Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: This is now from Sherlocks point of view. There will be one more part, explaining what happens after. Hope you all enjoy!

Sherlock sat like a gargoyle in the hard plastic chair. His feet were on the edge of the seat, with his chin resting on the top of his knees; while he had his arms wrapped as tight around his legs as possible. The last two and a half weeks had been a complete and utter nightmare. Sherlock was use to having hundreds of thoughts running through his mind every minute of the day; but not the last eighteen days. No, he had one thought, just one word, take complete control over his mind. The word was like a mantra, repeated over and over again. 'John, John, John'. Sherlock stared at the man on the bed, as he thought back to when this change in thought process had really started.

Flashback, 4 months ago...

The area that John was in was so far from any civilized communication it was a miracle even Mycroft had been able to set up a video call. But Sherlock didn't care about that at the moment. He was able to talk to and see John, just as if he were right in front of him. Well, it was a little blurry at times, and the picture would lag behind, but all in all, it was wonderful. They talked about everything and nothing, until John turned the conversation a hundred and eighty degrees.

"Sherlock you need to stop." John said seriously.

"What?" Sherlock asked confused.

"You know what." John paused for a moment. "The drugs."

"John." Sherlock breathed out.

"No Sherlock, I'm not stupid. No one told me anything, I am a Doctor, I can see these things. You need to stop. Now."

"I don't know if I can." Sherlock admitted.

"I understand why you do it Sherlock. I really do. You want to stop being bored. You have to find a way to keep your mind occupied. I understand, but you have to stop." Once again John paused, looking off into the distance before returning his gaze back to Sherlock. He made sure to have Sherlocks attention before continuing. "If you don't stop taking any kind of drug, I wont come home."

Sherlock sat in shock, his body turning cold. "What?"

"I have ten months left Sherlock, but if you don't stop, I wont come home, I wont return to London."

"John." His voice was barely a whisper.

"Like I said, I understand why you do it, but I will not, can not stand next to you and watch you destroy yourself. I can't Sherlock." John said, his voice full of emotion.

End flashback...

Sherlock made a promise that very minute to never take any type of narcotic drug again. He demanded Mycroft to come and help him clean and dispose of his stash. He even gave up his cigarets. Not wanting to disappoint John at all. Since then everything he did, he would first think, 'Would John approve of this?'.

At that time, Sherlock knew he was not in the greatest part of London. He wanted John to share a flat with him, at least for awhile, so he needed to find a better place. Mrs. Hudson had called him just a few weeks before, 'Just checking up on you dearie.' and had mentioned the upstairs flat was available. The very next day Sherlock was packing and moving boxes into the new flat, while Mrs. Hudson helped sweep and clean, 'Just this once dear, I'm not your housekeeper.'

He stared at the man in the bed, hoping he'd wake up and tell Sherlock his worry was for nothing. Sherlock's gaze drifted to the machines that were, at the moment, keeping John alive. 'John, John, John' Sherlock thought, willing him to keep breathing, as he looked back at Johns ghostly pale face. During the last four months life seemed to be going well. Sherlock had tried to keep himself busy so as to not become bored. He had accepted any offer Lestrade made, and even took to cleaning the flat the way John would approve of.

Sherlocks eyes flickered up to the machines again and notice the numbers were not the same as they were just a few moments ago. His breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat as the machines alarms went off. A doctor and three nurses ran into the room, as Sherlock moved out of the way. While the medical team worked on John, Sherlocks mind took him back again. This time to when his breath caught and his heart skipped the first time.

Flashback 18 days ago...

Lestrade had texted him with a new case. Sherlock was excited to have something to actually do with his mind. Cleaning the flat just wasn't quite cutting it this morning. As he sat in the back of the cab, he got a text from Mycroft. Knowing his brother would prefer to call than to text, he opened his phone.

I am sending a car for you. - MH

I am headed to a crime scene. - SH

I know. - MH

Boring. - SH

I have information on John. - MH

What information could Mycroft have, John still had six months to go in his tour?

What information? - SH

Just get in the car when it arrives. - MH

What information Mycroft. - SH

The phone was silent for a moment. Just as the cab pulled up behind the police tape, his phone buzzed again.

Reports state he is injured and missing. - MH

Sherlock barely remembered to pay the cabbie as he got out. He didn't reply to Mycroft, knowing there was no need. Older brother had got his attention. For a moment he couldn't breath, his chest hurt as his heart pounded erratically. The flashing lights around him finally broke through the one thought running rampant through his mind 'John, John, John'. Sherlock realized his feet had taken him to the front door of the building, where he saw Lestrade waiting for him. The DI asked him a question which he answered with a glare, wanting to have minimal conversation as possible. Sherlock looked around the room, yet he saw nothing. 'John, John, John', ran through his mind. He didn't know how long he stood there, it could have been three seconds or three hours. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he knew Mycroft's car was out front. His focused sharpened enough to gaze once more and he shot off limited facts about who the murderer was. After that, he was out the door and in the car before even he realized it.

End flashback...

The nurses were gone when Sherlocks mind returned to the here and now. The doctor was talking quietly to Mycroft. 'When did he get here?' Sherlock wondered. He didn't care much for what they were discussing, as all that mattered to Sherlock was John. The machines still let out a steady beep and whoosh, indicating his friend was still alive. Repositioning himself back in the chair, the same way as before, he took a hard look at John. It was hard to believe that this small, pale, lifeless, person was the same, fit, strong, energetic friend, he had talked to those few months back.

He felt Mycroft come and stand behind him. They stayed like that till Mycroft moved. Sherlock thought perhaps he was leaving, as he never did do sentiment; but Mycroft surprised him. He went to the other side of Johns bed, dragging a chair with him, and sat down. After a few moments Mycroft spoke.

"The Doctor believes if John can hold his own for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, they will try to reduce the meds keeping him unconscious." The silence continued, until Mycroft spoke again. "You know,"

"Yes, I probably do." Sherlock interrupted.

"It's a miracle John has survived this long." Mycroft continued as if Sherlock hadn't spoke, also completely ignoring the look being sent his way. "Between the blood loss and the infection,"

Sherlock once again broke in and this time demanded, "Why are you here?"

"To check on John, of course?" Mycroft replied. Sherlock just raised an eyebrow in response. "And to tell you, you can turn your phone back on." Mycroft added. "I've had a quick chat with DI Lestrade, and he will not be bothering you again. Not until you contact him, and wish to return to solving his crimes, that is. Besides, I'd rather contact you, than go through someone else, to get updates on John."

For the first few days, with no word on John, Sherlock had basically ignored the Detective Inspector. Oh, he'd send one or two word responses, mainly telling him to leave him alone. Once Mycroft had called saying to get in the car, because he was going to Afghanistan, Sherlock had turned off his phone completely. He had time for one thing, one thought, and that wasn't the DI with his tiny little murder problems. 'John, John, John' the name had etched its self into his mind.

The last eight days had been truly horrific. Yes, John had been found, and brought to the hospital; but he was barely alive. The Doctors that Mycroft had sent along, told Sherlock straight out that there was hardly a five percent chance John would even survive the surgery. Over the last eight days, John had a total of three surgeries, and his heart had stopped four times. Every time it was harder for the medical staff to bring him back. The last time had been three days ago, and Sherlock was hopeful that meant John was fighting his way back.

"He won't be the same Sherlock." Mycroft said quietly.

Sherlock didn't look at Mycroft, he just reached out and grabbed Johns hand as he replied, "None of us will be."

A/N: If you liked, please review! The next part will be a continuation of 'what happens next' :)