rest, to which the man thanked her but declined kindly. Admitting that having her close to him had given Sherlock a rather large peace of mind, seemed to be all Sally needed to understand his reluctance.
Halfway through the second month Sherlock had been coaxed into allowing Greg to bring him cold case files, something to help keep his mind active and to give him something more complex to talk to John about.
The detective read all the reports out loud, explaining the crime scene photos and imagening in his mind what his friend might say in response. He had solved twenty-seven by the end of the second month and the third month started.
"It's reached the halfway point, John. You really need to wake up now-" Sherlock had said to his friend softly one night, as he sat on the edge of the cott that the staff had granted to him. Rosie was in his arms as he stood and approached, looking down onto John's face, seeing how relaxed it appeared, despite the gentle hiss of the respirator sticking out of his mouth. Sherlock watched as the man's chest rose and fell with each pump of the oxygen tank.
His wounds were healing well, no infections, no issues, his lung was on the road to mending, no other organs had been damaged by the ricocheting bullet and for that Sherlock had thanked every God ever invented as the probability of something so lucky happening had been the slimmest percentile Sherlock's brother had ever given.
"You only have three months left, if you are still in there, you need to fight...you need to fight harder than you ever have before. For Rosie...for me...I'm going to be in trouble without you, John. I won't be able to…" and suddenly Rosie said something, "Papa?" and Sherlock's heart clenched as he looked at her in shock, unsure where she had heard the term, the name never having been used to describe him and Sherlock watched as she reached out a hand and pressed it to his cheek, "Papa, dada, dada, papa, dada!" and her hand stretched back behind her to John.
"I...I can't….I've tried...he won't listen….he's stubborn." Sherlock nearly cried as he realized what she was trying to ask him.
"Papa, dada, dada, Papa go dada-"
"John...she's...she talking….wake up….she's….she's talking you must hear this!" and Sherlock lays Rosie on the bed at John's side as the girl starts bouncing, "Papa, dada up dada, papa, upupup….dada up….papa up dada, papa upupup dada."
Sherlock smiles, a tear rolling from his eye and falling onto the back of John's hand, Sherlock's hand gently rubbing a thumb across the back of John's skin to wipe it away.
Suddenly John's hand jerked and Sherlock reeled, gasping and staring in shock, the man seemingly still unconscious as he lay there. He leaned in, studied his face carefully, "John? John are you there? Can you hear me?" he asks and Rosie squeels happily, "DADADADADA, UPUPUP!" and her little hands pound on his chest several times and Sherlock waits.
After nearly ten minutes of nothing else happening Sherlock moves away from the bed and goes to the door, calling to a nurse who comes in quickly and Sherlock explains what happens.
The nurse checks his vitals, gives a small smile and then looks at him, "Everything looks good, sometimes that can happen. But, it's a good sign." and she gently brings a hand to his arm and squeezes before she leaves the room quietly.
Sherlock watching her go before he turns back to the bed and walks over, leaning close to the man's ear he whispers, "Wake up, John. Now, I need you to wake up. Wake up now or I will find a way to come in there and get you."
"Papa, dada up!" Rosie says and Sherlock looks at her, "Oh don't you worry, Rosie, we're going to bring him back, even if we have to spend everyday yelling in his ear. Your daddy underestimates just how annoying I can be." and Rosie claps her hands and laughs, Sherlock's smirk growing.
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It's just constant flashes, images and stills of his life and all John can do is watch as he sees the memories of his youth and adult life flash before his eyes. Some images staying that bit longer, others so fast he can't see them. But as he watches, stands spinning in circles and trying to keep up with what he is seeing, a low rumble swirls and dances around his head, familiar but so muffled and unintelligible that sometimes he just covers his ears.
He has to get back to Sherlock, to Rosie, there has to be a way out of here. Suddenly the images are broken through and he is surrounded by darkness, save for a bright light that comes from above, an opening in the sky and that low muffled rumble seems to be echoing a lighter one. It nearly reminds him of a conversation, yet there are no words, just the rise and fall of sound, low and high moving back and forth against each other.
