Chapter 1

The Awakening

A/N: This is my first Sherlock story. So please be kind.

Disclaimer: If you are a frequent Sherlock fanfiction reader you will know what this means. Otherwise, this Sherlock doesn't not belong to me (
I cry about this fact every day). It belongs to BBC and Satans on Earth - Moffat and Gatiss.

Happy Reading :)

All that seemed to surround him was darkness. He tried looking around for a source or even a flicker of light but all that encompassed him was darkness. A part of his brain supplied that he was in the gray area between consciousness and unconsciousness.

This realization seemed to bring with itself the speed and the knowledge which was characteristic to his unusual brain. He didn't remember much about the period his unconsciousness or the thoughts that had passed through his brain, which was his most prized possession, during that time. The last thought rather the dream that he remembered having been the cushioned room where he was trapped with Moriarty and the feeling of helplessness and the self – despair that had accompanied that dream.

His brain now told him that it was just a fabrication of his own imagination. A construct which brought with itself all the self – loathing and depressing thoughts that he had buried in the crevices of his Mind Palace.

But the thought that pushed him from the gray region into consciousness was the last thought he had in that cushioned room – John Watson was in danger.

John sat in the plastic chair, which he had dragged from the other end of the room, near Sherlock's bedside. He had not been home since Sherlock was admitted after he was shot in Magnussen's office. Mary had tried to convince him to come with her home but he had only left his best friend's side when he had to use the washroom or go to the cafeteria or when either Mycroft or the doctors visited to check up on Sherlock.

John had missed being at 221B Baker Street and next to Sherlock since his wedding. His life had been boring before Sherlock and the month after the wedding when he had not met Sherlock brought back the memories of his time when he was invalidated from Afghanistan and had yet to meet Sherlock.

He was happy with Mary but couldn't help but remember his days at Baker Street and with Sherlock. It seemed he was living in two different worlds – one where he had the a perfect wife with the prospect of 2.5 children in the future and another with Sherlock where he could feel alive with all the adrenaline in his bloodstream and the domestic bliss he had shared with Sherlock.

Now sitting in the chair at his friend's bedside he couldn't help but wonder whether Sherlock's condition would have been any better if he was still living with him. In a span of one month in which they both have been apart, Sherlock had returned to drugs and got shot. Tired, John rubbed his face with his hand in order to get rid of some of the exhaustion. He needed another coffee to help him remain awake and so he got up in order to get himself a cup.

He had only taken a few steps towards the door, when he heard Sherlock sitting up abruptly with a shout of 'John´ behind him and the heart monitor attached to Sherlock going berserk with its constant beeping.

John rushed back to his friend's side and took his hand in his in order to try and calm him. He was not surprised by such an abrupt wakening of his friend, rather, he was expecting it as he had both personal and professional experience regarding the situation with him being an ex – army doctor. What he was surprised was the fact that Sherlock had called for him. But then again it was him that Sherlock usually called when he needed help.

John rubbed smooth circles on Sherlock's back all the while holding his hand in order to calm him down. He could feel Sherlock shaking and saw him looking around the room all the while calling for him. He moved a little closer to Sherlock in order to assure him of his physical presence and whispered in his ear "I am here".

Slowly but surely, Sherlock relaxed and the stiffness left his body as he calmed down. The heart monitor also returned back to the rhythmic beeping which indicated that Sherlock's heartbeat had also returned to the normal rate.

He then asked, "Are you alright, Sherlock? Do you have a headache or are you feeling any pain in any other part of the body besides where you were shot?"

"No" Sherlock croaked hoarsely. "Can I have some water?"

Wordlessly, John gave Sherlock a glass of water. Then he helped him lie down and called the doctor so that he could check up on Sherlock. When the doctor arrived, John stood up to leave so that the doctor can examine Sherlock without any disturbance when he felt a tug on his jumper's sleeve.

"Don't go" Sherlock whispered.

Covering his friend's hand with his own and giving it a reassuring squeeze, John said, "I am just going to the cafeteria for a coffee. I will be back before the doctor is done with the check- up. Okay?"

Sherlock nodded and giving him another smile John left the room. John wasn't going to leave his friend's side, at least, not now when he needed him the most. Sherlock was careless about his health in day – to – day life and expecting Sherlock to take care of himself at this moment would be similar to asking a wounded animal to fend for himself. Moreover, John had too many questions regarding Sherlock's attack and his attacker which can only be answered by Sherlock.

Mary Watson rushed into St. Bart's hospital with a worried look on his face. She had gotten a call from John a few hours ago informing her that Sherlock had woken up and will be discharged in another week's time.

She would have been happy about his recovery if she hadn't been the one to put him on that hospital bed. And that is what had her worried. Her husband being the good friend he was had stayed next to Sherlock for the most part of his stay in the hospital. She had tried to convince him to come back home and leave the hospital, even going so far as to use her morning sickness as mean to coerce him to come home, but John had been adamant to stay with Sherlock.

As she rushed to the third floor where Sherlock was being kept she was filled with fear and apprehension. What is she was too late to stop Sherlock from disclosing that she was the one who had shot him? If he told John anything about his attack then everything would be ruined and she couldn't have that.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door and entered. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw John who was laughing with Sherlock about something look up and give her smile. The fact that John was not angry with her meant that he knew nothing.

Getting up, John gave her a quick peck on the cheek and offered her his chair. She sat down and turned to Sherlock, who had gone stiff on her entry. She asked quietly, "How are you, Sherlock?"

"Fine" he replied tersely. John confused by this exchange asked Sherlock what was wrong. "Nothing, I am just tired and it seems like the pain medication they gave me has started acting up. I think I'll get some sleep." And with that, Sherlock closed his eyes and drew the blankets up so that they covered most of his face.

Both John and Mary left the room and sat outside the ward where there were chairs lined up against the wall.

"Did Sherlock tell you anything about his attack?" Mary asked.

"No. And I didn't ask. The doctor advised that he should be given some time to make sufficient recovering before we talk to him about the incident. Even Lestrade needs his statement." John answered.

They talked for a little while and Mary tried to convince John to come back with her to their house at least for a few hours but John refused every time Mary brought up the topic. Finally, she bid John good bye after giving her the food she had prepared for him.

As she exited the hospital, she heaved a sigh of relief that Sherlock had not told John anything about the attack but the situation was not yet averted. She would have to do something in order to take care of this problem.

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