John lay dead on the operating table for one minute, and for one minute, Sherlock's whole world shattered around him.
When he heard the heart monitor come back to life, his head snapped up and he placed his hand on the window in hope.
When they announced that John's heart rate was steady, Sherlock sent a quick thank you to God.
And when John was moved to a private room, Sherlock was right there, holding his hand.
"It's going to be okay," Sherlock whispered, stroking the older mans hair and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Sherlock stayed with him day and night, refusing to sleep or leave his side other than to use the restroom.
The nurse came in daily to dress John's shot wounds and to check his vitals. She even came to check on Sherlock, bringing him a pillow and food.
Although Sherlock looked put roughly put together on the outside, his mind was racing.
John didn't know how Sherlock felt about him. John didn't know the truth. Sherlock loved John with his whole heart and couldn't remember life before him.
He wasn't quite sure how John felt about him, but there was something about the way John said his name and held his hand while they waited for the paramedics that gave him a clue as to how he felt.
He could be completely wrong. John could hate his guts for all he knew but something told him otherwise.
And it didn't matter what John thought. Sherlock thought John was brave and courageous. Sweet and caring. He planned on telling John just that after he woke up.
And whatever might happen after, it wouldn't make a difference, John would know the truth and that's all that mattered.
The End