Hello world its been ages since i uploaded a fic. This ones been on the drawing board for awhile. Thank you reapersun for your glorious fanart that finally inspired me to finish it. This one could be considered slash if you squint. I just see it as epic bromance but whatever floats your boat
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock...Moffat you lucky bastard
A single bullet sounding louder than any he had ever heard and then a roar. A monster had broken into the room full of fire and blinding noise. The sky is falling all around us and somehow how I find him. I don't think I just shove him and run and suddenly the world is cold and wet. All I feel is a handful of long slender fingers. And then there's nothing.
xxx
He was told he was unconscious for three days. He was told that he was very lucky. He was told his quick thinking saved them both. But when he first woke up all he saw was a pair of blue eyes glaring at him. Sherlock was in a wheelchair beside his bed with an IV hooked up to his arm. He looked tired and annoyed and covered in bandages. One arm was in a cast. Lots of bruises. When John looked up to meet his eyes again he simply said
"You're an idiot." John sat quietly for a moment letting his arrow sink in. Words, a memory, floated through his mind.
"I won't take it personally, I'm told everybody is" he replied. Not even a twitch of the lip, as Sherlock continued to stare at John with those sharp eyes. He was angry.
John didn't know what to say so he just continued to stare back at Sherlock. Later he was told he probably saved Sherlock's life pulling him away from the bomb. The fact that John took the brunt of the explosion was an unfortunate result but he could live with that.
"You flatlined twice during surgery" he informed John. Somewhere under his cold delivery of the facts was a fury that seemed absurd. John shrugged
"But I made it." He said. Sherlock's eyes were still searching, picking up meaningless details and forming theories as always. Without a word he turned his wheelchair around and grabbed his IV stand and was out the door. Watching him go John wondered how much he must already hate being forced to sit all the time.
xxx
John was released from the hospital a day before Sherlock. The doctors did good work on the pair but typical Sherlock wouldn't stay still. He'd ripped his stitches twice and now they were keeping him just to be sure.
Once they told John he was free to go he got up and hobbled into the next room to check on Sherlock. John was back to walking with a cane and the irony did not escape him.
The moment John entered the room Sherlock's eyes were on him checking him from top to toe as he did every time John walked in. He took in all the details of John's healing injuries and looked away towards the window.
He had barely spoken to John since that first day. So John smiled and told him all the details he noticed about the nurses and what he figured out on his own knowing Sherlock would correct him.
"That big nurse in our ward… Nurse Chapel, I figure she's divorced. She's got a tan line on her ring finger from a missing wedding ring—"
"No Nurse Chapel is not divorced she left her husband and two kids. She hasn't told her new boyfriend who is one of the doctors here about it" He only said enough to correct John's mistakes before clamming up again. It was progress. He gave John the silent treatment for a week. He wheeled himself into John's room every day, glaring and unresponsive to any pleasantries the whole time.
It took John about a day to figure out why Sherlock was mad and then a week to decide whether he was absolutely certain.
Despite all Sherlock's talk about not having a heart and not caring he does care.
When he was done correcting all of John's 'dull' and wrong theories John stood up to go.
"When you go to the flat get my black spiral notebook. It's small with a black leather binding. It's in my desk 2nd drawer from the top underneath some file folders." John stopped and stared. That's the most he had said all week.
"All right. I'll come 'round this afternoon with it." John turned to go and of course Sherlock didn't say goodbye.
xxx
At the flat after talking a little to Mrs. Hudson. Somebody had informed her of where they were and their condition so it was just pleasantries. "Yup using a cane again." "Sherlock's fine and grumpy as ever." She tsked a little and went on her way. Up the stairs and into their flat. While they were in the hospital the wall had been fixed. John suspected it was Mycroft. The man had been an invisible presence during the whole ordeal. At first they were in a busy crowded ward of the emergency room. In the funk of drugs John remembered beeping and yelling and running feet. So many voices made his head spin. But when he woke up he had a room to himself. Somebody must have paid a lot of money…or maybe Mycroft just owned the hospital. It wouldn't have surprised him.
