John stood alone in the hospital. He was outside of Sherlocks' room pacing back and forth repeatedly.
When they arrived at the emergency room, the paramedics explained the crude situation that Sherlock had placed himself in and the doctors described the wounds that he had inflicted upon himself. John wasn't paying attention to their chatter. He kept his eyes on his friend the whole time.
During their medical diagnosis, they had been hustling through the hallways. John was rushing alongside Sherlock. He found it quite easy to keep up, since he and his friend were always running around in the streets of London. Now John was running for a different reason.
"It'll be alright. You'll see." He wasn't sure if he was saying that to Sherlock or himself at that point. It didn't matter though. It was comforting him.
Finally, they had all arrived in the operating room. Sherlock was rushed inside the doorway, and quickly placed alongside the operating table. John had managed to push himself in between the door.
How could this happen? "Jesus..." John moaned. If only he had been there to protect him, none of this would have happened...
The surgeons finally noticed John was in the room.
"Get him out of here!" one of them screamed.
"No! I can help! I'm a doctor! Let me come through, please!" Three nurses quickly came towards John blocked his view from Sherlock.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave" one of them said calmly.
"Please!" he begged. They wouldn't move. He couldn't see Sherlock. His friend. His only friend. Frustrated, he tried to push away some of the nurses. "He's my friend!" he wailed.
The two seized John by his arms. The detective's companion planted his feet into the ground, refusing to move. The third nurse just stood there, staring at John. She was feeling empathetic.
The grip on John's forearm was getting tighter and tighter by the second. Soon he began to lose his hold on where he stood. John was losing the fight. The nurses dragged him closer and closer towards the door while his feet scraped across the floor. He desperately tried to anchor his sneakers into the polished floor, but to no avail.
Sobbing, he cried out "Please!"
Unfortunately, they had reached the entrance. The third nurse rushed up towards the door. Feeling guilty, she swiftly opened it for John. She didn't make eye contact with him.
The other two nurses clutched his forearms and, with a lot of effort, threw him out into the hallway.
"Don't make things harder on yourself" one of them murmured.
Shutting the door with a smash, they turned their backs and rushed back towards the table. The third nurse stayed for one moment more. Her gaze slowly creeped up towards John's head. Regret was written all over her face.
"I'm sorry" she mouthed. Promptly, she shut the blinds.
Why couldn't he help? He was an actual doctor! Baffled, John rushed up towards the glass window and tried to catch a glimpse of Sherlock. He saw nothing. The shades were sealed perfectly shut.
So now he was stuck outside the room, pacing. Back and forth, and back and forth. He couldn't count how many times he had touched the two walls. He was wondering what they were doing, and if it was helping him. Did he survive? If he did, does he have brain damage? Did he lose to much blood? Oh god, I could have done something else!
John glanced down at his nails. They were torn down and only the nail was left. He bit them all down so much it started to hurt. As he looked at them, he grinned. If Sherlock was here he would make a comment and ask if he was planning to have his hands for dinner. Biting his nails was something he hadn't done in a long time. He thought the habit was gone. Apparently it was back.
The door suddenly opened and his heart stopped. A doctor stepped out and made eye contact with John. He scanned the doctors' expression, trying to use some of the deducing skills he learned from Sherlock. In a result, he attained absolutely nothing. Maybe he was too panicked.
While John was scrutinizing the doctor, other surgeons, medics, and nurses departed from the room. Finally, the last person exited.
Afterwards, the medical doctor addressed John: "You can go in now. He's stable, but very weak, so I would let him rest." John just nodded and quickly walked in.
There, on the hospital bed, laid Sherlock. It appeared that the detective was still faraway and unconscious, so he was unresponsive when John entered the room. Pale as a ghost, Sherlock had been hooked up to a million different wires. They had been inserted into his arms, inside his gown, and those wires led to machines that were placed all around him. John heard the frequent beeping noises emanating from the strange contraptions, and that put him on edge.
"Oh God..." John slowly shuffled around Sherlock and examined him. He noticed that they had put a large bandage around his wrist where he had slashed himself. Why? What possible reason could he have for doing this?
He then settled himself in a chair next to Sherlocks bed, never taking his eyes off of his best friend. John just sat there, staring at the consulting detective...wondering. He became engrossed in his thoughts.
Sherlock never did anything like this...he never showed any of his feelings to the world...well it seemed like he didn't have any. Oh god...that's why. Back in the flat, he had said that Sherlock had no emotions...Sherlock didn't respond to what he said or even acknowledge his apology. He took it seriously, and believed it to be true. Dear god...what have I done? He placed his elbows on his knees and gently let his head fall into his hands. Tears started falling freely from his eyes. One drop after the other collided with the ground.
Sherlock peeked one eye open. He didn't expect John to react this severely. Suddenly, Sherlock started to feel remorseful. John knew he was going to be alright...So why is he still troubled? Is this what it feels like to be guilty? Strange. He quickly shut his one eye again.
