If anyone had told Dr John Hamish Watson former accident and emergency surgeon and army doctor, that he'd be lying awake at three in the morning, tossing and turning whilst his usually perpetually conscious long-term flat mate and more recently lover was snoring peacefully beside him he'd of thought them a fool but here he is.
He carefully un tangles himself from his slumbering lovers embrace, locates the pyjamas he removed earlier that night and heads downstairs.
Maybe a cup of milky tea and some crap early morning t.v. will help to settle his restless mind.
He enters the kitchen only to discover Sherlock has left one of his 'experiments' all over the kitchen table, what could a man possibly learn from a pigs snout submerged in a container of urine?
He decides to forego the tea and make do with just the telly. The first channel he switches on is showing a repeat of The Connie Prince Show.
John can't help but remember those manic few days and agonising weeks of recovery he and Sherlock had shared thanks to Jim Moriarty.
They have the scars to show from that encounter.
John is beginning to think his body has more scar tissue than healthy tissue.
He notices he's been absently stroking the newer scar tissue on his abdomen during this train of thought, its a jagged angry red scar he received during the pool explosion, when a wall tile embedded itself in his gut. He nearly bled to death that night. He hates looking at it,
When he sees it he is instantly taken back to that night, the horror of the explosion, dragging Sherlock into the pool just a few seconds to late.
Sherlock had been knocked unconscious by the blast and had nearly drowned whilst John was trying to tend to the fact he had a fucking ceramic wall tile protruding from his stomach.
The panic he felt when he realised that Sherlock was no longer in his arms but on the bottom of pool.
He had to drag him up and out of the pool every step complete agony, luckily as he pulled him out Mycroft and half of Scotland Yard stormed the building in a hail of sirens and raised voices.
John woke up 15 days later, his heart had stopped twice during the operation to repair his mangled intestines and he'd been put into a medically induced coma for the sake of his recovery.
He was surprised to find Mycroft sat in the chair beside his bed, fearing the worst he asked about Sherlock, to which Mycroft explained that Sherlock had suffered 2 broken ribs, minor burns and a concussion and was currently strapped to his bed under sedation for his constant harassment of the medical staff assigned to look after John.
Later that afternoon Sherlock was finally able to visit Johns room, the moment he saw John awake he broke down and sobbed on the floor for what seemed and age, when he'd finally composed himself enough to talk to John he explained he'd spent the last fortnight imagining life without John and it had torn him apart, he told John that he never wanted them to be parted again and very boldly kissed him, John thought What The Hell and kissed him back and he's never looked back.
Smiling to himself at the last memory, John shuts the tv off, climbs the stairs up to his and Sherlock's bedroom disrobes and snuggles in beside his lover placing a kiss atop his head and wrapping his arms around him before finally drifting off to a peaceful sleep.
A/N: hope u enjoyed my first crack at writing
Issie x