New update guys! I'm really enjoying writing this, so I hope you all enjoy it too. Again, all medical info is from the internet, I'm trying to make it as legit as possible, so if something is wrong, please feel to point it out!

I don't own Sherlock, duh.

It had been 16 hours since Sherlock had been admitted to the hospital. Since John had found him lying in a pool of his own blood...Sherlock's condition was still stable, but officially comatose now. Since he'd been moved to the ICU, Sherlock'd been taken for several different scans. CTs and MRIs and EEGs. All trying to map out his brain function, trying to figure out where the damage was, trying to decide if he'd ever regain consciousness. The cardiac arrest had taken its toll on Sherlock's body, and had deprived his brain of oxygen for a significant amount of time. From the scans, the doctors had gleaned that the damage was most severe at his brain stem, the one of the worst possible area. Responsible for consciousness, breathing, everything needed to sustain life. It would take a miracle for Sherlock to wake up on his own. So John just sat there, not really sure what to do with himself. He couldn't leave, couldn't bear the thought of even leaving the waiting room. It did give him a lot of time to think though. Because he had realized something, something incredibly important. He loved Sherlock. Loved him in every way possible, loved him more than anyone or anything. He'd fallen in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once. These past few months for John...they'd been incredible. The best of his life. He'd been happy, he'd laughed. He'd helped people, saved lives. There had always a spark between him and Sherlock, he'd know it from the start. Had that connection always been romantic? Had he spent the past several months slowly falling in love with every aspect of his flatmate, and not even noticed it? Every single day growing closer to his epiphany? He was so sure now. He was in love, real, true love the likes of which he'd never felt. They were soul mates, even though it sounded corny. Every action and decision in both of their lives had pushed them closer and closer to each other. So John kept on hoping that Sherlock would wake up. That they'd be together in the end. That John would see his smile that always lit up the room because of how rare they were. That he would hear his deep, rich laugh. That John would be able to tell Sherlock how much he loved him...

Mrs. Hudson arrived a few hours later, worry shining in her eyes. She rushed across the room as fast as possible and gingerly sat down in the chair next to him. John explained Sherlock's condition to her in a quiet, calm voice. Tears leaked down the sweet old woman's cheeks as John broke the news to her as gently as possible. Sherlock may never wake up. He had a really hard time saying it himself, he didn't want to believe it to be true. Soon Mrs. Hudson began fussing over John, as usual. She tried to convince John to go back to the flat and get a little rest, or at least go down to the hospital cafe for something to eat. She would be there for Sherlock, and would call John if anything happened. John agreed only to make Mrs. Hudson feel better, just to make her feel happy. He got up apprehensively terrified that Sherlock would be gone when he came back, and was about to leave when he remembered the letter. He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to Mrs. Hudson. She took it from it and held it close to her heart, shooing him off.

Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as she held the letter. Sherlock was like a son to her. He'd actually saved her life. Her husband...he hadn't been a very good person. She'd married young, unaware of what a monster he was. He was abusive, and he hurt her fairly often. She'd been stuck in that terrible marriage for so many long years. But then Sherlock had come along. She smiled softly to herself at the first memory of the young man. It had been nearly five years ago, in the middle of the coldest winter in years. She'd just come home from doing some shopping when she noticed a him walking down the street with no coat on, shivering against the biting cold and thin as ever. She'd immediately stopped what she was doing and pulled him inside for a cup of tea and a nice warm fire. He'd smiled softly and rather shyly at her as he fussed over him, grabbing an old wool jumper that had belonged to her husband from the closet and insisting he wear it. All the while bemoaning her husband's predicament. He was on holiday in Florida, of all places, and had gotten himself arrested on suspected murder charges. But there wasn't much evidence against him, and it was looking like he'd be on his way back to England. But she'd been sure he was guilty, and was absolutely terrified at the prospect of him coming home. When she finally sat down to drink her own tea, Sherlock explained in a soft, surprisingly deep voice that he might be able to help her with that little problem. One week later, her husband had been convicted and sentenced to death, and she honestly couldn't have been more relieved. From that moment, she'd know that she would have done anything for the young man. When the tenants of 221B moved out, she'd immediately gotten a hold of Sherlock and offered it to him. She loved having him around, even though he drove her up the wall with the shooting and the body parts in the fridge and the violin in the middle of the night. She chuckled softly to herself as all the memories flooded back to her. She took the letter in her hands again, tracing the creases in the paper. She opened the letter carefully and began reading.

Dear Mrs. Hudson,

Thank you so much for everything you've done for me. You've put up with me for some five years now, and I couldn't be more thankful. The day you showed me true kindness for no reason at all, and in our years of knowing each other, you've become one of the few people to show me such kindness. To show me that not everyone hates me. So thank you. Maybe I haven't always liked to admit it, but I have truly enjoyed our time together. You've become a mother to me, a figure I've lacked since the age of six, and I became the son you never had but always wanted. I've always wanted to make you proud of me, and I hope I succeeded, even if it was for such a short amount of time. You've been there for me, you gave me a home. You put up with all my...eccentricities and never stopped caring for me. I'm so so sorry it had to end this way.

Thanks for everything,

Sherlock

John finally arrived back at the flat after a long, silent cab ride. He slipped the key into the lock, thankful it wasn't raining this time. Less than 24 hours ago, John had been walking up the steps, calling out to Sherlock. He'd actually been angry at him. He hadn't know that Sherlock had been slowly bleeding out at that very moment. He'd give absolutely anything to walk into the flat and see Sherlock sprawled out on the couch on his fifth day of sleeplessness. Or staring intently into his microscope, ignoring John completely. Or sawing away violently at his violin. Anything to have Sherlock here, alive and well, rather than lying lifeless in the hospital bed. He ran his fingers along the rough wallpaper of the landing right before the steps. He flashed back to the day they first met, right after they arrived back to Baker Street after chasing the cab. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips at the memory of them laughing together. He opened the door to the eerie silence of their flat. He warmed himself up some food, thankful there were no stray body parts in the fridge. After he was done eating (he hadn't even know he was hungry), he walked down the hallway, remembering the mess in the bathroom. He grabbed a stack of towels and began cleaning up the bloodstains on the tiled floor. In his cleaning, he came across the blade that Sherlock had used and promptly tossed it in the bin. He shoved the newly bloodied towels into a trash bag, stiffly getting to his feet and tossing the bag into the bins outside. He made his way up to his bed, and gratefully sank into it. He fell asleep almost immediately, and dreamed of Sherlock.

Who caught the John Green reference there? I feel the quote actually works perfectly with this fic and really the entire Johnlock relationship. Well then, thanks for reading, and as always, please review! I hope to update soon!