Now in the flat John digs through the second drawer from the top. Typical Sherlock. These 'folders' as he called it. John had seen second graders with neater binders. These folders were mere paper wrapped around huge untidy stacks of paper that seemed jammed together for no discernable reason. Knowing Sherlock though he did his best to lift them and search underneath without disturbing them.
There it was. A small black spiral notebook. Curiosity itched John's fingertips as he wondered why Sherlock needed this notebook now at the hospital. It was probably just notes on Moriarty but he still had to resist the temptation to open it and see its contents. With a sigh he put the notebook and his jacket and headed back out.
xxx
Back at the hospital John found Sherlock lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Watson decided not to bother talking when the man's eyes flicked to him and then back to the ceiling. His long fingertips laced under his chin in a two handed fist. To somebody else it might have looked like he was praying but Watson knew the man's mind. Sherlock could be thinking almost anything. Except prayer.
John muttered something and left him to it.
xxx
The next day John came back to see Sherlock had barely even moved from the day before. The only difference. His eyes were closed. It amazed John, Sherlock appeared to be asleep. And Sherlock never seemed to need sleep even when his injuries had been fresh. Although John was right about all this he was wrong to think Sherlock was sleeping. He was remembering. Specifically it was that night at the pool that occupied his brain.
xxx
What Sherlock remembered:
His finger squeezed the trigger and then a wall of flame and sound engulfed him for a moment or an eternity. In the middle of all that he felt two hands push him and then he was in the water. Moments later the force of the explosion threw John in. Somebody grabbed the others hand and then the ceiling started to cave. He saw a beam come crashing through the water and knock John out. His hand went limp and Sherlock hung on and tried to swim to the surface when a weight bore down on his skull and there was nothing.
When he came to there were hands on his chest and cold air all around. The cold air was drowning him as his body tried to expel the contents of the pool from his lungs. It took a moment and some inane voice was saying it was ok which was very stupid. Whatever 'it' might be was irrelevant. Nothing was ok. His eyes hunted for John and he saw a few feet away they were pulling him from the water. There was blood mixing with blond and dead weight and no air. John did not appear to be conscious or breathing. This was unacceptable. He started to try and stand and a hand was on his chest holding him down. That voice kept telling him it was ok. He didn't bother answering he just kept trying to stand but that hand wouldn't let him.
"Sherlock?" his name came from somewhere behind his head. Looking up he could see Lestrade standing over him. Of course Lestrade was there. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but words were sluggish from his brain to his mouth
"Lestrade" the man nodded but didn't respond. Worry etching lines on his face. Another struggle for words
"…John" he pointed at the doctor. They were laying him down for CPR.
"He'll be fine" Lestrade said. There were emotions on his face but Sherlock was too tired to decipher them. He was trying to find more words but he couldn't. He could only point helplessly at the other man. The hands were no longer holding him down they were poking and prodding. Lestrade just stood there looking unsure and worried.
The people around John were done doing CPR. He still hadn't moved. Some more words but not enough.
"John alright!" it wasn't a question it was a command. But nobody was taking commands as hands put Sherlock on a stretcher and were carrying him away from John. This was not acceptable. He began to struggle and then a needle somewhere and darkness.
When he woke up in the hospital it had been at least a day. Somebody told him all his injuries but once they said no brain damage he stopped listening.
Thank god words were easier that day.
"I want to see John." They told him he could not be moved yet but Dr. Watson was fine. Their words meant nothing
"I want to see John" he repeated. A smooth voice cut in.
"I'll take care of this." It was Mycroft. Sherlock looked at him as the nurse left the room and repeated his command. His brother sighed and dug his mobile from his pocket.
