John woke up from a dream that takes place on the battlefield.
He had a patient in front of him just moments away from death. His right shoulder is torn up completely, staining the surrounding areas with a crimson red. A bullet was lodged in deeply between his shoulder blade and his spine. This soldier has survived many fatal injuries, but this one may be his last. John happened to be the only healthy doctor left, so it was all up to him. As he steadily removed the bullet, more soldiers were waiting to be treated. He quickly cleaned the wound then stitched it up. The next soldier had been shot in the lower stomach. He examined the wound and found that this was rather easy to fix, for many injuries were the same as this one. Just when he about to remove the bullet, he was shot in the leg. The pain was coursing all throughout his leg. He yelled in agony and looked down at the wound. Blood was running down from where he'd been shot.
That was when he woke up. He had so much adrenaline running through him that John never really realised where he was. When he took a few moments to look around, he found himself sitting in a hospital bed. He looked at his leg and saw it all bandaged up. Was he really dreaming?
He tried to get up, but he winced once he put weight on his wounded leg. A doctor came in once John sat back down on his bed. "Oh you're awake! It's about time. We were getting worried. How do you feel?" the doctor asked. She was a tall, brown eyed woman with black hair cut just past her jawline. Her fingers were slim and had dark blue nail polish on her nails. John looked around the room again. "How long have I been here?" He asked the woman.
"Ever since you've been shot. It's been two years." She said. John gasped. It couldn't have been that long. "Has Sherlock come to visit at all?" John asked. The doctor had a confused expression which was instantly replaced with regret. "No one has, John. We tried ringing family, but nobody answers." John shook his head. "No. Sherlock would have visited me. Come on, are you sure?" He asked. "No calls? E-mails? Nothing?"
The doctor shook her head. Nothing. "What's his number, I'll call it." John gave her Sherlock's number, but the man who answered wasn't him. He tried giving Molly's number, Mycroft's, Mrs. Hudson's, and even Irene's. People answered, but none of them knew who John was.
"We'll try finding them later, John." The woman said. "Right now, how about you go freshen up a bit, okay?" She led John to the bathroom, where he took a shower and got dressed. He looked at himself in the mirror. He's changed quite a bit. His hair has grown out more; his face looks as if it'd become sadder. His eyes were dull and seemed to have lost colour. He stood there for what felt like forever to him.
He snapped out of his daze when he heard a knock at the door. "John? Are you okay? You've been in there for quite a while." It was his doctor. John opened the door and walked out. "Sorry, I- uhh- I got distracted"
"That's okay. I just wanted to tell you that we've run some tests and Sherlock and everyone else you were talking about don't exist." John looked at her as if she had just insulted him, and she kind of did. "What the hell do you mean? Are you telling me I lived in a flat with someone who didn't exist this whole time? I'm not stupid."
She sighed and took him to a room down the hall. It was full of computers and doctors dressed like her. John saw his name across a computer screen to his right. He looked at it closely. "See this is your file. As you can see, you've never lived in or even near 221b Baker Street.
"But I swear I've lived with Sherlock! I lived in 221b Baker Street, you understand? Don't try to convince me otherwise because it's not gonna work!" John said, getting a bit annoyed at the woman's 'ignorance.' The doctor sighed. "Well we are going to give you a therapist until you recover."
John stood up straighter so he could look her in the eyes. "Listen you are really pissing me off! I don't need to recover from anything! I am perfectly normal!" She backed down a bit, hoping to calm John down. "Okay, well let's head back to the room so you can relax. I completely forgot about your leg." John wanted to resist, but he also didn't want to push them so much that they admit him into a mental hospital. He trudged back to the room and laid down on the neatly made bed. He was thinking about everything that's happened to him since he woke up.
Has it really been two years?
He thought to himself. John eventually got his racing thoughts to slow down as he took a small nap.
He was woken up by a new doctor. This one was a man with dark skin and dark brown hair piled on top of his head. He had a little bit of facial hair and smelt of a soft floral scent. His teeth were straight for the most part, and they were a darkened white.
"Good morning John. Did ya sleep well?" The new doctor asked. "My sleep was alright. I've had worst nights." John replied, sitting up now. The doctor held a tray of breakfast. It had eggs, bacon, a muffin and a glass of milk. "I brought you some breakfast. Eat up and get dressed. You have to go to therapy in an hour.
The doctor left John to eat and came back with a set of clothes to change into. It was a beige jumper and a pair of trousers. "You can change into these once you're done." The doctor said and left again. John finished his breakfast and set the tray aside. It took him a moment to get up, but once he did, he took his set of clothes to the washroom and changed into them.
They fit perfectly and his fixed his hair so it wasn't out of place. He smiled softly into the mirror, thinking that he will be able to see Sherlock again. He doesn't want to believe that his only friends don't exist, not yet.
John walked out to see his first doctor sitting in a chair. She got up and walked towards the door, expecting John to follow. "Ready, John?" John sighed and slowly nodded as he followed his doctor down the hall.