Sherlock's arrival after hearing that John had returned
Waiting for a sign
Thud, thump, thud, thump. Sherlock's heart was going a hundred miles an hour (physically impossible), as he neared the door of John's hospital room. His eyes flickered to his left and right, emptiness filling his peripheral vision. The corridor was silent. No individual was around. Mycroft. Sherlock thought to himself. It must be Mycroft's doing. No matter what Sherlock said about his brother, deep, deep, very deep down, Sherlock did love his brother. In his own way of course.
His steady steps faltered as he neared the hospital door, the only barrier between him and his husband. He raised his hand slowly, eyes narrowing at his shaky hand as he placed light pressure on the door. He look a steading and calming breath and slowly pushed the door open, trying not to disturb the sleeping habitant within the plain room. His eyes looked around warily as he took in the half cleaned room, the damp stains on the walls and finally the machines. It looked like hundreds of machines were turned on, working at full speed to aid his husband's recovery. The heart machine was beeping regularly, a slightly raised heart rate flashing on the screen, the multiple IV bags hung from poles and an oxygen tank was switched on, the line leading directly to the mask over his husbands face. Sherlock finally looked to John, his eyes absorbing and processing every inch of his husband.
John. He thought as his heart seemed to break into a thousand pieces as he soaked in his husband. His vulnerable and weak husband. No, not weak. So very, very strong. My brave soldier. He looked at his husband's face. Dark mottled bruising was dotted around his face, covering his cheeks, neck and forehead. Multiple small cuts littered his face, breaking the skin, the result of debris from Afghanistan. His pale pink lips dry and chapped, covered by the fogging oxygen mask, proving to Sherlock that he was still alive, still breathing. His eyes were shut, eyebrows relaxed in his sleep, not a care within the world. He glances up at the IV, the morphine is keeping his pain away – good.
His eyes trailed down John's covered chest to the raised lump under the covers. His left arm was pulled over is chest holding his opposite shoulder, bound tightly in a sling. He looked at the red stained bandages that covered his shoulder, a sharp reminded that John had been shot. Shot. John. Shot. The two words seemed to echo in his mind as imagined a sad and lonely life without John. No, never, I could never live without John. I would rather die than live without John. Dark thoughts of his previous life before John flashed behind his eyes, sorrow consuming him as the reality of nearly losing John hit him.
He slowly walked towards his sleeping husband, the constant beeping of the heart machine anchoring him to reality. He sat slowly in the unoccupied bed beside John and readjusted the sheets that had started to come out of place. He reached with shaky hands for the thin sheet as he pulled it gently over his husbands frame, tucking the edges around his thin shoulders. He needs to eat more. Sherlock thought as he noticed the weight that John was lacking from his last visit home. He reached for the hand holding the IV and grasped it gently but firmly in his hand. His heart breaking at the bruises on John's fingers. His beautiful John. Why did it have to happen to his beautiful John?
John's hands were warm in his hands. Sherlock felt a weight he hadn't thought he had lift from his shoulders as he felt the warmth seeping into his slightly cold hands.
He looked up at the sky, not normally religious and thought please, give me a sign that John will be alright. Let him get well. Let him come home to me. Please.
He sighed looking around the room taking in the old and uncared for room. How many people had died in here? How many people have cried over a loved one in this very room? He shook his head, ridding the dark thought from his head. He wouldn't be losing John. He just wouldn't. His husband was a fighter. He was a strong and brave soldier who fought with his whole heart and soul. He was just John.
He turned his head back to his husband, categorising all the marks and blemishes on his face, noticing how his husband had changed over the past 6 months since he had last saw him.
6 months ago
Heathrow airport – 18.00
Sherlock jumped out of the black car that was waiting outside 221B an hour before (Mycroft had his usefulness), and made his way to the arrival lounge. His long coat helped to create a dramatic flair, helping to clear his path. John, John was coming back. Ok so maybe he was only back for two weeks, but still a lot could happen in two weeks! He checked his watch impatiently 18.04, the hands on the clock read. The watch seemed to be taunting him, mocking him. John was due to arrive at 18.15, it felt like a lift time.
He stood by the arrival doors watching as many anxious people arrived, forming a crowd waiting for many of the soldiers to return for their short break. He watched a young woman young, pregnant, due in 3 months, waiting to tell the father face-to-face. Interesting Sherlock thought as he watched the young woman wriggle around on the spot, her foot tapping an unstructured pattern. The tapping seeming to add mocking to his slow ticking hand. 18.14.
His face remained emotionless as he waited for the doors to open and for the army to flood into the busy arrivals lounge. A large crowd was gathered, a frantic atmosphere filling the air. Crack. His eyes turned suddenly to the doors as they slowly creaked open. John. Suddenly many men started to fill into the room, a massive applause filling the air, crying women and sobbing children was heard as many were reunited with their loved ones.
"Sherlock!" Sherlock snapped back to reality as he heard John's voice shout him. He turned looking at his husband. He hadn't changed much. More tanned, lost small amount of weight, tired, sexu- a smile spread wide across Sherlock's face as he sprinted to his husband wrapping him into a tight embrace. He pulled out of the hug suddenly, pulling John's face towards him, his two hands framing his newly shaven face. He analysed John's face taking everything in. Absorbing all the data, and slowly bent his head, laying a passionate kiss onto John's slightly chapped lips. He tasted the sun and sand of Afghanistan, nothing could have been more perfect than that moment. They pulled apart.
"I love you John Watson" he said smiling, face resting on John's shoulder.
"I love you too Sherlock Holmes."
Back to present day
A slight movement brought Sherlock back to reality. The warm hand held within his own was slowly moving. His heart sped up at the thought of his husband waking up. He watched as John's eyes opened slowly, wincing as bright artificial light entered his eyes. He watched as they flickered around uneasily absorbing disjointed information.
John's eyes locked with his own, hazy with morphine, but recognition shining in his eyes.
"I love you John." He whispered, gently raising John's hand to his mouth pressing a gentle kiss onto the bruised fingers.
A weak smile filled John's face as he slowly pulled off the oxygen mask and mumbled a confused and disjointed "I lv u too Sherlk." Sherlock's eyes became wet with unshed tears as his heart felt lighter at the declaration of love.
He watched as John slipped back into a morphine induced sleep, looking up at the sky he thought thank you for showing me a sign that thing will be fine.
He continued to watch John until he next awoke, looking like a vigilant guardian angel, protecting him from any harm that may come to him.
I love you John
Thank you
Minxy12
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