As usual, review and let me know what you think! Another chapter filled with feels, though some good ones this time!
Sometime later, John didn't know how much, as time had lost all meaning, he sat in a hospital room with Sherlock. Sherlock was not unconscious, just sleeping but John wouldn't feel better until he woke up and spoke to him. The doctors said he was out of the woods, but John wasn't convinced. Sherlock looked horrible; it turned out that whatever Sherlock had taken it had been a lethal combination of several different things. John couldn't imagine what had happened, and he knew that he wouldn't get the story until Sherlock was alive and well. And really, the story didn't matter. John just wanted Sherlock to be okay. This was exactly what he had always been afraid of with Sherlock's causal drug use; sure it had gone okay in the past, but Sherlock didn't seem to understand the severity of what could have happened. Unfortunately, he was going to learn that lesson in the hardest way possible.
John shivered in his t-shirt in the cold hospital room. He had had to take off his jumper; he couldn't stand seeing Sherlock's blood on him anymore. When he'd gone to the restroom he'd take horror at the sight of himself, throwing the jumper in the bin and scrubbing his hands vigorously to get rid of the blood that covered his hands. He'd realized much to his dismay that he even had blood on his lips from giving Sherlock CPR. He had gagged but since there was nothing left in him, he had just dry heaved.
It was late night and the hospital seemed almost quiet. The only sounds were the beeping of a few machines that were attached to Sherlock. John looked at Sherlock; he seemed too fragile. He was as pale as the sheets that surrounded him. His dark hair was a contrast to his very pale skin. The only thing that wasn't ghastly about his skin was his cheeks which were red. Sweat dotted his forehead and John thought about how much his body had endured and how much healing he had yet to do. Despite seeming larger than life all the time, he now seemed small. In a desperate impulse, John reached out and took Sherlock's hand, being careful of the IV running into it. Sherlock's hand was cold as ice and John resisted the urge to cry again. He wasn't going to though; Sherlock could wake at any moment and he didn't want him to find him crying. He didn't really want him to find him holding his hand either, but as long as he slept, John left it.
As John looked at him, he couldn't ignore the crippling feeling of guilt that was suffocating him. He knew deep down that he wasn't responsible for Sherlock's actions, that he had done this all on his own. But that still didn't prevent him from thinking if only he and been there tonight this would never have happened. Didn't stop him from thinking that he should have been there. That he failed Sherlock somehow.
Sherlock began to stir and John let go of his hand quickly, rubbing his stinging eyes. Sherlock opened his eyes and John saw confusion in them as he looked around, "What?" he asked looking around, "Where….."
"Sherlock, it's okay" John said, coughing slightly to make his voice sound normal, "I'm here. You're in the hospital"
Sherlock was groggy; his eyes barely opened and they were red as he took in his surroundings. "Oh, John" he said as he looked at him. He seemed to relax a bit. "The hospital….I don't want to be in the hospital"
"Yeah, no one does, but you've been to hell and back" John said, his voice cracking. "You need to be here"
Sherlock was weak but he pushed back his sheets and pulled at his IVs " I want to leave….get these things out of me, John." He said, going from groggy to slightly irritated.
"I can't Sherlock" John said, " You need those. You need to stay here and heal. Don't you feel absolutely terrible?" He should; he'd not only had goodness knows what pumped through his veins but also had CPR administered to him and had his heart shocked backed to beating twice.
"I'd feel a lot better if I could sleep in my bed" He said pushing back the covers completely and attempting to get out of bed. "This bed is awful and I hate hospitals."
John got up and pushed Sherlock back down on the bed. "Sherlock, you're not leaving" he said a little more forcefully.
"Why won't you help get me out of here?" Sherlock asked, "I'm not a prisoner here"
"I won't help you get out of here because you were dead Sherlock" John said. "You actually DIED….your heart stopped beating. I brought you back; I can't do that again. You're staying her until I'm sure you're well enough that that won't happen again. Heaven only knows what poison is in your body" John faked a coughing fit so that he could put his face down into his elbow, but really his bloody eyes were stinging again and he didn't want Sherlock to see it. The memory of Sherlock essentially dying in his arms was too much to think about.
But even recovering Sherlock was still Sherlock. He didn't miss this. " I understand that you are angry with me John. What I did was…..not good, so I understand that you are angry at me."
John couldn't believe that Sherlock had read it so wrong. He looked up from his elbow. "Angry? You think I'm angry at you?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes" Sherlock said. He laid his head back on the pillow, growing paler and seeming to begin to give in to his weakness.
