I don't own BBC Sherlock or John

AN: (~~ indicates a flashback)

John watched as his flatmate slowly fell asleep, the book still in his hands. He shook his head smiling as he lay down himself. He was glad to be going home so soon. The past weeks had been less than enjoyable. The constant waiting for Sherlock to wake up had been one of the worst times of his life. Not knowing if his friend would live or die. Not knowing if he'd ever hear his voice again. John could still remember the horror he felt watching Sherlock slide across the pond after the suspect and then fall down the steep hill beyond it.

~~ John chased after the detective, trying to go around the pond, instead of across it. Only to look over the steep hill to see the broken body of his best friend. "SHERLOCK!" He'd of course received no response. Forgetting about the suspect and without thinking just how dangerous it might be to travel down, he quickly began his descent, slipping on the snow covered rocks twice. From here he could get a much closer view. And it made him wish he hadn't.

Sherlock's right leg was jutting out at an awkward ankle, the bone clearly visible. One hand rested against a now red rock and crimson blood had begun to pool slowly onto the snow beneath his head. "Sherlock!" John couldn't tell if he was even breathing. He took a step towards his friend only to lose his footing and tumble down the rest of the way.

The pain was excruciating. The doctor in him remained calm and assessed the damage. Broken left arm, broken fingers on right hand, head wound on left temple, pain in leg, but unable to determine if broken or sprained.. plus numerous cuts and bruises. John counted himself fortunate to not be too badly hurt. He turned his head, wincing, he was almost right next to Sherlock. "Sherlock...Sherlock speak to me, please say something" He whispered, trying to bring one broken hand towards the limp one above his head. John managed to close his palm around the cold, bloody wrist and held his breath, praying for a pulse. Don't be dead, don't you dare be dead Sherlock, I'll never forgive you if you are. A tear trickled down his cheek as he waited what seemed like years until he felt the slow but clearly present beat of a working heart.

Now that he was closer he could see his friends chest rise and fall. He was relived but knew that neither of them were out of danger just yet. Both were in a great deal of trouble, particularly Sherlock as John could see he had a serious head injury. He wiped away a tear, rather painfully as he knew it was quite possible his friend would never wake up again. I need to stay calm, I need to stay calm, he repeated over and over in his head. The phone, you have your phone, why aren't you calling for help! Funny how that thought sounded so much like Sherlock. He used his less injured limb to pull out the, thankfully not damaged, phone and started to dial for help. ~~

The memories were still raw and painful in his mind. Only matched by the joy and elation when after a week his best friend had wearily opened those pale orbs and croaked out his name. Or when their playful banter had begun again. John couldn't believe how much he even missed the sound of Sherlock complaining over the hospital staff or deducing which nurse was having an affair with which doctor. Now that they were both on the mend, his thoughts began to turn towards the holidays.

There would be no visiting Harry this Christmas, no visiting anywhere really, he'd be amazed if they even did anything this Christmas. Oh God the flat! They hadn't even decorated it yet. Sherlock had been against the idea, seeing it as a frivolous waste of time. John had of course ignored his opinion and brought the decorations anyway, but then they'd been called on to take a case outside of London and the decorations now lay forgotten in boxes in 221b. There would be no food in the fridge either when they got home, their rooms would no doubt be freezing too with no one able to light the fire.

It looked to John like it was going to be a miserable Christmas this year. He sighed, closed his eyes and slipped off to sleep.