John grasped Sherlock's limp hand from the bed. The detective's hands were pale and cold. John tried to warm them up, so he clasped his own hands into his friends'.
"Why Sherlock...just...why?" John sniffled through the tears, staring at his friends' hands.
Sherlocks eyes started to flutter open. He began looking about the room, pretending to be confused. John didn't spot him 'waking up', so he mumbled something unintelligible to get his attention.
Hearing the murmur, John looked at his best friend with hope in his eyes. He was awake.
"Sherlock!" he exclaimed.
Holmes turned to him with an exhausted expression on his face. Their eyes met.
"John."
It came out of his mouth, sounding no louder then a hushed whisper.
"Oh Sherlock!" John lunged on top the bed and the detective received a bone-crushing hug.
"Ouch!" Sherlock squeaked. It had, in fact, actually hurt. John's hugs were rare. One, because Sherlock wouldn't allow it, and two, because they were pretty painful when he did allow it.
John, for a moment, forgot how fragile and damaged the man was. He was just so delighted that Sherlock was alive.
"Sorry...I just thought you where a goner." John stared at Sherlock, barely believing he was here.
The detective started to feeling a bit uncomfortable. He didn't like being gazed upon for more than ten seconds...It was just a bit unnatural for him.
To break the silence, he stated "Well, I'm here and I'm kinda hurt...So don't try to break me in two again."
John and Sherlock both smirked.
"The minute you are, I'm smacking you!" he joked. Sherlock was puzzled by his humor.
"But...Why?" The reality of Sherlocks' situation finally hit John. And that make him enraged. He stood up from the chair, giving Sherlock an angry look that could kill a man.
"You tried to kill yourself! Did you even realize the effect that this would have on anyone?" he shouted. "Wait! Don't answer! I already know what you're going to say!" John barked furiously. He continued: "You don't even care if it broke me apart. If you haven't realized it, you idiotic genius, you are my best friend! I'm starting to doubt if I am yours!" John words had a impudent growl and bite to them. Infuriated, he stormed over to his seat beside Holmes. He sat there, glaring at him.
Sherlock avoided eye contact and contemplated what John had expressed. Sherlock's heart (yes he has one!) suddenly felt very heavy. This was just supposed to be a part of the plan. He needed Johns' reaction for this to go perfectly. Now it seemed like it was going too well.
Sherlock scrutinized John. Holmes only had one friend. Now he was scared that he would lose him. And all of this was over a stupid case.
The detective looked at John in the eye. "I'm sorry."
It was just a whisper but John heard it. He sighed. At least he realized that what he did was wrong. Plus, he couldn't be angry at Sherlock forever.
"Can I just ask why?" Sherlock abruptly scanned the room and pretended that he didn't hear his comment. This went on for a minute or two. John just sat there, silent as a kitten.
His eyes traveled back towards John. "Please." Sherlock looked at his friend with pleading eyes. In John's point of view, Sherlock didn't want to talk about it because it was to painful. But in reality, revealing the truth would ruin the whole entire case. John decided to leave it alone. For now.
Suddenly John realized something. A very something that Sherlock would not like.
"Um... Sherlock you do know they are going to send you to a mental hospital, right? They want to make sure you get help." This made Sherlock smile on the inside. It was really quite difficult to make sure that he didn't grin on the outside because that would give away his plan.
He was finally getting where he needed to be. Sherlock put a troubled look on his face and replied to John: "I know...It was something I had to face if I survived."
That made John cringe. He gazed downwards upon the floor. He did not want to think about it if Sherlock hadn't survived. That would not have been very fun.
"Although, I do have one request." John looked up at him, confused.
"Ok?"
"Make sure they send me to Havenwick. It's the only place I won't be utterly bored in. If it costs too much, just talk to Mycroft. He'll help." John didn't understand why, but he agreed. Sherlocks' method was usually unorthodox, but he always had his reasons.
Sighing, John announced: "I'm going to talk to your doctor some more about your condition. You stay in bed, rest, and don't get out of bed unless me, or the other doctor tells you so. Got it?" John wanted to make sure that Sherlock understood him perfectly, and obeyed his orders. But Holmes was already in his own world, absorbed in his thoughts. His eyes were closed, while his hands were in clasped together in front of his face.
"Sherlock!" he yelled.
Sighing Sherlock said: "Yes, I know...Don't do anything rash. Now go have fun with your doctor."
How does he do that? thought John. He arose from the chair and advanced towards the door.
"I'm also going to call Mycroft to see if he can get you in Havenwick, or whatever the place is called." John grasped the handle of the door, turned it, and headed out. The second that the door closed, a big smile came across Sherlocks face. It didn't last that long because the door opened again, and his face changed right back to sadness. John's head popped back in for a second.
"Seriously, though. Get some rest while I'm gone, alright?" Sherlock nodded, looking innocent. John smiled, feeling that he had accomplished something. He then strolled out of the room, leaving Sherlock alone in the room.