*I have such plans for this little fic and I hope everyone is enjoying it enough to stick around! I would like to thank everyone for leaving reviews, I love you, you guys are fantastic! Thanks again and enjoy!
Sherlock watched over John without moving a muscle. He wouldn't allow his eyes to leave the doctor's face even when they had begun to sting for being open too long. Sherlock didn't know what times it was or how long he had been in the hospital and he really didn't care.
His mind had been wandering over the hours, spending most of the time in his mind palace rearranging it. The comings and goings of doctors and nurses was ignored and it wasn't until Lestrade and Mycroft showed up that Sherlock fully acknowledged someone.
A few minutes after the D.I. entered the room is when Sherlock became aware of the lingering presences. Blinking several times he turned and spotted Lestrade hovering in the door way with Mycroft slightly behind.
Greg looked absolutely terrible. Dark purple bags rimmed his blood-shot eyes. A horrid, scraggly five-o'clock shadow covered his face and his hair stuck up at all angles. Lestrade's clothes were no better. The once pressed suit he wore was now in shambles. Various stains covered the dull white shirt that had come untucked from the D.I.'s trousers. Mud and other substances darkened the grey of a majority of the suit.
Greg was frozen in the door eyes fixed on John's unmoving form.
Sherlock stood as he turned his eyes on his brother and gestured towards the now vacant chair.
Mycroft seemed to get the message as he squeezed around Lestrade. "Come my dear let's get you settled." He mumbled gently grasping Greg's upper arm and guiding him forward.
The D.I. didn't struggle and allowed himself to be directed. He sat willingly and even leaned forward to grip John's slackened hand.
Sherlock and Mycroft paused to overlook the scene before them. The elder Holmes looked to his brother and wordlessly nodded towards the door and went that way. Sherlock followed glancing over his shoulder to the two behind him feeling slightly worried in leaving John.
Once in the hall Mycroft stopped a few feet from the room but they were still able to see John on the bed from the observation window. Sherlock noted the lack of activity in the hall and deduced it was the early hours of the morning.
"How is he?" Mycroft asked looking nervously at John.
Sherlock sighed, "I am told he has been heavily drugged for some time and he is likely to make a full recovery. When we arrived they sent out for a blood test to know what exactly he had in his system. He woke briefly during the ambulance ride,"
Mycroft gave a small smile when he heard that.
"His body then went into shock and caused a seizure."
The smile was now gone but Sherlock continued struggling with every word.
"So far he hasn't woken and I was warned he'll be going through withdrawals…" His voice failed him and he breathed in sharply to keep his brimming tears at bay.
Mycroft shifted closer to his brother seeming in hopes that his presences will bring a bit of comfort. "How did you find John?" the elder Holmes asked.
Sherlock pulled Moriarty's note from his pocket, "I killed Moriarty earlier." He whispered holding the paper out.
Mycroft stiffened and stared wide eyed before forcing his hand to grab the paper. "Your heart still burns?" he read.
"I pulled that note from Moriarty's pocket after I killed him then a text message arrived on my phone giving me the address to the warehouse." Sherlock finished deliberately leaving out the suicide part.
Mycroft may try to deny sentiment but when it came to Sherlock…he is a sentimental fool and him knowing what the younger Holmes had been planning would have been a disaster. Sherlock wouldn't live it down if Mycroft knew.
"How is this happening?" The elder Holmes asked his voice was quiet and uncertain. In a way it was almost childlike and surprised the younger brother. He had never heard Mycroft sound so human.
Sherlock looked hard at his brother, "I don't know but I intend to find out."
"And how do you plan to do that brother mine, you killed the only one who had the answers?"
"Not the only one brother," Sherlock corrected looking over at John.
Mycroft followed his gaze settling on the unconscious man, "You think he will have the answers?"
"Indeed I do," Sherlock said as he started back to John's room, "John Watson is the man with the answers."
When the two brothers reentered the room, Lestrade looking much better, turned and eyed them. "I touched his hand and the heart monitor jumped." He happily said adding a small smile.
Sherlock managed a smile on the D.I.'s behalf and even saw Mycroft's mouth twitch. Strolling closer Sherlock planting his hands on Greg's shoulders and looked at John, "I think you may have help in the healing process."
