Author's Note:

Longer chapter to make up for the last two that were kind of short! Thank you so much for the lovely reviews!


"No! Sherlock, no!" John was crying now and somebody was pulling him away. Kevin? Why was the man pulling him away from his husband. "No! He is my husband!" But Kevin was shouting something and there was a sudden deafening noise, a massive rush if wind. Helicopter? He ripped out of Kevin's grasp and darted toward his husband, picking him up and darting toward the helicopter that had just landed. "Now! Ta-"

"What did you do?" Mycroft's eyes were wide and, damn it, Sherlock needed help.

"He isn't breathing! Move!" John shoved into the medical helicopter, laying him on the gurney and transforming smoothly into doctor mode. He pulled the reed from his husband's chest, easily replacing it with a sterile tube and hooking up an air pump. He instantly started pumping air into Sherlock's chest, placing an oxygen mask on his husband's mouth and nose and turning it on. "Breathe. Breathe, damnit!"

Thomas ran after John and climbed in after them. The adults didn't even notice. They were all staring at Daddy. His other Dad was yelling at Daddy to breathe. The was another man, he had a weird nose. He curled up, hugging his knees to himself. He was hungry and tired, but he had to stay awake to make sure Daddy was okay.

So much noise. He was so weak and tired. Sherlock didn't want to wake up, but John's frantic voice reached him brought him back. Alive? He was still breathing? How? What? Christ he was tired. His eyes were open for only moment and he was certain he had seen his older brother. That couldn't be. His eyes closed again but his chest was rising and falling now.

Breathing. Oh, God, Sherlock was alive and his eyes had opened slightly. "Hi," he whispered with a weak laugh even though his husband had closed his eyes again. After several moments he relaxed before turning to Mycroft. "Later, we can talk about it...later." He smiled warmly as Kevin and Kelly squeezed into the helicopter. Maria. He needed to find her. "Mycroft, this is Thomas. Sherlock saved him. We are adopting him." He clambered out of the helicopter and started running toward the center of the island.

Right. That was a lot of information. Mycroft turned slowly and studied Thomas, curled in a ball and scared. And apparently his new nephew. "Hi Thomas, I'm Mycroft. I'm your uncle." He smiled warmly and crouched down in front of the boy.

Thomas watched John leave. "Dad!" He screeched. He looked to Sherlock laying down. "Daddy…" He whispered, deciding to stay rather than leave. He looked up at the man with a weird nose. Uncle? "You have a silly name like Daddy." He stay curled tightly against himself. His gaze kept flickering from Sherlock and back out of the helicopter where John had run.

"I do have a silly name like Sherlock." Mycroft smiled softly and studied the little boy. Brown hair, brown eyes. He turned and glanced at his younger brother. A family man. It was odd but very...amazing. He turned back to Thomas and pulled a snack from his jacket. "Here. Take a few bites of my granola bar." He handed it to the small boy.

It didn't take long to find Maria, curled under a tree in exhaustion. John easily picked her up and started walking back toward the helicopter. "Here." He smiled up at Mycroft and slid the woman on to the helicopter and climbing in himself. He wedged in front of his brother-in-law, picked Thomas up, and moved to Sherlock. "There's Daddy," he whispered as he placed a kiss on the boy's cheek.

Thomas took it and ate the thing in two bites, barely taking time to chew before swallowing. He clung to John as soon as he was picked up. "Dunno why you saved her! She's mean!" He stuck his tongue out at Maria before turning his attention to Sherlock. "Not gonna die?" His little chest was heaving again, on the verge of tears. "We go to London now?"

"To London," John replied with a smile as Kelly and Kevin settled in and Mycroft moved Maria into a seat. "I saved her because it is polite, Thomas." He smiled at the boy and ruffled his hair with his free hand. "People may be mean but that doesn't mean you have to leave them behind." His hand dropped and he grabbed his husband's, giving it a squeeze.

Thomas pouted and then fell asleep in John's arms. He hadn't slept since last night or eaten except for the granola bar. He was exhausted physically and emotionally.