What is going on? John wonders and then the light disappears and after a few seconds of darkness the images of his life slink back into view. He stumbles around through the dark below, looking up to see these flashing images, feels how heavy his body feels.
Baby Rosie.
Mary.
Sherlock.
The fall.
His heart clenches and his stomach churns as he tries to take it all in, the feelings that the images bring, the raw emotions running through him as he sees Greg and Molly, words coming from them but it sounds like they are underwater.
He wants to reach out, tries raising a hand, but his body feels so sluggish, unresponsive. Still, he tries harder, hears what he thinks might be his Rosie. His beautiful daughter, as an image of her laughing in Sherlock's arms pops into view.
I have to get back to them, where the hell am I…..how long have I been here….ages….ages….
That's when it happens, something finally comes through, a noise...so familiar it can't be mistake for anything else and suddenly the flashing images all come together and there before him is Sherlock, playing his violin, those cold blue eyes locking with his and John tries to reach out a hand.
I know that song….it's….when we put Rosie to bed….it's Rosie's lullaby…..Sherlock! And John thinks he takes a step towards him, but can't be sure….his heart starts beating faster, harder, his body feels so heavy but….Sherlock is right there...playing...those eyes staring so hard and focused and the man takes a step back….towards a light that is fading up in the distance.
Sherlock! John tries again, but his throat feels raw, thick and filled with tar. But the sound gets louder, the music...Rosie's lullaby….it has a clear familiarity he can recognize and it soothes him as he tries again to follow, to chase his friend… to reach Sherlock and ask him for help in escaping this strange prison.
Follow it home, come back to me, John. Come back to Rosie, it's time to come back….two weeks….that's all we have….you've got to come back to me….follow the sound of the violin...and...wake up….
John tries desperately to follow as Sherlock takes another slow step back and the silver notes of the violin swirl around him, Rosie's lullaby taking a turn for something different, much more sad and disheartening. The light suddenly swells behind his friend and John near screams as he feels the sudden pain of utter determination force his hand out.
"SHERLOCK!" and the light is blinding but the music swells and his heart lurches and then….and then….it cuts through his mind and fills his ears and…..and then…. He is propelled forward towards the light and the fading silhouette of his friend.
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John jerks up, the blurry images of a room around him confusing as nothing is familiar and then he is gagging, choking and his hands come to his mouth to feel tape and plastic and he can't breath, his heart is pounding and there is confusion before hands come to his face and he tries to jerk away, tries to speak only to see an image emerge through the foggy view of his eyes and there, before him, is Sherlock.
The man's voice is muffled at first, but after a few seconds of intense focus it comes through clear and the man is speaking his name, telling him to relax, that he is going to get a nurse…
Nurse? Why...a nurse? Am I in hospital? Where….what happened?
Seconds later people rush in and John feels sweat on his brow and they are helping him to remove that god awful thing from his mouth and throat and he takes a shuddering breath and then grips at his side, there is an aching and suddenly his hands are pulling at his gown though he hears Sherlock tell him to wait, to breath and calm down but but he yanks away and pulls at the cloth only to find scars, several...the looks of them is….not good...but they are clean….professional...but….how….where….
And then it floods back, something about a fight...getting stabbed….getting shot...the pain...Sherlock telling him to stay with him….Greg….people and voices and then he is swinging, his fist colliding with someone before several sets of hands grip him and he starts to thrash.
"What the hell is going on!" he suddenly yells, but his voice...it sounds...horse...unused….how long was he out….how long was he….and the hands are pushing him down but he is quick to throw another punch, colliding with someone else, he can see now, clearly, knows they are nurses or doctors but for some reason he can't calm himself, can't stop himself from fighting….it's instinct, "L-Let me go! Don't….don't touch….I'm….I can't breath….too close!" he tries but still those hands grab and try to push.
