Clara

John hasn't woken up since the previous night. The Doctor's had tried to pull Sherlock away from him so they could treat the stubborn consulting detective for his various burns and wounds, but Sherlock had refused. He stayed by John's side. Clara sat in the room with The Doctor next to her and watched over the two detectives. Sherlock looked so weary and so lost Clara realized that this was what he had been blaming himself for. This was why he wanted them to leave him for dead. He didn't want this to happen to John. Clara chewed at her lip. She felt horrible for the detective. He shouldn't be blaming himself. After all it was the Slitheen that had done this. They had hurt him.

"So, where are the screwdrivers?" Sherlock asked suddenly. Clara's eyes widened.

"How did you-"

"Know?" filled in Sherlock. "It was simple. The coloring was just a few shades too dark for the real ones. What were the ones you gave them?" Sherlock asked, not pulling his eyes from his best friend resting in the white bed.

"We filled them up with vinegar. If anything tries to use them the screwdrivers will blow," Clara stated. She reached into her pocket then. "I have the real ones right here." Sherlock smirked then.

"I see why he likes you," he mused. Clara smiled at that and then glanced at the Doctor.

"Is there anything you can do?" Clara whispered, praying that Sherlock couldn't hear her. The Doctor stared at John for a long while, but then shook his head.

"I could, but according to the entry in Sherlock's journal-"

"Doctor, please!" Clara whispered. "Look what it's doing to him!" They looked back at Sherlock to see only the shell of the man he once had been. The Doctor moaned silently, but nodded in agreement. He walked over to the side of the bed, running his screwdriver over John's sleeping form. He checked the readings on John and then pressed the palms of his hands on either side of John's face. Sherlock watched; hope sparking in his eyes as he did so. Once The Doctor pulled away his hands John's eyes flickered open. A smile fell over Sherlock's face then and he dropped his head into John's chest, no longer able to hold back the emotions.

"Whoa! Sherlock, what's wrong? What am I doing here?" John gasped, holding a gentle hand on Sherlock as the young man cried.

"Wait you remember me?" Sherlock gasped, head shooting up and staring into John's green eyes. John let out a laugh, ruffling Sherlock's curly hair.

"Who could forget you of all people?" John asked, smiling gently at his upset friend. Sherlock's eyes fell to The Doctor's and the Time Lord winked at him. A small smile fell over Sherlock's face and he mouthed a small thank you before burying his face into John's chest. John stared at his friend in surprise, but wrapped his arms around him gently. "What happened, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Wait, you don't remember a thing?" Clara asked, suddenly. John shook his head, staring at her and The Doctor in confusion. Not only did he not remember what had happened the past few days he forgot who Clara and the Doctor really were too.

John

Everything was a blur. John could remember he was searching for something. Maybe they had been on a case and he got hurt? He let his eyes fall back to the weeping consulting detective. His heart clenched at the sight of his friend. Sherlock's mask was completely shattered and emotions were wrapping themselves around the distressed detective all at once. John bothered at his lip. How bad had his injuries been to cause such pain for his usually stoic friend? The other question was: who were those people in his room? They had left now to give him and Sherlock some time alone, but John felt like he should know them. Maybe they had been the clients to the case?

"Don't you dare do that again, John," Sherlock whimpered suddenly. John glanced down, meeting the broken blue eyes of his closest friend. John ran a hand through his hair.

"Sure, Sherlock. Umm…it would help if I actually remembered what happened to us this week," John said, glancing over Sherlock cut up body. He looked like hell. His face was cut up and dried blood clung to his pale face, making John's stomach twist. Large bruises ringed his neck as well, making John even more fearful of what had happened. The bruising around Sherlock's neck looked horrible and the detective seemed to be refusing treatment.

"It was my fault, John. If I hadn't been gotten you into this case you never would have…"

"Hey, hey!" John gasped, sitting up and pulling Sherlock tighter into him. He ran a hand gently down Sherlock's back, surprised by how broken his detective was. Tears streamed down his own eyes now as he comforted his dear friend. He couldn't help it. Seeing Sherlock like this was so distressing. "Sherlock, don't you dare blame yourself. I know the risks of the cases we take. I choose to go on them. If it's anybody's fault it's my own," John cooed. Sherlock nodded and John pulled him back, smiling at his friend.

"Now, when was the last time you bloody ate something?!"