Author's Note: Wow, a quick update. This isn't likely to happen again for awhile. But it did this time! Thank you to everyone who favourited this story, and put it on alert and reviewed. It's much appreciated! I hope you like this chapter. Remember, reviews are wonderful! Also, this chapter has been edited since it was posted. Nothing much has changed just one line to reflect something read later in the story.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights and credit go to their owners. Except the mistakes. Any and all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: Mention of suicide.

Sherlock Holmes hated hospitals. He hated the smell. He hated how clean they were. But worst of all he hated how they made him think of death. Normally thinking of death didn't bother Sherlock, but there was something about hospitals that made him hate it. He hated this hospital even more than most. This was because John, his John, his best friend, was currently laying in a bed somewhere, completely unconscious, completely unaware that he was here and alive.

Sherlock took a deep breath before he stepped in the front doors, glad to catch sight of Molly Hooper right away. He quickly and silently made his way to her, his hand shaking slightly. He needed a smoke, a drink, anything to calm him down, even just slightly. But he couldn't risk that right now, he needed to get to John's side and now.

Molly looked up from where she was standing to see Sherlock walking towards her. He looked horrible. He had lost at least fifteen pounds since Molly had last seen him, and he needed a haircut desperately. His cheeks had sunk into his face slightly and he was even paler than normal. Molly supposed that was what a year and a half of not really taking care of himself would do. She could only hope that he hadn't started using again.

Molly herself had changed in the past year and a half, having put on just a little bit of weight. It wasn't much, but it was enough that Sherlock noticed. She looked good, healthy. Her hair was shorter as well, closer to shoulder length. Even Sherlock had to admit that she looked attractive and happy. Not right now, as she was worried about John, but Sherlock could see traces of her happiness. She must have found someone, Sherlock decided, though who, he couldn't tell at the moment.

Molly greeted Sherlock with a tight smile, unsure how she was supposed to greet someone that she hadn't seen in a year and half. Sherlock said nothing, only moving to grip Molly's hand, something that he wouldn't be comfortable with if she was anyone else (unless she was John). Molly only nodded in understanding as she led Sherlock to the room that John was in. When they got to the door, she looked up at the man before her. "Sherlock, you have to promise that you won't cause a scene. He still isn't awake, and the doctors are trying their best," she all but whispered.

Sherlock nodded slowly before he let go of her hand and reached for the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, he was home. John was home. But, what if John woke and he didn't want Sherlock around? What if John never forgave him for what he did? What if John hated him for it? Sherlock took a deep breath before he stepped through the doorway and into the room.

The sight before him terrified him. John was laying in a bed, a bunch of tubes and wires hooked up to him. He looked weak, horrible, helpless. It wasn't just because of the fact that he was in a hospital bed, nor was it just because he had attempted suicide. Sherlock could see what a year and a half had done to John. He could see that John had suffered severe depression and just what that did to him. John had lost weight, enough that Sherlock was surprised that he hadn't passed out from hunger. His cheeks had also sunk in, and his hair had greyed quite a bit more.

As Sherlock moved to sit beside the bed, he took John's hand in his own. How could he have let this happen? How could he not have thought about what John would go through? Sherlock sat there blaming himself for everything that had happened to John. It wasn't until almost two whole minutes later that he noticed the rope burns on John's neck.

John had tried to overdose? Who had found him? Mrs. Hudson? Likely, more likely than anyone else finding him. Sherlock's hand began to shake slightly again. What if Mrs. Hudson hadn't found John? What if it was too late? What if John never woke up? Sherlock wasn't sure he would be able to deal with John not waking up. After all, he had come home for John. John was his home. If John didn't wake up, would Sherlock go through exactly what John had?

Sherlock squeezed John's hand lightly. "John... It's me, Sherlock. You have to wake up," he whispered. "You have to. Please. For me." Sherlock wasn't normally one to beg, or plead, but he wanted John to be awake more than anything. He wanted to tell John the truth, he wanted a chance at a real life with John. He wanted his best friend back.

Molly Hooper stood in the doorway of the hospital room, a single tear falling down her cheek. There was a time when she would have done almost anything to hear Sherlock talk to her like that. She wouldn't now, she had Greg now, but seeing Sherlock care for John in that way, it made her feel horrible. She had talked to the doctor's, there was a good chance that John wouldn't wake up. What would Sherlock do then? Would he leave again?