Holmes paced up and down the hospital corridor as he waited for the surgeons to finish operating on Watson. When the cab had arrived at the hospital, Watson's breathing had become more and more laboured and causing a terrified Holmes to quickly gather Watson into his arms and rush into the hospital calling for help. Holmes was quickly relieved of his burden and Watson was put on a trolley and wheeled straight into the operating theatre, closely followed by Holmes who gripped Watson's hand and only let go when the surgeon told him he needed to operate on Watson.

Holmes sat down on the small wooden chair and stared at the floor, and clenched his jaw. He could not stand waiting not knowing if Watson would be alright or not. If Watson did not he would hang the thieves personally for their crime. The operating room door swung open and Holmes saw a heavily covered Watson being wheeled out. Holmes leapt up from his chair, shocked at how pale and drawn Watson looked. His eyes gazed upon the surgeon and they fixed on him, almost bulgingly for any signs that would indicate Watson would be alright.

"How is he Doctor?" asked Holmes ignoring the faltering unsteadiness in his voice.

The surgeon, a silver haired man with many wrinkles round his green eyes which spoke of many sleepless nights, looked at Holmes and smiled.

"He will be very weak for some time, that was a nasty bullet wound your friend got, it smashed a rib and penetrated part of his lung which was causing him internal bleeding in addition to the external bleeding and explains why he was having trouble breathing when you brought him in here. But we have taken care of that now".

Holmes closed his eyes in silent thanks as he took in the news.

"What about that head injury; he was hit over the head by a poker as well"

The surgeon saw the worry in Holmes's eyes and laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"He will recover, but his head is going to hurt for a few days and he will be too weak to move very far. But please don't worry; your friend will heal with time".

Holmes felt the weight of dread lift from his shoulders and he thanked the surgeon, gripping his hand firmly.

"I would like to see him if I may" said Holmes firmly.

The surgeon nodded taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes wearily. He knew that this gentleman would move heaven and earth to see his friend.

"Certainly, just give us a few moments to make the patient comfortable and you can see him".

Holmes cringed at the clinical description used to describe Watson but he bit back a retort as he observed the surgeon to be tired, in some pain himself with the onset of arthritis in his hands. This Holmes knew signalled the end of the surgeon's career.

"Thank you Doctor" said Holmes softly as he picked up his now bloodstained coat and walked hurriedly towards the hospital ward and his Boswell.

When the fog began to clear from his mind, Watson heard a soft groan and wondered where it was coming from only to realise it was from himself. Confused Watson groggily tried to raise himself up and found himself being pushed back by strong but steady hands. Watson felt his head sink against the pillow and groaned again as the room spun round and he lifted a hand to his face and tried to rub the sleep and pain out of his eyes trying to remember what exactly had happened.

There were burglars; one of them had a gun, why did I not see that, and then the pain. Wait there was a voice, so familiar, but yet shaking. HOLMES! Where was he? Is he alright? Had they hurt him? HOLMES!

In his confusion Watson reached out with his arms calling out Holmes's name and became increasingly distressed. Strong hands caught his arms and held them down and a familiar voice called out.

"Watson, it's alright I'm here, it's me, Holmes. Look at me old chap, everything is fine, it's all over now. You are safe"

Watson opened his eyes once more and the aquiline features of Holmes came into view. Watson saw the concern in Holmes face and eyes and gripped Holmes's arms.

"Holmes!" said Watson simply and sank back on his pillow in relief as he saw his friend and smiled weakly.

Holmes sat down besides Watson and rested a hand on Watson's shoulder and spoke softly to Watson

"How are you feeling Watson?"

Watson started to speak but was interrupted by a splutter of coughing. Holmes got up and poured out a glass of water for his friend and helped Watson drink the cool refreshing liquid, gently lifting his head and supporting Watson as he did so.

"I'm alright Holmes; just the damned chloroform always makes me ill". Said Watson as he drank the water and leaned back heavily against Holmes. This small effort had exhausted him.

Holmes smiled as he carefully lowered Watson back against his pillow and gently pulled the blankets over Watson's now sleeping form. He sank back in his chair and watched the steady rise and fall of Watson's chest as he slipped further into a deeper sleep. It had been close. Too close, but Watson will be alright. He would ensure that the locks at Baker Street would be changed as soon as possible as his guilt over what had happened to Watson made it's presence known. Holmes took Watson's hand in his and rested his head on the edge of Watson's bed. He would watch over his Boswell for the remainder of the day. He was safe now. Holmes felt his own exhaustion take over him and as the early morning sunshine seeped through the hospital windows, it's fingers found two souls united by the bonds of friendship, hands still joined and sleeping in the still of the early morning. In this moment they had both found peace in a world of darkness and pain.

Hmm another cliffhanger .... *Laughs evilly* Hope you are enjoying the story so far ! I hope to update this very soon quite possibly tomorrow !! :)