"JOHN!" and the voice rings out above the chaos and suddenly he stills, his eyes searching and then Sherlock is back in his view as he pants heavily, his chest heaving and sweat pouring, then his body feels heavy, like it's nothing but lead and he tilts, can't keep himself up anymore but he tries to reach for him.
"S-Sherlock-" he tries to say, but it's another horse gravely thing, still, the man is next to him in a heartbeat, taking him up in his arms and speaking quickly, admimently, "You're safe, it's alright….relax….you've been in a coma...everything is alright….just relax...you're safe."
John can't speak anymore, can't even move, his body is so heavy...his brain straining to comprehend….and he tries to breath but there is a sharp pain in his chest and then he coughs, hacks and gags and then suddenly he is vomiting but nothing comes out. Dry heaves wrack his body, Sherlock holding onto him and John's hands grip the man fiercely, "H-ehlp...can't….stop….can't...breath-"
"Help me get behind him!" he hears Sherlock say and John doesn't understand but seconds later he is pulled from hanging over the bed and leaned back, John finally seeing the group of nurses and doctors before him as actual people and not the enemy, his hands suddenly grip onto the fabric of Sherlock's pants as legs slide down either side of his body.
"Breath, feel my chest, John. Breath with me-" and John feels Sherlock's chest rise and fall slowly against his back and John understands what's happened.
Coma...been in a coma….body muscles are weak….no food but lots of meds….traumatic experience prior….I was shot….stabbed….I survived….but….I still feel that adrenaline….still feel….the fear….it's as if it happened only seconds ago-
"Easy, John. That's it, follow my breathing….nice and slow." Sherlock coaxes, "It's a panic attack, breath easy, you're safe….breath with me-"
And John does, eventually slowing his breathing to near normal though the pain in his lungs, in his chest and side….it's dull but there….and the sweat is near coating his body as his hands continue to fist at Sherlock's pants, the only thing he had been able to grab onto.
"Everybody should move back now….he will be fine. John was a soldier….has already been wounded in action, it's a normal response,...just give him space….please….I have him….go and call my brother, give him an update….you can check him in a moment. Right now….just...give us some privacy."
Bloody brilliant….yes….god….privacy….thank you, Sherlock. Perfect. John muses in his mind as his head drops back onto Sherlock's shoulder and his eyes close, his mouth still open as breaths pass through his chapped lips and suddenly he realizes he is horribly thirsty, "S-Sherlock…..w-water….please-" he tries, but his voice sounds like sandpaper on wood. Still, his friend seems to know and shifts, grabbing a glass from the side table John assumes is there, he doesn't think he can even turn his head at this point.
John's hands continue to fist Sherlock's pant legs, just above the knee, his ability to get them to open and release his hold seemingly gone.
"I have to help you, open a little wider, take it slow-" Sherlock's deep voice says softly into his ear and John wants to nod but he just lays there, still catching his breath before he tries to curve his lips to the glass and Sherlock manages to pour the water in slowly, some drizzling out and John's mind hums with frustration as he feels Sherlock's hand instantly come to his jaw and press his mouth closed, "Swallow. It's alright, you've been without use of your body for nearly six months...this is going to take awhile…..nothing to be ashamed of, just a little atrophy. You'll be right as rain in half the time. The nurses and I stretched your muscles daily, but it can't always be helped-"
"H-How…..long?" John managed, the water feeling like heaven on his throat and Sherlock offered him another sip of water, ready this time to assist his friend in getting it down.
"Five months, two weeks and three days….had some of us worried….at six months we were going to have to pull the plug….though….I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought of other plans….in any case….I knew….swallow….once more….I knew you'd come back-"
"R-Rosie…." and as if by magic a nurse walks in, the girl in question in her hands, "I had her on stand-by, knew she would be the first one you'd want to see." Sherlock chuckled, "We've spent lots of time waiting for Dada to wake up."