Sherlock's eyes opened and he gave John's hand a small squeeze. He was still weak and tired but he was feeling marginally better. He wasn't sure entirely what happened but he knew they weren't on the island anymore.

John couldn't help the wide smile that took over his lips when Sherlock opened his eyes. God, he had nearly killed his husband. He vowed to not touch the man ever, to not injure him or put him in pain. After a long moment he shifted and hoisted Thomas a bit higher on his hip so the boy could rest his head on John' shoulder.

"What happened?" Mycroft asked softly, looking at John curiously.

"Later. Not now." John shook his head, glanced at Mycroft, and bent down to smile at Sherlock. "I love you."

Sherlock had to remove the oxygen mask to talk. "Love you too my dear doctor." It was difficult to speak still and he put the mask back on. He glanced to Mycroft and back to John. He shook his head. It wasn't any of his older brother's business.

Talking and moving. It was something that the man hadn't been doing just a few minutes ago. Sherlock was alive and John hadn't killed him. The thought made him smile like an idiot, wide and nothing but teeth, and he ignored Kelly offering him a seat in favor of standing next to his husband, getting hooked up to an IV for hydration, and staring at his face. Pale but no more shivering. Awake. "Don't ever leave me," he whispered.

Just that little movement and talking had exhausted him. Sherlock closed his eyes as sleep found him again. His body needed it and was still fighting the infection, but he wasn't losing against it now. Surgery would still be needed to repair his lung so he could breathe properly again.

Now all they had to do was wait. John knew that their wait in the hospital was going to be long. So long. Sherlock probably had multiple infections. Hell, the stitches on his side were made from a bloody vine. He glanced at Mycroft, who was studying the rest of the survivors, before sliding to the floor beside the gurney, balancing Thomas in his lap and finally letting himself relax.

Sherlock remained asleep the rest of the helicopter ride. They took him to the hospital closest, Barcelona Spain. He was wheeled into surgery right away, and was in there for several hours. Once the doctors were done, they rolled the consulting detective into a room in the ICU where doctors could keep a close eye on their patients recovery.

John stared intently at his husband, holding Thomas close against his chest. They both had new clothes, thanks to Mycroft. Clean. Healthy. He pulled Thomas a bit closer to his chest before reaching out to grab his husband's arm. Infection. Punctured and then collapsed lung. Two broken ribs. He had lied easily to the doctor, saying it happened when Sherlock had slipped on a rock near the water and landed roughly on his side. He would never be able to say he'd done it. That he'd nearly killed his husband. "Alive. Strong." He smiled softly and squeezed his husband's hand.

Thomas was curled against John, sleeping against his Dad's chest.

Sherlock didn't wake up until a couple hours after being wheeled into the ICU. Someone was holding his hand. He would spoke John's name but a tube was breathing for him currently. Right. A hospital. His favorite place to be.

"Keeping it in this time," John said softly, smiling as he watched his husband. "You were a right mess." He nodded. A horrid mess, really. Things John had done to nearly kill him. "Your lung...it still needs a bit more help before I can do anything to make you a bit more comfortable. I'm not letting you die again." He squeezed Sherlock's hand and lifted it, leaning to the side to kiss his husband's knuckles.

Sherlock nodded. That meant staying in this place longer than he would like. After a moment of thinking he used his free hand to 'write' in the air. It was a simple message really, and he had no doubt his husband would be able to pick up on it.

John felt his mouth break into a large, foolish grin. "I love you, too. So much." He nodded a bit and looked down at Thomas. "Mycroft is back in London, should be back soon. Taking a boat so he can bring Amy." And that made him giddy, happy. "Fast boat, because he is Mycroft. Should be here tomorrow." He nodded excitedly. Maybe that would help cheer his husband up a bit, make the hospital a bit better. The entire family.

Sherlock groaned internally. Apparently the message wasn't as clear as he had hoped. He wanted a writing utensil and paper to write on. He closed his eyes in thought for a moment. He slipped his hand out of John's, repeated the motion on his hand.

