John was so relieved to see Sherlock awake and talking that he just sat there staring at him for a few good seconds. He never thought he'd get tired of the view, not after all the time he spent looking at an unconscious and unresponsive Sherlock. The detective seemed unperturbed by the scrutiny and instead gazed back at John with the same intensity.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"You're staring."

"Masterful deduction, Sherlock."

They chuckled, both out of amusement and the relief of finally being together again. John stood up slightly from his chair, still holding Sherlock's hand, and closed the distance between them.

The soft brush of lips was short but reassuring for both of them and they broke apart after Lestrade cleared his throat uncomfortably from his chair. "I'm right here, you know."

"We're aware, yes," replied Sherlock.

John smiled sheepishly at him and saw a similar grin spread itself across Sherlock's face. John sat back down on his chair, surprised at his show of affection in front of Lestrade. "How are you feeling?" he asked Sherlock, trying to clear the air and also trying to ascertain the state Sherlock was in.

"I'm fine, John, stop fretting."

John and Lestrade both shot him a disbelieving look. It was clear that he was not fine, and John was more than allowed to fret after everything that Sherlock had been through. But Sherlock was being Sherlock, as always, and refused to let any semblance of weakness show.

"Sherlock..." John started, already exasperated by the detective's attitude towards his own well-being.

"John," Lestrade interrupted, "why don't you go get Sherlock's doctor, tell him he's awake, and I'll stay with him.

It was clear that Lestrade wanted John out of the room, for one reason or another. "I don't know what you're going to say, but be nice," he warned, before squeezing Sherlock's hand in reassurance and kissing the top of his head.

Lestrade feigned ignorance. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said and John left the room in search of Sherlock's doctor.

Sherlock was also painfully aware that Lestrade wanted to speak to him in private and was feeling slightly uneasy. He knew that what he'd said to John was a bit not good, but he just wanted to go home and spend time with John without having to worry about being surrounded by strangers asking probing questions about how he was feeling.

"You need to give him a break, Sherlock."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean John's been worried sick about you since you came back. Between your terrible sleeping and eating habits and the smoking and now this John hasn't stopped worrying about you."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but Lestrade cut him off.

"Before you start sulking, no, John didn't tell me. My observational skills aren't as non-existent as you seem to believe. But that's beside the point," Lestrade continued, "You need to be honest with him, and you need to let him take care of you. He's been sitting at your bedside for nearly three days now, I only managed to get him to go home a few hours a go."

"I noticed."

"Then you can see how worried he's been. You can't just pretend you're okay because you know he can see right through it, and trying to figure out what's wrong without you telling him is going to be exhausting. So for once in your life, Sherlock, swallow your pride and let the people that care about you help."

Sherlock was shocked at Lestrade's words. He knew it was true, of course, but he was surprised that Lestrade had voiced them. Perhaps John had been worse off than Sherlock originally thought.

He only managed a curt nod before he heard John and the doctor approaching in the doorway, but Lestrade seemed satisfied.

The doctor asked both John and Lestrade to leave whilst he examined Sherlock. John left with a promise to return as soon as he was allowed and left with Lestrade in search of some coffee. They sat quietly sipping their drinks before Lestrade finally broke the silence.

"Do you know when he can be released?"

"I'm not sure yet," replied John, "but I'll need to ask the doctor as soon as possible because I know Sherlock's going to be climbing the walls in a few hours."

Lestrade laughed at John's observation. They both knew Sherlock was terrible at staying still for any length of time, much less in a hospital where there was nothing for him to do.

"Maybe I should bring him some case files to review."

"Thanks but I don't think that's a good idea, not yet anyway. He had a pretty nasty head wound and he needs to rest and you know what he's like, won't stop until he's solved them all."

"Good point," Lestrade conceded, "maybe after he's released."

"That would be lovely. He'll get bored just sitting at home and there's no way he's going back to work until that concussion's fully healed."

"I'm sure you can keep him entertained," Lestrade replied, jokingly.

John simply smiled and finished his coffee. They made their way back to Sherlock's room where he saw the doctor had left already and Sherlock seemed to be asleep.

"I'm going to go back to the Yard if you don't mind," Lestrade said.

"Of course. Thanks so much, Greg," John replied, earnestly. He always knew he could count on Lestrade, and was glad to have a friend by his side.

"No problem. Text me if you need anything and try not to kill him," he said as he left.

John stood quietly at the door, contemplating whether or not to wake Sherlock up, but before a decision could be made Sherlock himself interrupted.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you coming in?"

His eyes were still closed and John marveled at Sherlock's ability to tell John apart from everyone else without even opening his eyes. John moved closer, his eyes raking over Sherlock's body, taking in all the injuries he could see.

"I'm not in pain, John, stop worrying," Sherlock said when he finally opened his eyes and noticed John's frown as he looked over him.

"You should still be resting."

The detective, in typical Sherlock fashion, rolled his eyes. "Oh, dull," he said, in his usual languid drawl.

"How about this then," John suggested, "if you don't at least try to rest, I'm calling your doctor back so he can sedate you and then I'm leaving."

Sherlock huffed in annoying but complied. It was obvious that John was being serious, and he didn't want John to leave. But there was something he wanted to say, a request he daren't ask for fear of showing his weakness. He was still afraid of having nightmares, and John had been the only thing that had been able to keep them at bay. Sherlock was sure that he would only be able to chase the dreams away if John stayed in with him.

"Join me?" he asked with unusual hesitance.

John smiled down at the detective. He knew exactly why Sherlock was asking him to stay and he couldn't argue that Sherlock's presence would also be helpful in keeping his own dreams away. "I would, Sherlock, but I don't know if you've noticed but you have a chest tube coming out of your body."

"I'm well aware, John, but surely we can find a way," he said, "Please?"

