The nurse checks up on him a few times but doesn't say anything other than, "No more news."
Hours later Mycroft walks in. "Ah John, I'm glad to see that you are awake."
John manages to ease himself up this time, sitting more or less upright without any of the nausea or light-headedness of earlier. "Tell me what's happening," he asks, straight to the point.
"He's still comatose; however his vitals are improving steadily. Hopes are improving however he's still in flux. I've employed the very best to be on hand for him at all time, minus you of course. You are to stay in bed. I know how bad my brother has been over the past years he's been away. If he were to wake up and he you were in this state it could throw him into shock and do more harm than good. Try your very hardest to rest and heal. We're estimating he should awake in a couple of hours at best, at worst a couple of days. Depending on the situation you'll be allowed to see him tomorrow." Mycroft said all this matter-of-factly but finished looking worried. "I don't want you to be lulled into false hopes however, there is still a chance he won't make it."
"I'm fine," he says, and he's sure it must be the thousandth time that day. Nobody seems to be taking his word for it though, probably because he's almost manic in displaying his concern for Sherlock. He pushes back all the questions on the tip of his tongue and accepts what everybody is telling him; he needs to rest. It's what he'd tell himself if he was his own doctor, and admittedly he is tired. "Tell me immediately if anything changes," John requests, then lies himself down again."Somebody should probably tell my sister about this too."
"I'll see to it." Mycroft says. "Also John, do get better soon."
"I'll try," John assures Mycroft, carefully lying back down and closing his eyes.
Mycroft turns and walks out, his umbrella hanging still where he would usually be swinging it.
The nurse comes over, "Do you want sleeping medication...? Your rest is vital to recovery now."
When the nurse offers him more medication, he reluctantly accepts it. "Just a small dose."
The nurse administers a dose directly through his IV and it lulls him into a deep sleep for several hours taking him well into the night.
John quickly gets very sleepy and before he knows it, he can't keep his eyes open any longer. When he sleeps, it's mostly dreamless and peaceful and calm except for the occasional wince every so often, causing him to stir briefly before going back to sleep.
John is still sleeping when Mycroft returns, whispering to the nurse trying to determine whether to wake him.
"What do you think? Should we wake him?" Mycroft enquired.
"No, no, let him sleep... we can tell him once he wakes up." The nurse replied.
"Okay, when he wakes collect me from the canteen."
Mycroft walked off again and the nurse returned to her rounds.
It's almost morning by the time John wakes up, and only then because he's not had any painkillers in too long.
The nurse spots he's awake and hurries over, "Feeling any better?" She sets to adjusting the medication again.
"That depends on how Sherlock is," John answers, hopefully.
"I'll be back soon, I was told to fetch someone when you woke up." The nurse hurried off, returning a few minutes later with Mycroft puffing along behind in a dignified manner. "Hello John, how are you feeling?"
"Better," John admits. "Sort of. I'm confused, and it all depends how Sherlock is...but the actual wound isn't quite so bad."
"The wound isn't as bad as the one you sustained in Afghanistan medically, it didn't hit on target and you're lucky for that. I think you'll be pleased to hear I have some good news for you on the Sherlock front. He woke up. Around 3AM. He's still weak and he may need another blood transfusion depending on how well his body copes. It is a worry though; you know how he puts strain on his body, not sleeping or eating properly. We put him under again when he started getting worked up asking for you. His condition is a lot more stable now."
John feels instantly better for hearing that Sherlock's okay, then even more so for some reason on discovering that he'd been asking for him. "I want to see him." He hopes his request will be met this time, especially given how much healthier he feels already.
"I've already gone to the trouble of having food sent up to you, it should be here soon. Once you've eaten and we've checked with the doctors we'll see. I am myself in favour of it; I think Sherlock will be much more agreeable if you're there when he wakes up. He was quite frantic before."
Mycroft walked away to talk with the doctors.
"I am a doctor, and I say I'm well enough to go!" John pushes himself up and tries to get out of bed. If nobody will let him go and see Sherlock, he'll take himself. The pain in his leg intensifies at the slightest movement, and he hisses, able to stand for less than a second before collapsing back down onto the mattress.
Soon after a cook with a cart came walking down the aisle. She passed him a tray with a big meal, a slice of cake and some orange juice on and walked away again.
When the food arrives, John picks half-heartedly at it, not the slightest bit hungry.
Mycroft returns a few minutes later. "I see the food had arrived but it seems not to be to your taste, I would have thought you'd be hungry. And as for the point that you're a doctor: I know that but it's not your physical state that we are assessing. We're assessing whether the strain of being woken up again plus the added excitement of seeing you and news on the case will be too much for Sherlock whilst he's this fragile."