Lestrade chuckled shaking the younger's man hands from him. "Don't be ridiculous." He said breaking out with a loud yawn.
"Greg, why don't you let Mycroft take you home, you've had a long day and I'll be here for John?" Sherlock suggested getting a protesting look from the D.I. "Don't worry I'll call you if anything changes."
Reluctantly Lestrade stood, slowly, "What about Moriarty, should we be worried about him?"
The question was so sudden that Sherlock barely held back a gasp luckily Mycroft was much more aware.
"Don't worry about that my dear we have people watching nothing will happen to the good doctor."
Greg was satisfied with that answer and made his way to the waiting arms of the eldest Holmes. He wrapped an arm around Mycroft's waist and settled his head on the other man's shoulder.
"Do get some sleep brother." Mycroft threw over his shoulder as the two left the room.
Sherlock watched them go having intention of sleeping whilst John was. Settling back into his chair the younger man took up the hand Greg had left stroking the slightly darker skin and looked to the doctor's face.
John's eyes twitched rhythmically behind his closed lids. The heart monitor continued relying the regular heart beat with no sign of the man waking. The repetition of the fans from the machines and the quiet beeps from the monitor Sherlock felt himself starting to doze.
"No." he snapped.
He won't sleep. He couldn't sleep not when he had to watch John. Sherlock was afraid that if closed his eyes, he would wake up and everything that had happen wasn't real. That it was a trick of his mind. Sherlock couldn't go through that, he didn't want to lose John all over again. It was a ridiculous notion but the younger man couldn't bring himself to believe otherwise.
Tightening his hold on John's hand Sherlock ducked his head to kiss the soft flesh. "Where are you John?" he asked laying his cheek on the back of the other man's hand and looking up at his face.
Sherlock didn't mean to. He really didn't, one minute he's looking at John in the hospital bed the next he was startled awake by people frantically shouting. For a moment Sherlock is disoriented and can't remember where he is. People are talking to him and around him, making it that much harder to focus.
"Would everyone just shut up?" He grumbled running a hand through his hair.
The voices didn't cease but they weren't directed at him anymore.
Sherlock stretched his arms and twisted his back to get a satisfying pop before he was truly awake. His eyes went straight for John. But John wasn't on the bed anymore. The crisp white hospital sheets were empty!
Sherlock shot from his seat, "Where is he?" he hissed at the nearest doctor, grabbing the man by the shirt.
The doctor looked terrified but remained calm as he answered, "That's what we're trying to figure out Mr. Holmes."
Throwing the doctor from him, Sherlock turned to the bed and stalked closer.
John had woken and left the room, somehow without waking the younger man in the process. Touching the sheets, Sherlock noted they were nearing room temperature. So John had left sometime in the last thirty minutes or so. Sherlock hoped the doctor hadn't left the hospital but something told him he hadn't and an thought sprung to mind.
In the entire world where would John go if he were stuck in this hospital, this particular hospital?
Without telling anyone Sherlock darted from the room heading for the stairs. He took them two at a time forcing his body to move faster. He needed to go down a floor, that's where it was.
Once on the floor Sherlock sprinted through the halls, he ignored the angry shouts of people he'd nearly ran into looking for the exact room. It wasn't hard to find and Sherlock didn't spare a second before opening the door.
"John!" He shouted looking around the room.
It was the lab where they had met. The first time they had interacted but he wasn't here. John wasn't in the lab and Sherlock heart sank. If the little doctor wasn't here there was only one other place he could be.
Racing from the room Sherlock headed back for the stairs as a pain radiated through him. He felt like he was on fire and it wasn't just from running. This pain was something more, it was dread.
Once again on the stairs Sherlock started going up. He was all the way up. Sherlock was breathing heavily and his body started to feel a hundred times heavier but he pushed.
At the top, Sherlock grabbed the roof access door and wasn't surprised it wasn't locked though he was mildly surprised to find it had been picked not forced. Pushing it open he scanned the area and froze when his eyes found John.
The small army doctor had his back to Sherlock, the sun silhouetted his form making him a dark shadow. A slight cold breeze played with the doctor's hospital gown as he stood on the edge of the roof in the exact spot he had jumped from two years prior.
*I am a terrible person (evil laugh)
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