The Characters do not belong to me they belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC's Sherlock
Pain, he was in so much pain. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the pain in his shoulder, there were people around him shouting but, he couldn't even begin to comprehend what they were saying. The pain was getting worse and he let the darkness take him.
The next thing he remembered was waking up to the sound of beeping. 'I'm in the hospital' he thought. He couldn't feel anything and his head was fuzzy so he must have been on the good stuff. He drifted off again, feeling exhausted.
The next time he woke up he was able to stay awake longer and open his eyes. When he opened them his eyes were assaulted with light and he closed them again, quickly. He tried again opening them more slowly this time, it worked, his eyes adjusted to the light. He turned his head when he sensed there was someone next to the bed.
'Good afternoon, John' the person next to the bed said.
'Mycroft' he rasped
'How are you feeling?' The man, Mycroft, asked him, with what seemed to be real concern in his voice.
'I'm not really feeling anything at the moment, what happened?'
'You got shot in the left shoulder, John, and you have been honourably discharged as the nervous system in your shoulder was damaged badly.'
'Oh' John muttered, trying to take it all in.
'The doctors assure me that you will be able to leave in about two weeks. When you are free to leave I will have a car waiting to take you to the airport to get on a plane. I will meet you in London and I will take you to Sherlock, he will be very pleased to see you.'
With that Mycroft took his leave form the room and John sighed, he lent back into his pillows and fell asleep.
The two weeks that he spent in the hospital went slowly, too slowly for his liking. Over the course of the two weeks the doctor had slowly been taking him of the good pain medication and on to some standard stuff that he had to take in tablet form.
When the day came to get out of the hospital and back to rainy, old London, he couldn't have been happier. He was going home to see his husband after months of being away from him.
On the plane John mostly slept, he had to be awake when he saw Sherlock, he just had to be. When Mycroft picked him up from the airport and took him to a housing estate, he realised that Sherlock was on a case and he would finally get to meet the team of Yarders that Sherlock was always going on about. He could see for his self if they were as stupid as his husband made them out to be.
He limped his way up the stairs, using the hospital issued cane. He had been informed by Mycroft that the limp was purely psychosomatic and would probably be gone within a couple of days of his return to London.
He watched as Sherlock and Mycroft argued and couldn't help but smile when Mycroft moved away from the door so Sherlock could see him. He was glad to be home.
THE END.
Please review! I hope you enjoyed it! (It was written in about an hour so it's probably rubbish)