Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

~ Artificial Light

Sherlock's Point of View

The consistent patterned beeping is both reassuring and nerve wracking and it's in these moments where I loathe being human. John is in hospital, he was shot in his right hip, going into surgery to remove the bullet, and any bullet shards, he's now recovering but he hasn't woken up and my heart aches for comfort, for some type of sign that he's going to be alright. Most people think I don't have a heart and they're right to a certain degree, when involved in my work, no heart is necessary, only my mind. However, John has my heart and this time, with him being shot and lying there, on that hospital bed, so still with the exception of breathing, my heart got involved.

We are not suppose to be here, we are suppose to be back at the flat, talking over tea, watching crap telly on the couch, or intertwined on the bed, maybe even chasing after another case, not here, in this sterile room, far too clean, too public and foreboding. It's rooms like this where life both begins and ends but at the moment it matches my cynical mood, it's dark with only the dim night-light on and the window shades to the hallway shut. It's late as I sit here, by his side, just watching, waiting; the chair I'm sitting on offering no comfort compared the chairs and sofa at home, where we should be, not here, not this place. The hospital gown and the sheets covering John look so wrong, so cold compared to John's usual warmth.

I can't sit here, this entire place offers no comfort, I have no problems with hospitals but with John in here, I dread this place, he needs to wake up, we need to leave. I get up, from the chair and join John, my John, on the bed, being so slender I only need so little room but he looks so small. I know John is short but he seems really petite now, in this state. I suppose I'm used to his personality being lager than he is, such fire and passion, making him appear taller. Watching him sleep back home in bed, he never looked so small, but at home I know he's safe, not recovering from a gunshot. I curl around him, trying my best not to disturb him, matching my head to his level, leaving my feet to dangle off the bed. He looks so pale, it's all wrong, so very wrong, I don't like him here, I don't want him here, this place is too cold. His breathing is all that matters but I wish he would wake up soon, I want to hear his groggy voice, I need to see his tired eyes open, I have to see him offer me a comforting smile. John, you fool, why would you take the bullet, it should have been me?

I notice his eyes flicker, but they don't open, he looks tired, worn, battle ridden; if I wanted to, I could count every pore on his face from my current position, to his left. My hands cradling his left callous and dry hand, mindful to not bother him. I want to though, bother him, disrupt his sleep, anything to get a reaction, a response. The temptation to scream, just to see if he wakes up, is high but I don't and I won't, he wouldn't appreciate the sudden scare, taking the bullet was enough.

"Wake up John, come back to me." I whisper in his ear.

I kiss his temple tenderly, glad that his skin is warm but I'd prefer him to respond with a kiss in return. I don't tell him that I love him nearly enough but I show him that I do love him, and I do. Our relationship isn't your typical relationship, it can't be planned out or predicted but we have genuine affection for each other, no matter how unorthodox it's expressed, it's true, raw and startlingly precious. I leaned my head down slightly, near his neck and shoulder, breathing him in, feeling the gentle throbbing of his pulse and listening to his light snoring, I doze off.

I don't know how much time has passed but it's still dark and I'm suddenly awake, a groan from John raised me from sleep. I level my head to see his face and his eyes are flickering again, he's moving a bit, becoming aware, I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, it's enough to remove the last remnants of sleep fog from me. His eyes open gradually, blinking, trying to focus and remember what happened, I lean up a bit, getting into his field of vision and he looks so tired and confused.

"Sher..lock?"

"Shh." I shush him with a kiss to lips before giving his entire face soft kisses; I go back to lying down beside him.

"I'm glad you're awake."

Author's Note: This is part one of a four part series, inspired by ambient moments and light, review if you want.