"John." Sherlock spoke again his voice echoing in the empty room.

The small doctor didn't answer.

"John!" the force of the other man's name exploded from Sherlock and a part of him broke free.

It's John!

John is dead!

It can't be!

We saw…

We watched…

Dead!

Alive?

Voice, upon voice swirled in a buzz through Sherlock's mind as he tried to grip on to reality.

Was the doctor really here? Eyes fixed on the suspended man Sherlock stepped closer until he could smell the sweat and blood on John. Reaching out Sherlock's fingers brushed the warm skin of someone who was very much alive. Still uncertain Sherlock touched the exposed wrist and waited for the pulse he had searched for over two years ago.

There it was strong and beating.

How? How was this happening? How was this possible? Sherlock was fighting the urge to scream again. He had checked for a pulse, a pulse that wasn't there but now it was!

"John," Sherlock tired quietly reaching to touch the doctor's slackened face.

John didn't respond. He was breathing lightly as in sleep.

Sherlock's eye drifted over the heart monitor strapped of the man and the I.V. that was slowly pumping a clear liquid into John's vein. He wanted to pull John down but didn't want to hurt him. Sherlock pulled out his phone instead and called the first number he could think of.

"Sherlock, where are you? What's wrong?" the frantic voice of Lestrade greeted.

Sherlock grimaced, "Lestrade I need help," He spoke his voice sounding grave and emotionless, "and I need an ambulance."

"What?! Are you hurt? Where are you?" the D.I. shouted over the phone.

Fighting the rising anger and focusing on helping John, Sherlock kept himself calm. "Warehouse five, hurry please." He hung up, tossing the phone behind him.

Sherlock walked around the bed frame supporting the doctor, looking for some clues of something. He wasn't sure maybe something to tell him how John survived. Nothing stuck out and only John occupied the room so Sherlock moved to face the sleeping man again.

He looked older, more wrinkles with more grey laced through the blonde. Scanning down over the naked chest Sherlock winced, the scars were all over, crisscrossing making the skin looked scaly.

"John," Sherlock spoke gently touching the other man's face.

Whatever the doctor had in his system it had a tight hold and John continued to sleep without a hint of waking anytime soon.

Stroking the doctor's face for a moment Sherlock realized he felt scared. He was terrified that this was some sort of trick, something Moriarty had cooked up. Sherlock eyed the John before him. It looked like John in every way. The tall man had studied the doctor's face a thousand times, yet Sherlock still had doubts. Leaning forward and stretching up on his tippy toes Sherlock took a deep sniff of John's hair.

Leather and book pages!

Only John smelled like that.

Sherlock smiled. "John," he whispered wishing the man would open his eyes.

Some minutes went by and Sherlock could do nothing but stare, keeping an eye on the slow rise and fall of John's chest. What would happen when the doctor woke up? Would he be the same gentle and caring man or had the years with Moriarty robbed Sherlock of that man? Sherlock's eyes drifted over the scars. What had Moriarty done to John? How had he broken the ex-soldier?

How did John survive?

That would the first question Sherlock would ask John. Molly had done his autopsy to confirm, had she gotten it wrong somehow? Sherlock shook his head Molly wasn't as idiotic as most people and she knew John.

What had Moriarty done?

The swirling unanswered questions were frustrating so Sherlock locked his gaze on John's face and settled into wait.

He didn't have to wait more than five minutes before a squad of police officers from Scotland Yard burst into the room. When they announced the room with clear Lestrade marched inside followed by Mycroft. Seeing his brother trailing after the D.I. wasn't a surprise to Sherlock. He knew they were sleeping together but he didn't bother with that.

Lestrade froze when he saw John his face contorting in stunned surprise and pain.

Mycroft wasn't as visible with his shock by the doctor. He managed to keep his face a mask narrowing his eyes when he directed them to Sherlock. Stalking around the statue that Lestrade had become, the eldest Holmes approached.

"What is this?" he scoffed, "Is this a trick, some morbid prank?" Mycroft usual calm domineer slipped as he spoke nearly spitting in rage, glancing at Lestrade with worry.

Sherlock didn't take his eyes from John, "No." he answered. Why would Sherlock do that? Who would even think he would do that? Trick people with something like this, no.

"Sherlock…" Lestrade breathed.

The anguish in the man's voice startled Sherlock and made him look at the D.I. Lestrade was staring at John in disbelief. Moving from the unconscious man Sherlock went to Lestrade and grasped his shoulders.

"Greg, where is the ambulance I ask for?" Sherlock asked but the D.I. blinked at him slowly, "Lestrade!" he snapped Greg jerked before focusing on Sherlock, "Ambulance?" the taller man repeated.

"The team is standing by outside," Lestrade answered quietly his eyes going back to John.

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft for help but the older Holmes was examining John. Sighing the consulting detective decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Greg, listen to me," Sherlock said grabbing the other man's attention, "Go get them so we can get John to a hospital." He instructed.

