John went through all the employee files, making comparisons. He had notes with similarities and theories; anything that stood out. After taking several hours doing that, he started doing research online, trying to find any kind of stories on new findings on organ failure. That turned out to be a dead end, so he tried a different angle, looking for any research papers on failed medical trials; it was a lot of info to sift through. In the 12 hours he sat there he had only got up once to empty his bladder.

It was now a quarter past 9 o'clock. Sherlock approached John at his bed. John said nothing, didn't even acknowledge Sherlock's presence in the least. Sherlock sat a plate of fish and chips on the side table next to him, along with a cuppa tea.

John still said nothing. Sherlock stood there a moment longer, not knowing what to do or say, finally he turned and went to the bathroom.

As soon as Sherlock was in the bathroom, John got up, gathered his coat, put his shoes back on and left the hotel room. He wasn't hungry. And now that Sherlock had broke his concentration, he just needed to be alone. He didn't go to the pub, it wouldn't solve anything, so he just started to walk, no destination in mind.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom, freshly showered in in jim-jams. He could feel how empty the room was and knew John was gone before he looked over to confirm it. When he saw the untouched food and tea he sighed walking over to it and covering it; maybe he would want it when he returned.

Sherlock sat on the edge of John's bed and he knew he shouldn't, but he picked up the notes he had made as he went through the employee files. John had picked up on some of the same things he had in his share of the files, but he had also made little notes on things not said in the files and his own theories. John really was quite clever and he should have realized it way before now.

Sherlock liked to think to think of himself as a genius, but he was a blundering idiot when it came to other people and their feelings. Sure he could deduce things about their habits and the reasons behind their actions, but when it really came down to what drove them, he was clueless. He returned John's notes the way they were and glanced at his laptop without touching it. He seemed to be researching medical trials. Failed and otherwise. What was he on about?

Sherlock got up, turning all the lights off but the bathroom light, again. He sure hoped John didn't make a habit of going out drinking when he was angry with him. That would surely lead him to a life of alcoholism.

Sherlock lay in bed, why was John so angry with him? What could he do to fix it? He hated when they were at odds like this. It always made him feel like he was forgetting or missing something.

Sherlock realized he was brushing across his lips with his fingertips. Now that he had been up all day, he had recovered all of the details from the night before. And the kiss they had shared was...enjoyable. It made his stomach do little flips, even now thinking back on it. He suppose he wouldn't mind doing it again. But John wasn't even speaking to him, however would he get him to kiss him again. John had been a perfect gentleman. He hadn't pressured Sherlock last night into doing anything he didn't want to. And as much as it pained him to say it, he, Sherlock Holmes, had been vulnerable. And John had not taken advantage of that.

Good god! That was it!"

He had basically accused John of molesting him in their spat earlier. That wasn't how he felt of course, but sometimes he lashed out without any real thought. John didn't deserve that from him. He had to make this right.

Sherlock, having made up his mind turned over to go to sleep.

Several long hours later John came stumbling in the room. He shrugged out of his coat hissing in pain. He didn't bother taking anything else off. He gingerly laid on his side, facing towards Sherlock. Not even five minutes after laying down Sherlock started to have a nightmare. John groaned. He hurt too bad to go to him, even if he wanted to.

He couldn't believe that Sherlock actually would think he'd take advantage of him. He wasn't even into men, but apparently that rule didn't apply to Sherlock. Cause he wouldn't delude himself, he cared about Sherlock in ways that far exceeded platonic. Why else would he even make a move on Sherlock? Not to mention how hurt he was because of his rejection. And Sherlock didn't seemed bothered by it either way. John tried drowning out Sherlock's distress with his own internal agony. He was honestly very surprised by his reaction to the whole thing. He guess he had been in denial. Because in all the years he and Sherlock had known each other, the urge to kiss the other man had never arose. I mean, he had noticed how beautiful Sherlock was, unrightfully so.

And maybe, the emergence of these new feelings were all byproducts of their current situation. Sleeping in close proximity; Sherlock's nightmares, they brought out a certain protective urge in John. Not to mention the fact that Sherlock acted as though he was just now seeing John for the first time, treating him with newfound respect. And last but not least, dinner the other night. He had already contemplated all of these things on his walk, he was only going over it again because his body literally twitched with the need to go and comfort Sherlock.