The talking and movement woke up Thomas. He whined a little until he became awake enough to realize his daddy was awake! "Daddy!"

Oh. Not right, then? John looked around before setting Thomas on the ground. "Do not jump on Daddy," he muttered as he stood up moved toward the clipboard on the end of his husband's hospital bed. "Here, love." He handed it to Sherlock, turning a paper upside down and handing his partner the pen. He felt a bit horrible for not getting the message the first time around. "I do still love you."

Thomas was about to just that when John said no. He pouted and settled for clinging to Sherlock's hand as tightly as he could.

Sherlock smirked at John behind the intubation down his throat. He took the pen and paper with his free hand. So many questions. Where should he start? He scribbled one down. 'Did you tell Mycroft yet? If you haven't, don't.'

Right. Mycroft. John shook his head. "Keeps bugging me about it. I think he knows something but just wants to hear it." His head dropped. It felt like he should tell his brother-in-law but if Sherlock said no... "I should tell him. Why are we hiding it?"

Sherlock gave a slight shrug, his eyes closing in thought. It was difficult to try and explain without talking. He sighed and wrote another note. 'Fine. Let me do it, when I am able then.' He hated being in this state. Stuck in a hospital. Unable to communicate properly. He was getting frustrated. He wrote another message. 'I am guessing they had to give me drugs. When it is safe to do so, I want off. I don't care how much pain I am in.'

John smiled a bit before he nodded his head. "Okay but you are going to be on some sort of medication. We can change it to ibuprofen if you want. Non-addictive." He shrugged before biting his bottom lip. Was it possible to start a fight via paper? He figured he was about to find out. "I want to tell Mycroft," he stated softly, eyes determined. "It's all my fault."

Sherlock shook his head as best he could. He was worried about how Mycroft would receive the news. 'Please. Don't.' He was far too weak and tired to fight with John. 'Please. John, for me?' His gaze locked on his husband's. It was torn away when he felt Thomas climbing up on the bed and curling at his feet. He managed a small smile at the boy before he looked back over to John.

The man had a way with words even if he wasn't speaking. John envisioned Mycroft punching him, throwing him in prison. He looked at his husband for a long moment before shrugging. "Then don't tell him at all. I don't want him to know because...I'm embarrassed. Sherlock, I lost my judgment and I nearly killed you. I... don't want him to know if I can't tell him." It was probably selfish but he knew Sherlock would take all the blame if he was the one to tell Mycroft.

Sherlock was still for a moment as he thought on what John said. 'If you want to tell him, then perhaps we should do it together?' There. Compromising. Communicating. Maybe they really were getting better at this. Well, he supposed it was all depended on how his husband reacted now. God, he really didn't want to argue. He honestly didn't have the energy for it.

Together. That sounded a lot better. "Okay," John said softly as he glanced around the room for a moment. "I lied to the doctors, too but I can't...I can't bring myself to even touch you anymore. I don't deserve you after what I did. I just...I'm so scared. I almost lost you." He dropped his gaze to his lap and weakly shrugged. If they were going to keep communicating then he should be completely honest with his husband.

Good. It was probably better that John lied to the doctors. He managed a smirk as he wrote once more. 'If you think I am keeping my hands to myself once I get the hell out of here, you better think again.' He hesitated and then added. 'Guess I'll just get to have all the fun then.' The smirk got bigger as he looked back up to his husband.

John managed a bit of a smile, a small laugh, and shrugged. "Guess so," he whispered. How else did he explain that he was literally afraid to touch Sherlock? What if he hurt him again? Killed him? He was a horrible husband, wasn't he? Sherlock had wanted a rough shag before he for hurt but he couldn't bring himself to do that now. He honestly hated himself. "Thought I lost you."

Sherlock frowned as he studied John. It was difficult to comfort his husband when he couldn't talk or get out of the bed. Thomas had tangled himself in his legs, probably to seek comfort. He gave another smirk. 'Too stubborn to die.' Another hesitation, his smirk disappearing. 'I am sorry I tried to give up on you on the island.'

Reading what Sherlock wrote twisted his gut and John had to look away. "Your chest stopped moving and I thought...I thought I lost you." He shook his head. Weak. Coward. He always would be, his husband was right. "I killed you, Sherlock. You died because I walked away and I was weak and a coward. I don't think I will ever be able to live with myself." His voice broke and he finally looked up at Sherlock. "And I'm sorry for that."

Sherlock shook his head, scribbled furiously on the paper and disentangled his feet from Thomas. He stood up, holding the paper. His body shook under his weight and he was forced to use John for support. 'Not a coward. I was the one who pushed you away. /I/ was the coward." He shoved the paper at his husband's chest before steadying himself on John's shoulders, eyes staring into his husband's intently. He ignored the strain and stress of the wires attached him. The tube down his throat was also a discomfort. He shouldn't be standing with it in, but he didn't care.

John read the message and looked up at his husband. He wasn't going to agree or disagree with Sherlock because they each shared fault in what happened. But his husband was making an effort to make him feel better. "Lay back down," he said softly, managing to keep his voice calm and even. "Need to start feeling better." He stood on his toes and placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock's cheek before gently moving him to at least sit on the hospital bed. "They gave you actual stitches," he joked softly as he ran a hand through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock nodded but before laying down, he embraced John in a hug. He clung to his husband awhile, his forehead resting on the top of John's head. Once he released his husband he laid down on the bed. He had needed that hug for awhile now.

When Sherlock returned, Thomas curled around his daddy's feet again. He had been pretty quiet lately. Just watching everything with wide eyes.

John returned the hug as strong as he dared before his husband moved back to the bed. It didn't take long for him to collapse into the chair behind him, clearly a bit in shock. What did they do now? Wait. Make sure Sherlock was healing. Keep his mouth shut. Don't tell anybody that this was his fault. It shouldn't be too difficult because Amy would be with them as early as tomorrow, something that made a tired smile tug at his lips. "We will have the whole family here tomorrow, dear." He reached out and grabbed his husband's hand, giving it a small squeeze.

'That will be good, Love.' Sherlock gave a small smile to John. Shit. He was tired already. Probably a combination of whatever drugs he was on and his body needing to heal. Was his mother coming as well? He hoped not. He didn't want her to see him like this. It would only make her worry and she had been doing enough of that lately. He picked up the pen to write the question down, but his eyes closed and the pen fell to the side before he even got one letter written.

More sleeping. Right now though, in this environment, John was comforted. Sherlock was healing and standing up had probably taken it out of him. He grabbed the pen and paper and set it on the small table next to the bed before turning his attention to Thomas. "Want to come back over here, mate? We should let Daddy sleep."

Thomas looked over to John and shook his head. He curled a little closer to Sherlock, his gaze shifting up to look at his Daddy. He needed to reassure himself that his new Daddy was okay. He couldn't lose his Daddy. Not after losing his Mum. He had left her and she died. He couldn't leave. Daddy might die otherwise. He sniffled at his thoughts but didn't cry. He put a finger to his mouth and made a quiet 'shh' noise and the fell still.

John frowned and tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it for a moment. "Okay," he whispered softly before squeezing his husband's hand. It was endearing, he supposed, that Thomas wanted to stay with Sherlock and keep him safe. "I love you," he whispered to his husband. "And I can't wait to get back to 221B and sleep in our bed, see Amy, snuggle with you." He lifted Sherlock's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

Sherlock slept a little under two hours. He was already feeling better. The antibiotics for the infection must be working. The pressure in his chest was gone but it was still sore. Probably due to over use and the fact his chest had been split open…again. He sighed at his thoughts and finally shifted his gaze to John, sitting next to his bed. He gave his husband a small smile.

Even with a breathing tube the man's smile made John giddy, made his stomach twist like they had just started dating. "Hi." He squeezed Sherlock's hand and smiled back, studying his husband intently. "I wanted to let you know that you are wonderful," he whispered with a small laugh. "You're amazing. Strong. A fighter. And you're my husband. I sat here and watched you sleep and I...I love you."

Sherlock smiled. A thought occurred to him and he wasn't sure why it hadn't before. Did John know sign language? He hadn't used it in years but he had learned it while working a case once. It would be much more efficient than writing on paper. He released John's hand, reached over and grabbed the pen and paper. 'Do you now sign language by chance?'

Sign language. John chuckled a bit before lifting his hands. 'Yes. Rusty.' He shrugged sheepishly. It wasn't a horrible skill to have, especially in the Army. It was an extremely useful skill when talking to people who didn't speak English. 'Can read better.' Another shrug, a nervous giggle, and he finally closed his eyes. How embarrassing. He was making a fool of himself. 'Question.' He paused and shook his head. "Did you have a question?"

Sherlock smirked and shook his head. 'No, I just thought this would be easier. You are full of surprises my Love.' The smirk got bigger. 'You don't have to sign, since I can hear you.' Were his hands moving too fast for his husband? He had slipped back into easily and quickly, hopefully John had been able to follow what he had signed.

John nodded and lifted his hands, pausing for a moment before moving his hands. 'Trying. Love you.' After a long pause he cleared his throat and scrunched his face in thought. 'How you feeling?' God, he was horrible at this and he knew it but maybe his nervous laughter would cheer his husband up a bit. It was the least he could do since Sherlock was in the hospital because of him in the first place.

Sherlock smiled. Conversation was definitely going smoother and quicker. 'I love you too. I'm feeling better.' He paused, reluctant to admit more. 'In a bit of pain. I think the medication is wearing off. Probably need another dose soon.' Another pause, because the admission had been difficult. He didn't want the drugs but God, it would make the increasing pain in his chest ebb. 'When will they be able to remove this tube?"

John paused for a moment. 'Taken off pain medicine.' His look was remorseful but a bit proud because he felt like he had been helping. 'On strong ibuprofen. Sleep aid.' He nodded, clearly grinning because he'd managed to sign that sentence. 'That okay?' He had done it the last time his husband was asleep after the man had requested it. Had he done something wrong? 'Soon for tube. Less than day.'

Oh. It was probably for the best. Right then. 'That will be fine.' At least the tube would be removed from his throat soon. 'It will be good to see Amy.' On the island Sherlock had admitted to missing their daughter. It was a strange feeling, something he had never really felt. The only other time he had ever really missed anyone was when John had gone back to war shortly after they had started dating.

Amy. John grinned foolishly and nodded, running a hand down his face. 'Excited. Miss her.' God, their daughter. It had been over a month since he had seen her and from the sounds of it she was growing up. Holding her head up, probably sitting up a bit on her own. He couldn't believe it. 'Bet she misses you.' Because his voice had calmed her down when she was in the womb so it wouldn't surprise him if his husband's voice still made Amy happy.

Was little Sandi old enough to miss anyone yet? Probably not. Best to humor John though. 'I am sure she misses you too.' Sherlock gave his husband a smile. 'How is Thomas doing? He has been quiet awhile now.' It was unlike the boy to be so still and silent. Perhaps Thomas was in shock? He glanced down to the boy at his feet. Asleep. That was good he supposed. He returned his attention to John.

'Quiet.' John smiled a bit and glanced down at their new son. Fast asleep, curled against his husband's toes. It made him laugh a bit. This was good, despite their current situation. In a hospital because he had nearly killed Sherlock but they were laughing, smiling a bit. Talking. 'Can't wait to hear your voice.' An admission that he'd never actually told his husband but the sound of Sherlock's voice always calmed him down. Deep, low. God, just thinking about it made a shiver run up his spine.

'Can't wait until I get to shag you again.' Sherlock gave John a mischievous smirk. The thought made him squirm a bit. His husband still owed him a fierce shagging but…would John be up for that? Or would his partner treat him with kid gloves? Clearly, his husband blamed himself for what had happened. He supposed, they shared responsibility in the whole ordeal. Think of something else. No brooding. John was laughing and smiling. He needed to keep his husband happy.