John shakes his head, pushing the plate away. "Too much going on to be hungry," he says. He knows that he should eat, but he just doesn't feel like it yet. Maybe after he's seen Sherlock. "And? What did your doctors decide, then?" He's determined to see Sherlock despite what is decided for him, it'll just be a lot easier and less painful if he's given permission.
"I've sent for a wheelchair. However, you are not moving until you have finished that food and we've cleaned you up a little. It wouldn't do Sherlock well to see you in this state." Mycroft gives John a knowing look.
John glares at Mycroft defiantly, then pulls the tray closer again and forces the food down in large mouthfuls, too quickly to even taste it properly. "Happy now?" he asks, tipping the empty plate up to show Mycroft.
Mycroft smiles grimly, "Is this really a time to be positively happy? I am pleased at your eating though it saves me from having to have you restrained and banned from the private wards by security until you had."
"I suppose not," John agrees, face paling. He's built up an image in his head where Sherlock is completely fine and Mycroft keeps reminding him that this is not the case. "That wouldn't be necessary."
"John, I'm sorry to keep shattering your hopes, truely I am. However, it would be better for you to not imagine everything is well. The contrast of reality with your mental image will probably distress you no end. Finish all your food. The nurse will be here to help clean you up soon."
Ordinarily, feeling this sick would put a complete stop to the chances of John eating anything more. As it's his only chance of getting to Sherlock, though, he forces down the cake and the rest of the orange juice and waits for the nurse. He wants to shout that he doesn't need any help, but he learned long ago that it's always easier to just go along with Mycroft's orders.
"Good. I'll wait outside." Mycroft turned and walked away when he saw the nurse hurry over with a new set of pajamas, a bowl of water and a few towels. He nodded at her on his way out.
"How are you feeling?" The nurse repeated the question she asked so many times a day.
John ignores the question at first because he doesn't know how to answer. "Overwhelmed," he replies eventually, deeming that the most accurate way of describing everything that had happened.
"Understandable. Now let me just draw the curtains and we'll get you cleaned up. I can't say I agree with them for allowing you to move." She frowned at the conversation she'd had earlier where everything she'd said in the best interests of her patient had been rejected. Closing the curtains she turned back to John. "Can you move the upper half of your body without too much pain?"
John shook his head. "I'm hardly moving, it'll be fine," he says, starting to get bored of constantly having to persuade everyone to let him do anything. He twists his body round, testing his range of movement, then nods. "A little bit, it's not too bad."
"Good, use the water and this towel to clean yourself while I change your wound dressings..." She took the covers off the bed and piled them in a heap on the chair before setting to work, she was quick and accurate but still surprisingly gentle as she checked over, cleaned ("Just in case...") and re-bandaged the gun wound on his leg.
John does as he's asked, pausing for a moment when his curiosity gets the better of him and he has to lean down to get a good look at the wound. He's pleased with whichever surgeons operated on him, it should heal well. As the nurse cleans it, he goes back to wiping dried blood from himself, concentrating on that rather than the stinging.
"There, all done. Are you nearly finished? Once you have I've been instructed to put you in these and put you in a wheelchair." By the way she said instructed it was obvious she hadn't had any choice, it was an order and she wasn't happy about it. She held up the pajamas at her words.
Getting on the wrong side of his nurse would only make things difficult, but John couldn't help but get annoyed with her tone of voice and how vehemently she seemed to be against letting him see Sherlock. He wiped the last of the blood away and nodded. "Ready."
The nurse handed him the shirt of the set to change into and set to work easing the trousers over his wound. "There," she said as she straightened up. "Done. I'll be back with the wheelchair in just a moment." She smiled sadly as she walked out of the curtains still drawn around his bed.
Feeling like an idiot in the hospital pyjamas, John shuffled himself over to the edge of the bed, waiting for her to bring the chair to take him up to Sherlock's ward. He's not quite sure how he's going to react when he sees his best friend again and he's worried he'll make a complete fool of himself.
The nurse returns pushing a wheelchair with extensive leg support and arranges it at a suitable angle so that she can help John into it without him putting excessive amounts of pressure on his leg. "There now, someone will be along to take you to the intensive care unit soon. You are to wait here, do not try to push yourself there. I have to go see other patients now. I'll check in on you when you return, goodbye." and with that the nurse snaked off again.
John's impatience quickly grows and if not for the nurse's explicit order for him not to make his own way to the ICU he'd be on his way by now. He gingerly shifts his weight around in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position for his leg to rest in. He's getting tired of waiting and he just wants to go.