"Hospital?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock resisted the urge to strike the D.I. "Yes John needs a doctor." He told Greg gently.

The detective just started and Mycroft decided at that moment to approach, "Come dear," the elder Holmes coaxed tugging gently on Greg's arm. It took a few light tugs before the two were out of the room.

Sherlock faced the unconscious doctor and waited.

Within minutes people bustled into the room and began working on pulling John from the bed frame. Paramedics stood by until the doctor was lowered on to a gurney, they then rushed forward checking vitals and looking over the man's scarred body.

Sherlock followed as John was wheeled out of the warehouse into a nearby ambulance. Without a word the detective climbed into the back. He spotted Lestrade and Mycroft watching from a car.

The elder Holmes was whispering into the D.I.'s ear but Lestrade didn't seem to be paying attention as his eyes locked on the still form of John. The ambulance doors were snapped closed, blocking their view and it began to speed away.

Sherlock turned his eyes to John, glancing at the paramedic's as they constantly checked the man over.

"Who would do something like this?" one of the paramedic's asked gingerly touching a few of the scars striped across John's chest.

"A monster," Sherlock breathed.

His hate for Moriarty had vanished. The man had ruined everything and had taken John from Sherlock, making him the monster but the same man had returned the doctor. Why? Why had James, who had gone through so much trouble in destroying Sherlock, granted the only wish the consulting detective had ever had? Moriarty had known he was teetering over the edge of Hell's gates but his last act was to resurrect John. It perplexed Sherlock.

Shaking his head, Sherlock forced those thoughts back. There was plenty of time for pondering, at the moment he needed to focus on John.

At that moment as if on cue a low moan came from the doctor, everyone in the ambulance froze. Sherlock held his breath, staring at his friend.

Slowly John's eye lids twitched before opening. Dark blue irises peaked between the lashes. The lids slid further open revealing more of the familiar storm color beneath. Sherlock slowly released his breath, leaning in. John's eyes drifted over to him but they were unfocused.

"John," Sherlock whispered reaching out a shaking hand. Slowly his fingers stroked the greying blonde and the doctor's eyes started to focus. "Can you hear me?"

John's lips parted slightly as he blinked at Sherlock. Moments dragged by and the two stared at each other. Sherlock stroked slowly, drawing the strands through his fingers. John's eyes flashed with recognition and a small smile creased his mouth.

"Sher…lock…"

His name was drawn out and sounded weak from a voice that was clearly underused but it was music. Sherlock felt hot tears running down his face and a smile formed. His John was here! His John was alive!

Suddenly the machines started beeping hysterically and John's eyes rolled back showing white, his body began convulsing. Startled, Sherlock couldn't move until a paramedic pulled him back.

"He's going into shock!" One of them shouted and an oxygen mask was forced over the doctor's contorted face. They then rolled him on to his side but nothing else was done.

Even in all the madness Sherlock understood John was going through a shock induced seizure and there wasn't much the paramedics could do until it passed. It was in that moment the ambulance pulled into the hospital, the doors were thrown open and the gurney was pulled out.

People rushed from the doors and raced John from the ambulance towards the hospital. Sherlock could barely keep up, thankfully his long legs helped. The group headed for the elevator and he slipped in. The paramedics were rattling off and the doctors listened intently as nurses fussed over John's still seizing form.

As soon as the lift's doors opened the people spilled from it running for the I.C.U. A nurse broke from the crowd and stepped in front of Sherlock. The taller man skidded to a stop, watching as John disappeared between the swing double doors.

"I'm sorry sir but you can't go back there." The nurse spoke sternly but Sherlock ignored her, stepped around, and stalking for the doors.

The nurse ran after him "Sir! Sir you can't go back there!" she shouted.

Sherlock spun to face her, "I WILL NOT LEAVE HIM ALONE AGAIN!" He roared.

The woman fell back, her eyes wide and fearful. When she didn't move or speak Sherlock turned away from her and preceded through the double doors.

It was easy to find where they had taken John as people rushed to the room. Sherlock couldn't get into the room that was packed with doctors but he could watch from the window. It was hard to see John amongst the writhing bodies but what Sherlock could see was a relief.

John was no longer convulsing and lay still in the bed, the slow rise and fall of his chest was a good sign. Tubes and wires were strapped to his arms and a hospital gown was in the process of being tied on.

"Sir," a voice called, Sherlock turned a glare to the speaker daring them to try and force him from John.

The woman took the glare being older and used to the unwillingness of visitors, "He's going to be fine." She told him. Sherlock blinked slowly at her, "His system is in shock at the moment. It seems he was on some powerful drugs for a while and he will be going through some violent withdrawal in the next few days. We've taken a sample of blood from him and we'll have it tested to find out what exactly he had but right now all we can do is wait"

Sherlock frowned. All he could was wait…wait…That's the only thing he had been doing for the past two years. Glancing over at John, he saw that most of the room had cleared.

"I won't leave him." Sherlock told the nurse, she only nodded. Moving passed her and over to John's side.