Chapter 4 yay. I hope you guys like this in chapters, I feel it makes it easier to read. Again thanks for reading fanfiction network .

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

-John Watson POV-

'My chest is so tight…so tight. Can't breathe…can't breathe. Where am I?' His body felt weightless, but his chest was so heavy…so heavy. Then nothing, no feeling, no light, no dark, no sound, just nothing…

Then he felt something. There was something pounding on his chest, over and over again. 'It hurts, please stop.' Then his chest was seizing and he felt water in his mouth and nose, at some point it stopped, he wasn't sure when because he was somewhat out of his body. He felt something on his lips, and something squeezed his wrist. 'What was that? Who was that?' He blacked out.

At some point he started to notice things again. He felt warm, felt soft sheets around him, felt dizzy, felt pain but somewhat removed from his awareness. He felt…definitely hands holding his, but also he could feel the slight tickle of breath on his side, the up and down movement of a chest that wasn't his own, and a slight tickle of curly hair.

'Sherlock!'

The events of the pool zoomed through his head as if they were a movie recap on TV. He tried to figure out what the last events he remembered were. He remembered tackling Sherlock into the water and dragging him out. He remembered Sherlock was completely fine, coughing up the water in his lungs immediately and without assistance; so like Sherlock not to need help. Then things got a little fuzzy for John. He remembered a loud sound and…something from the ceiling fell on him? Yes that should be right, he thought. After that there was nothing he could remember.

'I must be in the hospital,' John's brain formed hazily. The bed was too small and uncomfortable to be his, and he realized he could hear a faint beeping from the heart monitor.

'I should probably attempt to open my eyes now' he thought. He started to creak one open and shut it immediately, clenching his eyes tightly due to the overly bright light. He tried again, there was only a small lamp on in the corner, and it wasn't as bright as his brain was making it out to be. He realized he probably had a concussion. He could finally get his eyes all the way open, he blinked around, trying not to move his head or body, dreading the pain he would feel when he did. He glanced over to see who was lying on him, and found it was Sherlock.

'Of course it was Sherlock, who else would even visit me?'

Sherlock started to stir, unconsciously sensing John was awake, and John quickly saved the snapshot of Sherlock (curled around John's arm, head against his chest) to save for later. When else would he ever get the chance to see Sherlock a) sleeping peacefully, and b) touching John, holding on to him and not wanting to let go.

Sherlock stretched like a cat, slowly coming back to life, but never let go of John's hand.

"Hey," said John in a low, throaty voice.

Sherlock seemed to freeze for a second then his eyes quickly met John's eyes, scanned John's body, and then went back to his eyes.

"Hello." Sherlock replied. "How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain?"

"I don't know, and not in a terrible amount of pain, no. Are you all right? What happened? I can't remember everything." He said in a gruff voice, his throat still raw from nearly drowning.

"Of course, you, the one in the hospital bed with more tubes stuck in him than the London Metro would ask if I'm all right." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes I'm fine you idiot. I got off with a bruise on my head. You on the other hand…" John saw pain and guilt flash through Sherlock's eyes. "You have been injured quite badly. Concussion, lacerations, broken and fractured ribs…and burns on your back, and they might be infected." John noticed Sherlock's blue eyes seemed to get darker and tenser as he named John's injuries.

John's felt his heart tighten at seeing the pain in Sherlock's eyes. The pain caused by John being hurt. He knew Sherlock did care after all, no matter how hard Sherlock denied it, how much he refused to admit it. John hated seeing that pain in Sherlock's eyes, but he hated seeing Sherlock hurt or almost killed even more, so he was still glad he saved the detective. He would give his life for Sherlock; he would do anything to protect this amazing man holding his hand.

"A beam from the ceiling had pinned you to the bottom of the pool. You stopped breathing, your heart stopped beating…I did CPR, but it still took too long." Sherlock's breath hitched before he forced himself to continue. "You have to promise me you won't do that again, you can't leave me. Not again. You can't let your beautiful heart stop beating. Please." Sherlock continued; his voice was pleading and broken. He squeezed John's hand and brought it up to his lips for a quick kiss.

John gasped quietly at Sherlock's sudden display of affection. His heart thumped extra strong for a second until he convinced himself that Sherlock couldn't possibly be thinking of him in that way…right?

"You know that's not something I can promise right?" He squeezed Sherlock's hand but saw a shadow fall over the striking ice-blue eyes at the words. "But I'll do my best, I swear."

"You have to do better than your best. I can't…" Sherlock seemed unable to figure out the right words. "I can't…I…I can't lose you." Sherlock finally said. He had brought one of his hands up to John's face and stroked his cheek lightly.

John felt a place low in his stomach get warm and tingly. His heartbeat quickened (which made his ribs twinge painfully) and he was embarrassed that the heart monitor displayed that change quite obviously. He couldn't keep anything from Sherlock anyways, but did the machine have to make it so damn easy. Well he seemed to have kept his more-than-friend-Love from Sherlock's notice.

John stared into Sherlock's eyes. "I don't want to lose you either…not ever. You keep me going Sherlock, you keep my heart beating. I'm not saying this to hurt you, it's just true. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't met you." He said, hoping he hadn't gone too far and scared Sherlock off.

Sherlock's eyes pinched painfully as he seemed to absorb what John's words really meant.

Then Sherlock's mouth crashed into John's.

John gasped into the kiss, ignoring the pang in his ribs, as Sherlock's lips moved lightly, sensuously over his. John couldn't quite believe it but the pain he was feeling proved this wasn't a dream (he thought so at least), so he started to kiss back, hesitantly at first. Sherlock's hands cupped his face, stroking his cheekbones, his jaw, and his hair. Soon the kiss turned desperate, deep, aching, passionate. Lips were everywhere, tongues dancing together, and teeth nibbling. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, sending tantalizing vibrations through both men. He felt himself getting aroused, each dart of Sherlock's tongue went strait down to his core like pleasant arrows of fire.

Suddenly John couldn't get enough oxygen in; he pulled back reluctantly, gasping for breath. He was gasping and his chest was sending sharp shooting pains through him. He started to hyperventilate, his head aching and dizzy, all of the pain that had been held off by medication, and Sherlock, came to his attention simultaneously. He felt the burns, his ribs, his stitched cuts, his concussion, and his lungs aching from expelling so much water only a few hours previous.

'BLOODY HELL THIS HURTS!'

Sorry about the cliffhanger. See you next chapter, and I appreciate you all for reading.