"Sherlock, I'm not angry at you. I'm-"John didn't know how to phrase it. His throat and eyes were sore and raw from the crying that he had already done. He wasn't quite sure that his body could produce more tears but he felt the emotion coming over him. He tried to speak but every time he tried he pictured Sherlock's unresponsive body.
"John, are you…..crying?" Sherlock asked. Shock was evident in his voice, even if it was weak.
"No" John lied, resisting the urge to rub his eyes.
"Yes, you are" Sherlock said, " Your eyes are red you are blinking excessively to rid them of the extra moisture"
John pressed his fingers into his eyes as the feeling to cry became stronger. Leave it to Sherlock to still be reading him.
"John, why are you crying?" Sherlock asked. It was obvious in his tone that he really didn't understand. "You're not….angry?"
John cursed under his breath as he wiped his eyes. "Sherlock, how could I be angry?" he asked. "Being mad at you never crossed my mind…..I was too busy being panicked. I come home and fine you passed out on the floor, having no idea what is wrong with you. You were fine, or so I thought, when I left. Then I come back….." John's voice broke and he was embarrassed at the tear that ran down his face. He flicked it away angrily with his finger. "There was so much blood and then you had a bloody seizure and then you…..just stopped. Stopped breathing, your heart stopped beating. I thought it wouldn't…..thought it might not work. I'm sure it was only a few minutes, but….." His nerves were so shot now that he didn't even try to stop the tears that were coming out of his eyes. "but it felt like so much longer than that. Felt like an eternity."
The silence of the room was broken only by the sound of the machines that were attached to Sherlock. When John had composed himself enough, he wiped his eyes and looked up at Sherlock. He was expecting to see him study him, analyze what he was doing. But he didn't see that. What he saw was Sherlock looking at him with the most puzzled expression. "I'm so sorry, John" he said. "I never intended to…..upset you so."
John couldn't believe the remorse and guilt that he saw on Sherlock's face. It was totally foreign to him. Sherlock was obviously confused, hurt, tired physically and emotionally. John felt the same. He wanted so much to go back to the comfort and safety of 221B. "Still want to break out of here?" he asked.
….
John knew that really he shouldn't have been encouraging Sherlock to leave, and the doctors were furious about it. They insisted on looking Sherlock over again one last time before they left and made sure to remind them several times that they were not responsible if something happened to Sherlock because they had so strongly advised against it.
It was very late at night when John and Sherlock finally made it back to 221B. The roads were completely empty and it didn't take long to make the journey from the hospital to the flat. When Sherlock got out of the cab it was very evident that he shouldn't have left the hospital. He could hardly move; he didn't walk but rather shuffled along the sidewalk. He was very pale and honestly John was surprised that he was still standing. But Sherlock was making slow progress and so John didn't try to help him, which he was sure that Sherlock as glad for. It took an eternity to walk the short distance from the door to Sherlock's bedroom, John standing cautiously close behind Sherlock just in case he fell. John was glad when they made it to Sherlock's room and he sat down gingerly on his bed. His face was pale as snow and his forehead gleaned with sweat. John considered it a miracle that he had made it up here without passing out.
"Get me some pajamas" Sherlock asked weakly. John went over to Sherlock's drawers; not doubt Sherlock couldn't wait to get out of the terrible hospital gown; he had just thrown is coat overtop of it in their haste to leave. He had to be cold despite his perspiration.
John grabbed the first t-shirt and pajamas pants that he found. In embarrassment John wondered about getting him some underwear, as he was no doubt not wearing any now. He didn't know which drawer to look in, nor did he really want to see what kind of underwear Sherlock wore. He's just going to sleep so he can just go without them, John thought as he closed the drawers, feeling his face flush red. He gave Sherlock the clothes and then awkwardly asked, "Do you need….any help?" Dear lord, please say no, John thought.
Sherlock looked embarrassed as well, averting his eyes. "Um, no. I can manage. Can you actually get me some tea?" he said.
"Sure" John said, cautious leaving Sherlock to change on his own. John hoped that he didn't strain himself or pass out trying to dress himself. He went to the kitchen and made a cuppa, but also brought a large glass of water. Sherlock probably really needed just water as he was probably very low on fluids. Again, John considered why he had foolishly agreed to take Sherlock home. He should still be at the hospital. But then again, he was a doctor right? He could take case of Sherlock. And, if he was honest with himself, he wanted to take care of Sherlock.
He paused outside the door and asked, "Can I come in?" not wanting to catch Sherlock off guard.
"Give me a moment" Sherlock said tiredly from the bedroom. John waited for a few minuets, listening to Sherlock's labored breathing before saying, "Sherlock, do you need some help?"
"No" Sherlock was quick and insistent. John staid put; he knew that Sherlock must be in a lot of pain from his ordeal, not mention that John probably cracked some of his ribs when he gave him CPR. But Sherlock was nothing if not proud and unless it was impossible to dress himself, he wasn't going to ask for help.