The nurse brings the girl over and places her on John's chest, making sure she doesn't go anywhere and John feels his eyes water, "Rosie-" he starts and the little girl looks up at him, stares for a moment before she suddenly bursts into giggles, "DADA UP! PAPA, DADA UP! UPUPUP!"
"She can talk now, by the way." and John lets out something akin to a garbled laugh and sob, tears falling freely.
"S-Sherlock….please….my hands….I c-can't…" and Sherlock sets the glass aside for a moment, nodding his okay for the nurse to go before his fingers come to John's shaking hands which are locked like talons onto Sherlock's pant legs and after several seconds of Sherlock prying them off, with the help of Rosie's tiny fingers which smack at their hands with determination, Sherlock gets John's hands free and brings them to Rosie, the girl taking his fingers and bringing them to her mouth and then to her hair before she presses her face into his palm, "Dada-" she hums and John let's out another choked sob before he manages out an, "I love you."
"Dada up, upupup, dada up!" and she presses her face into his chest and seems quite content to just wobble around on top of him. John watches her intently as he tries to focus his mind, realizes that even though it's only been five months….Rosie looks….different….has grown….her hair is thicker, hands bigger….maybe he spies a stray tooth….he can't be sure….
"When….over?" John manages, clears his throat and tries again, "When will this…..b-be over-"
"It will get easier, you just need proper diet, water and to exercise your body. You're voice will only take a little bit….maybe a day or two….but you need to rest for now. The fact you are still awake is impressive, the stress you just put on your body was rather immense."
"Instinctive…..response...couldn't….help it…..water….more...Sherlock….please." and John feels a little relief wash through him as he realizes his voice is coming back, still raspy and sounding like nails on a chalkboard, but the coherency is coming….though each word takes such energy like he has never known.
"How you know….so much….about….comas-" John asks and Sherlock smirks, "I've had five months to do my research. I wanted to be ready when you woke up, be able to answer the good Doctor's questions."
Sherlock helps him drink more water and John gives an experimental bend of his fingers, gently rubbing at Rosie's back and the girl manages to crawl up his chest, bring her head to rest on John's bare shoulder as the medical gown had slid off a little.
"Who….watched her…" John said softer, realizing the young girl was settling in for what she had been waiting five months for.
Nap time with dada… John...you are an utter cock- he says to himself bitterly.
"I have. Molly once or twice….Mrs. Hudson as well….but….she's remained with me the majority of the time….and I've been here….with you." Sherlock says softly.
"You...kept her?" John asked, the question was not meant to sound the way it did. He meant it in regards to Sherlock being able to care for her since he often had cases, was up at all hours….had surely been busy trying to catch Davis….how it sounded though…. John knew it came out wrong….
"I...didn't….mean-"
"Shhh, I know…. And yes….I kept her with me. You asked me to...before...even if you had not come back to us….she would have remained with me….you wanted me to...and….I….would have wanted to….keep her. Not a doubt in my mind. She's awful, by the way, and she hates the violin….I've wanted to make a formal protest with you about that…."
John manages a chuckle, his hands shaking something awful as he uses his remaining strength to hold his daughter gently and then his eyes shut,"And...Davis?" John asks and Sherlock stiffins a little.
"Jail."
John nods in relief, glad his actions did not allow the man to escape, "God….Sherlock...don't….leave." and then the fatigue finally catches him and he sinks into the blackness, though this time, he remains blissfully unaware.
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Mycroft walks into the room to spy little Rosemond lying fast asleep on John's chest, the man finally free of the breathing machines and he too is asleep, the back of his head perched on Sherlock's shoulder and his brother's head cradled by a pillow, finally having found the sleep that had been eluding him for the last five months.
Mycroft backs out slowly, closing the door and looking to the nurse, "Allow them to sleep. Check on Dr. Watson as needed but do not disturb them. Report to me when they wake up." the nurse nods and Mycroft heads back the way he had come.
Congratulations, brother mine, you're little family is once again alive and well. Let's hope this time, you have learned how to keep them that way.
A/N: