Chapter X | The White Room

Sherlock stood off to the side, as he watched the doctors and nurses work on his body. Doing different things he didn't understand. Everything was moving so slow. He backed up a little out of the way and gasped as someone ran through him. He coughed and leaned over as he tried to catch his breath.

"What the hell?"

He muttered out and looked around. Something was wrong. Really, really wrong. He turned and looked at the door that had just shut and saw Lestrade holding John as he started to fall apart. His hand pressed against the glass of the door and his head down.

Sobbing.

Sherlock moved closer and gently raised his hand to hover over the glass where John's hand was. He pressed it forward, but it went right through, making him recoil and look at the blond with sad eyes. "John… I don't understand what's happening. Help me." But John didn't hear him. Greg moved away from the glass and pressed his face to his chest.

John.

Help.

Suddenly all the loud noises in the room went silent. Not just the room. Everything around him. There was no sound, like he had just suddenly gone deaf. Taking a deep breath Sherlock walked through the door with a soft pant. He looked at John as he held onto Lestrade for dear life. Something caught his attention. His name, being called by a familiar voice and a very, very bright light. He turned his attention to look where it was coming from. The wall at the end of the hall was illuminating. Sherlock looked over at John and then back at the wall.

Should he go in there?

He didn't want to leave but…

Sherlock.

The familiar voice called to him again.

Who was it?

So, Sherlock walking into the light.

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The raven haired man groaned at the bright light, raising his arms up and covering his eyes as he looked around. He knew this was where he had heard the voice. But where was the person who called to him. "Hello? Are you still here?" He called as he moved forward a little. "Sherlock. I'm glad you finally came in." He blinked at the voice. He sounded close to Mycroft's but not quite. He couldn't remember who it belonged to, until he saw him. Tall and slender with dark wavy hair like his. "Dad?" He squinted his eyes and rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes. "Where am I?" The older man laughed and raised his hands to gesture to the room. "The white room."

The white room?

What the hell is the white room?

Sherlock arched a brow and huffed a little. "Well obviously but what-…" He was cut off when he looked over to where his father had been standing, only to see him gone. "The white room is the place your soul goes when you are between life and death Sherlock. You're dying, right now. In that room." He said and reappeared pointing down. Pale green eyes looked and he saw where his body was laying on the bed. "Why am I in here then? If I'm dying that is?" The dark haired man smiled and pointed against, this time to John. "Because of that man. And how you feel about him. And how me feels about you. Never before in your life Sherlock, have you ever felt the way you feel for John Watson. Never. I know I've been watching." The thoughts flying around in his head were telling him this was impossible. That it was a comma induced night terror. "Okay… so we've establish I love John. Does that mean I get to live?" His voice was short and had a tiny bit of sass to it. The older man arched a brow and moved closer to him. "Sherlock, do you know why you're where you are in the first place? Do you remember what happened? What happened to John and you?" Sherlock was taken a back at the question. He had to walk away and think for a couple moments before he could really remember what had happened. "Moriarty?" He asked even though he knew that was right. Everything was flooding back to him now. "Why are you asking me this?" A sigh came from the other man as he moved closer to him. "Moriarty told you, the first time he met you. "No one gets to me, and no one ever will." You need to take that seriously Sherlock. He will kill you. If you have something to live for with John, you'll stop pursuing him." Sherlock stared at him for a long moment. He didn't know what to think about the information.

If you have something to live for with John…

Stop pursuing him.

Could he really do that? Just ignore Moriarty and he'll go away? Sherlock didn't know if that would work or not. He looked up at his father and bit his lip. "I love John. But is he going to be safe if we just try to forget about Moriarty? I mean really… We didn't even do anything this time and he came after us." The tall man shook his head. "Listen to me. Pursue him and you will die." The words didn't make sense. Was he trying to tell him something else? Like, was he supposed to let Moriarty some to him? He didn't understand and his mind was so muddled in this place. The white room was making it hard to think and now things were getting brighter all around him.

What the hell?

"Go back Sherlock. And remember what I told you."

Sherlock squinted his eyes and arched a brow at his father as his vision started to be taken over by the white light all around him. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, his father was gone.

A blinding flash followed.

Then he gasped.

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"Son of a bitch! We got him!" The doctor called as Sherlock let out a loud gasp and started coughing for hair. "J-Joh—…" He tried hard to make his vocal cords work but his throat felt so dry. The doctor smiled and looked over at the window. Lestrade looked up and nudged the blond. "John… John they got him back!" He called and pointed to where the brunette laid on the bed, his pale green eyes flickering around trying to find the blond doctor. John was at a loss for words. He pulled away from Lestrade and limped as quick as he could into the hospital room. The doctors and nurses moved out of his way, letting John grab Sherlock. He was holding him as tightly as he could with one arm. "You bastard! I am so mad at you!" He yelled as Sherlock slowly moved weak arms around his lover's back.

Oh my dear Watson.

"Don't you ever, ever! Do that to me, again, Sherlock Holmes! Never again! I'll kill you myself if you ever do something so stupid as die on me again…" His voice faded out as he started to sob into the brunette's shoulder. He was angry, really angry and really scared. But the think John felt most…

Relief.

He had never been so relieved in his life. Not even the moment Sherlock showed up on his door step after three years of thinking he was dead. "Sherlock… you're so stupid. God damn it! You're such and idiot… you're an idiot, Sherlock…" He muttered to him as he gripped the hospital gown the other man was wearing. A soft chuckle came from his lips as he gently raised his tear stained face to look at his. "John… I'm you're idiot." He whispered in a soft raspy voice as he pressed his lips against the blond doctor's feeling him quiver a little. John pressed his forehead against Sherlock's and held his face in his hands. "Damn right you're my idiot. I love you so fucking much." He growled fighting between anger and happiness. Letting a small smile play at his lips, he kissed John again. "I love you too, John." He let out a sigh and laid against his chest, face buried in his neck. "Don't ever do that again." He muttered again as he curled around Sherlock's broken body with his own. The brunette merely smiled and kissed his head. "I'll try not to. I'll try." But he couldn't help but remember his father's words over and over in his head.

If you have something to live for with John, stop pursuing him.

What did you mean?

Were you even my father, really?

What was the white room?

It doesn't matter right now.

Nothing matters right now.

Just him.

Just my Watson.

My John.