John hesitated only slightly before closing the door to Sherlock's room and going over to the bed. He could never say no to Sherlock, much less when he said please.

"They'll kill me if they find me in here," John said as Sherlock shuffled to the side in an attempt to make room for John.

"I won't let them," Sherlock replied in a voice so firm that John found himself smiling at him fondly. Whoever still believed Sherlock was a sociopath clearly didn't know the man. But John knew him, he knew the real Sherlock; the one that made tea for John when he came home late, the one that listened to John rant about his coworkers, the one who loved him.

John somehow managed to climb onto the bed without disturbing Sherlock or any of the apparatus he was connected to. He laid his arm across the pillow and Sherlock shuffled under it, laying his head on John's shoulder and holding John's free hand.

John rubbed his hand up and down Sherlock's arm carefully so as to not aggravate his injuries. "You really need to get some rest now, Sherlock. The quicker you recover the quicker we can go home. Do you need anything?"

"I have all I need right here," Sherlock replied, and stretched up so he could kiss John's lips.

Their lips connected and they found themselves unwilling to let go. John angled his head down slightly so as to take the pressure off Sherlock who was stretching himself far too much for his liking and he deepened the kiss. Soon Sherlock's tongue had set out to explore John's mouth, moving slowly across John's lips and meeting John's tongue.

"I love you," John said, as Sherlock planted a final soft kiss on his lips and returned to his spot on John's shoulder, utterly content.

"Love you too," Sherlock replied, his words slurring slightly and his eyes closing as he fell asleep. He was bone tired, which was annoying seeing as he had spent the last two days essentially sleeping. John, on the other hand, kept his eyes open and chose instead to watch Sherlock sleeping peacefully in his arms.

Luckily no one came in to tell him to leave and he rethought his strategy of lying there without sleeping. He was still tired from all the time spent by Sherlock's bedside while he was unconscious and he could use a little sleep.

He dropped a soft kiss on the detective's curls and fell asleep to the sound of Sherlock's heartbeat.


Sherlock woke up with a start. He was gasping, which was painful, his head was throbbing, which was painful, and he could hear the heart monitor beeping quickly. At first he didn't recognize the room he was in, hence his slight panic, but a quick look around the room finally settled his nerves once he realized he was in the hospital. He looked to the side, thankfully noting that John was still asleep, and shut his eyes once again. He shifted slightly in bed, wondering if he was due for another dose of pain medication any time soon. He certainly felt like he needed it.

"Do you need me to call someone?"

Sherlock looked towards the sound, noticing, for the first time, his brother standing by the door.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" he asked, trying to prevent any vulnerability from seeping into his tone.

Mycroft walked slowly over to the chair next to Sherlock and sat down. "I'm merely inquiring into your well-being, you know how I worry."

"Yeah," Sherlock scoffed, "I'm sure that's why you're here."

Mycroft looked Sherlock in the eye, and for a second the detective thought he saw a flash of hurt cross his brother's eyes and he regretted his harsh comment. Was it possible that Mycroft was here just to see if he was okay? Surely he'd been kept up to date with his condition, an appearance by the man himself was unnecessary.

But then he thought back to all the times he'd been hurt or in danger and how Mycroft always found an excuse to see him afterwards, often under the pretense of a case or information. Whether it was after Sherlock almost took that pill, or after the explosion in Baker Street, or after the incident with the CIA Mycroft was always there, though never actually admitting he was there simply just to check on his brother.

After considering this Sherlock chose to heed Lestrade's advice. "I believe I'm due for another dose of pain medication. Perhaps you could inquire into that."

"Certainly," Mycroft said as he made his way out of the room.

It was then that Sherlock felt John shifting in their shared bed. The doctor yawned loudly and stretched as far as he could in the confined space. "Who were you talking to?"

"Mycroft."

"Mycroft was here?" John exclaimed.

"Still is, he's gone to retrieve a nurse."

At that John jumped up in bed, "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sherlock started and John shot him a questioning look, "I'm not finished, alright? I was going to say nothing's wrong, I'm just in some pain."

"Oh," John sighed in relief, "aside from that, how are you feeling?"

"Bored."

"Of course you are," John laughed.

"When can I go home?"

At that moment Mycroft walked back in with a nurse and Sherlock's doctor. "That's something to be discussed, brother dear."

"I'm afraid you won't be able to leave until the chest tube is removed, Mr Holmes," his doctor said.

"And when would that be?" asked Sherlock impatiently.

"Perhaps today, but we'll have to keep you under observation for a little longer. But you need rest, which is what I suggest you do now."

"I've been resting all day," Sherlock said, his petulant tone betraying his impatience.

"And you shall rest more before you're allowed to leave, Sherlock. Do try not to be difficult," said Mycroft.

They all stifled a laugh as Sherlock pouted, clearly unhappy with the situation.

The doctor excused himself, as did the nurse after administering Sherlock's medication, and John and Mycroft were left with a bored and slightly energized Sherlock- at least until the medication kicked in. Mycroft left shortly afterwards under the pretense of work, though it was obvious, to John at least, that he wanted to avoid aggravating Sherlock, as his presence often did.

John noticed Sherlock unsuccessfully stiffing a yawn and decided it was time to let him rest.

"I'll let you rest now, but I'll be back tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay," replied Sherlock.

His instant acceptance of John's departure showed how tired he really was, and John hoped he would be as accepting of his own needs once they were at home, which would hopefully be very soon. He hated seeing Sherlock lying in a hospital bed connected to all these tubes and machines. He just wanted to take him home and drink tea all day whilst lying in bed or watching crap telly. He just wanted to hold Sherlock in his arms.

Darting one last look in Sherlock's direction, noticing he had closed his eyes and seemed to already be asleep, John closed the door quietly behind him and left.