After a few more minutes, Sherlock said, "Come in" in an out of breath voice.
John walked in and found Sherlock sitting at the edge of the bed. He was even paler than before if that was possible and his hair was wet on his brow from exertion. John didn't even have to force him to drink the water that he brought; Sherlock snatched it from his hand before even taking the tea. John thought about cautioning him to take his time lest he throw up again, but Sherlock was drinking and that was a good thing so he said nothing. Sherlock took the cup of tea and began to sip it more slowly as John pulled down Sherlock's covers and prop up the pillows against the headboard. When Sherlock finished his tea, he sank back onto the pillows tiredly, pulling the covers up to his waist. John knew Sherlock really just needed to sleep a good long time; he wouldn't have been able to do this at the hospital and he was glad , at least at the moment, that he had brought him home.
"Do you need me to get you anything else?" John asked as Sherlock's heavy eyelids finally fell.
"No" Sherlock said. It sounded like barely a whisper. He was probably already half asleep.
John began to walk toward the door when he felt something tug on the back of his shirt. When he turned around, he saw Sherlock's hand gently clutching the bottom hem of his shirt. "Stay. I need you to stay" Sherlock whispered. His eyes were closed and John couldn't be sure he'd heard him right.
"What?" John asked. Sherlock hadn't let go of his shirt, if anything his grip seemed to get tighter.
"I want you to stay with me tonight" Sherlock said. His eyes remained closed but his pale face seemed distressed at the thought of John's leaving.
John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sherlock rarely admitted to needing anything, and he never admitted to needing John. Maybe almost dying had made him feel vulnerable. John knew he sure looked vulnerable.
"You want me to stay here with you?" John asked incredulously.
Sherlock finally opened in his eyes. True to his character to the first thing he did was roll his eyes. "You heard me perfectly fine John, I'm not going to say it again" he said.
John gave a slight smirk as he turned to get a chair to pull next to Sherlock's bed, but Sherlock didn't let go of his shirt. "No" he said, scooting over to make a space for John to sit down on the bed beside him. "Right here" John felt his face turn red; Sherlock must still be high.
John sat on the edge of the bed, throwing off his coat and shoes. Sherlock turned over so that he was on his side toward John. His eyes were now closed and his hand remained closed tightly on John's shirt. The whole thing made John embarrassed but at the same time he felt himself smiling.
"Thank you John" Sherlock said softly a moment later, before drifting off to sleep.
"For what, Sherlock?" John asked.
"For getting here in time" Sherlock said. John thought with horror of what could have happened had he arrived only minutes later. He wouldn't have been here to give Sherlock CPR, to call the paramedics. He could have….
"It was lucky I did" John said, suppressing the deep emotions. "I'm just glad you're okay now"
John sat at the edge of the bed for a few minutes until he felt Sherlock' hand on his shirt give way as he fell to sleep. John thought about leaving now that Sherlock was resting, but oddly enough he found he didn't want to leave. He lay back on the bed and turned so that he was facing Sherlock.
This day felt like it had lasted for a million years, and John felt it in every part of his being. Every muscle ached, from excursion and adrenaline. Now that the adrenaline was leaving him, he could feel the pain and fatigue that his body was sending him. That wasn't even to mention the emotional trauma that had strained his body and soul. John was sure that he could sleep for days. But for the moment, he forced his eyes open and willed himself to not fall asleep. He looked at Sherlock sleeping just inches from him; knowing that Sherlock would be back to his distant self the second that he healed, he allowed himself to enjoy for a moment his closeness and weakness.
Sherlock was finally peaceful. His pale face was relaxed now, not drawn, not distressed. John looked at Sherlock's hand that was still outstretched from holding onto John's shirt. He thought about how he held Sherlock's hand in desperation earlier that night and he reached out to it again; not because he was desperate, but just out of pure comfort. While it had been cold and somewhat lifeless earlier, it was now warm and comforting in John's hand. Knowing that Sherlock was deep in sleep and unlikely to awake any time soon, John allowed himself to place his fingers between Sherlock's like he never could when he was awake.
John felt peace, genuine peace. The whole ordeal had been horrible; Sherlock overdosing, dying and waking over and over again, the uncertainty that had hung over him as he waited, not knowing if Sherlock was alive or dead. But now Sherlock was okay and as long as he was okay, John could be okay. John had a million questions to ask Sherlock, find meaning for why he had done this, but for right now he was content to just have him okay. To just be here with him.
Despite trying to keep his eyes open, after a few minutes it was too much and John felt himself being pulled into the subconscious.