John replayed the hand movements in his head several times before he finally figured out what his husband had signed to him. Oh. Right. What did he say back to that? He laughed a bit before clearing his throat. 'You sure?' Because...he wasn't. At all. He didn't think he was ever going to be rough with Sherlock again. Not after this. What if he hurt him again? Killed him? He couldn't risk it at all. 'I...Scared.' His blue eyes looked up at his husband nervously and he cleared his throat. It was jarring in the silence.

Right. Of course he would find away to ruin their conversation. 'There is no need to be Love. I am not scared in the least.' What had happened was a freak accident and extremely unlikely to be repeated even if the exact same conditions were met again. How was he supposed to find a way to reassure his husband? Sherlock sighed into the tube. That was twice now he had managed to ruin sex for John.

Apparently that conversation had gone down hill. John looked away from Sherlock for a moment, studying the floor. Suck it up. Sherlock was hurt, it was his fault. 'Going to shag hard.' He signed slowly, lifting his gaze to hold it with his husband's. 'Like island. Fast. Rough. Screaming.' He smirked and it held pride he didn't even know he had within him because if it would make Sherlock happy then, damn it, he would do it.

That made Sherlock smirk broadly. 'God, I love you so much.' The smirk managed to get bigger. 'You might want to wait until I am out of the hospital though. Even I know that is a bit not good.' There. Better, yes? Hopefully. He hated fighting with John more than he hated being bored in between cases. Cases. To be back home in London. 'When do I get to leave?'

John laughed and nodded, smiling broadly from ear to ear. Of course Sherlock would know how to make him laugh, to fix everything. But then he shrugged and couldn't answer the last question. 'No idea. Big surgery. Infection. Lung.' In his medical opinion they would probably be in the hospital for another week, at least. They needed to make sure Sherlock's lung would hold up and that the infection was gone. 'Patient then good shag.'

'Me being a patient, patient?' Hah, yeah right. That would be the day. Sherlock would have to wait though and he knew that. How many times would he almost die and have to waste days in a stupid hospital? 'What about getting moved to a hospital in London?' He didn't want to stay in…where the hell were they anyway? He took a moment to focus on the conversation outside and it didn't take him long to figure it out. 'We are in Spain? Northern part. Barcelona most likely?'

"Jesus Christ, really?" John spoke for the first time as he glanced out the window. "Sherlock, stop being such a genius!" He giggled and stood up, running a hand gently up and down his husband's arm as he tilted his head to study Sherlock's face. "Could probably transfer you in a few days? I would have to probably take a boat with Amy, bit too dangerous to fly with her yet." He lifted his hand up and ran it through his husband's hair softly. "I am sure we can get you back to London soon. Apparently Lestrade has a pile of cases for you to look at, could probably knock those out while you are recovering."

Sherlock smirked again. He loved when John complimented him on his deduction. No one had ever done that before. It had surprised him the first time, but in a good way. Not many people could surprise him. It was why he had been so impressed with John when they first met, really. Cases. But…he was supposed to be family man now. He was going to have to learn to swing both anyway. Might as well get a head start on it. 'Of course he does. The only thing the Detective Inspector can find is tea and doughnuts.'

That made John snort a bit, his hand staying in his husband's hair. "Oi, he is good at other things. I am sure he is going to make a fantastic husband and father," he whispered as he checked to make sure that the was on the side of Sherlock's chest that didn't have stitches before he gently climbed on to the bed. He managed to situation himself so his feet wouldn't hit Thomas and Sherlock's head could rest on his chest. Contact, comfort. Things they both needed right now. "I can look after the kids for a bit if you want to check those cases over," he whispered into Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock snuggled into John immediately. He had thought about asking his husband to climb into the bed with him earlier but he had been worried it would upset John. That his husband would shy away from the thought. It was something John needed to do on his own, he figured. The contact was welcomed and needed. 'I love you.' Talking about cases could wait. He was going to spend some time just laying in his husband's arms.