Mrs. Hudson came by and chose to stick around much to John's annoyance. She meandered between being helpful and bringing books and sweaters from the flat and sitting in John's room with tears in her eyes. After a few hours of her whimpering he insisted that she go back home. He could only take so much of her "helpfulness".
He was finally allowed to get up and walk around as he wished. The first thing he did was put on his slippers and walk to Sherlock's room. It was only a matter of time before he woke up and he wanted to be there when he opened his eyes.
The moment he stepped in the room, he heard the familiar gravely tones of the other Holmes. Mycroft stood against the wall with his phone pressed tight against his ear and his brows furrowed.
John desperately didn't want to speak to Mycroft. Even though the mugging was not his fault and Sherlock's injuries had nothing to do with him, he felt like Mycroft would find a way to spin the story to put the blame on him. But he didn't care. He needed to be around a friendly face whether Mycroft was there or not.
John shuffled inside and grabbed a chair. Even though he was on the mend, his energy level was still low and just the walk down the hall had taxed his system like a jog in the park used to do. Mycroft didn't even look up as John settled into his seat.
"…call me when you get here."
Mycroft hung up the phone and turned his head slowly like an inquisitive owl.
"John…you're here."
Mycroft defied explanation and John didn't bother deciphering his implications.
"They said I could walk around. I wanted to check in."
"I was on the phone with the specialist. He's coming in from New York. Got him on a flight last night. Car's bringing him over in the next hour."
"What's he going to do?" John asked.
"They're going to wake him and do tests."
John gulped. He was terrified of who Sherlock would be when they woke him up. Even though he'd run through even scenario in the confines of his bed he wasn't ready for the reality.
"Have they told you anything?" John asked.
Mycroft nodded. "They say it looks good. There doesn't appear to be any major damage that they can see thus far but I still wanted the best. You understand."
"Of course," John said.
Mycroft bowed his head. "I'm hoping he can go back to Baker Street after all of this. Is that all right?"
"Yes," John said, "absolutely." He had never imagined a scenario where it wouldn't all return to normal after they were both released.
"Father wanted to come," Mycroft said, "but he couldn't. You know how it is." Of all the people in the world, John was the person that needed the fewest excuses for why a family would ignore even the direst of emergencies. His own family had all but overlooked his extended hospital stay except for the Get Well card his sister had sent through the mail while on her vacation in Hong Kong.
"I understand," John said. "At least you're here."
Mycroft almost smile, almost. "Did you want to wait? The doctor should be here shortly."
Throughout their tumultuous relationship John had always felt that Mycroft disrespected his because he didn't have that unquantifiable factor that made the Holmes boys special. He figured that, to Mycroft, he was just a tagalong that mooched off his little brother.
"Are you sure I won't be a bother?"
"I don't imagine so. I think it might be good for Sherlock to see a friendly face." A bittersweet smile crossed his face as Mycroft's eyes drooped and lowered towards his brother's lifeless body on the bed beside him.
Two hours later and Sherlock was given the medications to spark his consciousness out of the induced coma. The American doctor that Mycroft had flown in and his trusted nurse stood beside the bed and monitored every minute action of their patient from blood pressure to the smallest muscle movements. John just watched in dazed awe at the production behind it all.
The drugs didn't work right away and John knew that they wouldn't. His medical knowledge dampened many of his idealistic hopes that Sherlock would jump from his bed and run out to the flat within seconds. He knew that even under the best scenarios it wouldn't be a miraculous recovery. It would be hard work.
From his vantage point John could see bits of his friend's body in between the gaps that the doctor and nurse left as they moved. He tried to monitor from his end but it was a frustrating and thankless activity. John forced himself to sit back and wait.
Suddenly there was a stronger beep on the heart monitor that woke John from his stupor. Something was different.
He looked over at the doctor who had moved from Sherlock's feet to his head. He had a notebook in hand and a light in the other. John shifted his head to look towards his friend's face.
He was awake.