"Not in the mood for talk today I see. Don't worry, an associate of mine is with him now" his brother spoke casually ignoring the way Sherlock's eyes were boring into his face demanding a real answer. He opened his phone and dialed. Putting it to his ear he said
"Video chat. And stand close to the bed" then pressing a button on his phone he held it out for Sherlock to sink his eyes into. Watson lay still covered in bandages. Everything was white. No more blood. Even his hair seemed whiter. He could see the man's chest rise and fall and he sighed and turned away locking his gaze to the ceiling.
"You're welcome Sherlock" Mycroft said ending the call. Placing a mobile on his nightstand he simply said.
"Call if you need anything." And left
xxx
Now John sits down in the chair by the bed. He sees the notebook laying on the nightstand. A black pen lies on top. He glances at the supposedly sleeping man and then the book.
Finally after an age of debate he reaches over and opens it.
Sarah Jane 21, strangled to death 3/28/2000. Didn't get there soon enough. A few pages later there's another
Wesley Kane 37, Killed in car wreck 12/25/2002. Caught the wrong culprit.
Maxwell Grimme, 54, stabbed 2/4/2003 killer never caught
There are more names. Rachel Danberry, Richard von Sidow, Sarah Masterson…there is more and it takes a moment before Watson realizes these are people that have died on his watch. John turns the pages for a list that's either shockingly long or amazingly short and there on the last page he sees it.
John Watson 5/25/2010.
-Didn't act fast enough.
John gapes at the page not sure he can believe it. He looks up and sees blue eyes open and watching. He jumps a little and shuts the book putting it back on the nightstand.
"Sorry" John mumbles and blue eyes look away.
"No John…I'm sorry." He whispers so quietly John almost wasn't sure he said it. He reaches out and puts a hand on the man's shoulder.
"Don't be sorry" John tells him
"Not for that." He takes his hand away and leans back
Sherlock's eyes pull from the ceiling and fix themselves on John's face. John wonders if even now Sherlock is gathering some sort of data from his expressions. Sherlock expression remains almost unreadable.
"But I should be sorry. You nearly died and it was my fault." Again his gaze goes back to the ceiling, his lips pressed together.
"And then you got me into the water before you jumped in which was stupid of you."
"I wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the time." John replies and Sherlock makes some noise.
"That's no excuse."
"You know most people would just say thank you. There was no way we were going to get out of there in one piece. At least we're alive now." John tells him and Sherlock stares at him almost perplexed for a moment.
"Is that the kind of thinking you picked up in the war?" he asks
"I suppose" John replies
"No wonder soldiers are so bloody mad" Sherlock grumbles. John sighs, it seems he can't get through to the man. Maybe tomorrow he will be more reasonable since they release him in the morning.
As he stands up to go a hand around his wrist stops him.
"Thank you John" his voice was soft. John turned to face him
"You're welcome Sherlock" The hand still clutches his wrist. His eyes are wide, almost pleading. John stares at him for a moment and then down at his hand.
"Alright Sherlock" he murmurs and sits back down. The hand on his wrist loosens but doesn't let go. John sighs and leans back in his chair. Looking on the nightstand he finds the remote.
"Let's watch some more crap telly then," he suggests and Sherlock's lips twitch.
"I love observing idiots, it can be fascinating," Sherlock replies. So John finds a horrible reality TV show and soon enough Sherlock has figured out all the romances and who is cheating on who. He explains it all to John who sits and listens.
At some point the hand leaves his wrist but John leaves his hand resting on the mattress. After a moment a pale hand is placed over his own.
It is that way that a nurse finds them hours later. The doctor and the detective both asleep. The doctor's head resting on the mattress, the detective lying curled on his side. One hand is folded into his chest, the other clasps the hand of the doctor.
All is as it should be.
xxx
HAHA the end!
For those who care why yes i was referencing Star Trek with Nurse Chapel and Doctor Who with Sarah Jane(RIP Elizabeth Sladen)
R&R if you like