Sighing heavily John gave himself a mental shake. Sherlock didn't want him in that manner. John could feel the stirrings of regret and a deeper level of hurt. As far as he knew, he could just be some long term experiment of Sherlock's.

Eventually Sherlock's nightmare subsided and John fell into his own fitful sleep. He was in pain, physically and emotionally. And

right now, he felt like he would be okay with not waking up.

No such luck. John woke up to the feeling of suffocation. He felt like he couldn't catch his breath. He rolled over onto his back with great effort, assessing his body from a doctor's perspective. He most likely had a punctured lung, judging by the amount of effort it took to breath. Maybe a couple of broken ribs.

John needed to get to a hospital. And he really didn't have it in him to ask Sherlock. He looked over to Sherlock's bed. It was empty. A bit unusual, especially on account of it appearing to be very early in the morning. No later than 5 a.m., he would guess. John carefully pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket, he was just going to have to call emergency rescue. When he tried to dial his hand shook with the effort to hold the phone, he dropped it. Fuck it. He could go to the front desk and ask them to call for him; he just had to make it down there.

John counted to three and tried to heave himself up, the effort caused his chest to hurt and he started gasping for breath. Well he supposed he could just lay here and die.

John must have blacked out, when he opened his eyes next he was on a gurney being rapidly pushed down the hallway of the hotel. He thinks he hears Sherlock in the background. Blackness surrounds him again.

Sherlock was sitting next to John's bed, wringing his hands. What on earth had happened to him? When Sherlock had woke up, he had saw John was sleeping in his clothes, he thought maybe he had went to the pub again and passed out on his bed.

But when he had come out of the bathroom he heard rapid, shallow gasping coming from John's bed. He'd run over to him, turning on lights as he went, and he froze. John was badly hurt. One of his eyes was swollen shut. He had dried blood at his temple, nose and mouth, bruises covered what skin he could see.

Snapping out of it he had called for an ambulance. John's phone was laying next to his hand as if he had tried to call for himself.

Sherlock would never forgive himself if something bad happened to John, especially if it occurred because of an argument they had. Today was the day he had planned to make it up to John, instead he was sitting in a hospital room holding the hand of the man he loved.

Sherlock almost dropped John's hand at his realization. He loved John. Of course they were flatmates and friends, so he cared a great deal for him, in fact, he knew John was one of the only people he did care for. But he was most certain that his little mental slip, was his brains way of trying to tell him he was in love with John.

He was still holding John's hand when the doctor entered.

"Mr. Holmes. I have news on your boyfriend…"

"He's not my boyfriend..." John interjected weakly. He was trying to look around the room. "Am I at the hospital?" he croaked out?

"Yes Dr. Watson. I'm Dr. Julian, I'll be your doctor for the remainder of your stay here. Can you tell me what happened?"

John hurt. But he could tell they gave him something for pain because he felt like he was operating through a haze. Clearing his throat he pulled his hand free from Sherlock's grasp. Looking at the doctor he replied quietly, "I was walking when I was jumped by a group of men."

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath. How dare they lay a hand on John.

"How many men Dr. Watson? I am aware of your military background, and your injuries are quite extensive."

John sighed. Looking at Sherlock for the first time since waking up, he said, "Seven men."

Seven?! Good heaven, it's a wonder they didn't kill him. Wait. Why is John looking at him like he's being particularly daft? Sherlock frowned at John, trying to fathom what he was missing.

"Why didn't you come straight to a hospital? You're a doctor, you had to have an idea of how serious your injuries were?" The doctor pestered further.

John had his eyes closed now. "I was in a delicate state of mind last night; I had hoped my injuries weren't as bad as they felt. And what exactly are my injuries doctor?"

The doctor sighed, glancing at the clipboard in his hand. "You have a collapsed lung, two fractured ribs on your left, bilateral rib contusions, a concussion, ecchymosis and a multitude of contusions and abrasions across your body. Oh, and a jammed middle finger on your right hand."

Both the doctor and John smiled at the last injury.

"Thank you doctor."

After the doctor had left, Sherlock spoke up.

"John, you weren't mugged. For what reason would they have to jump you?"

Sounding exasperated John replied, "It was a warning Sherlock."