A/N: Very short one that I should have tagged on to the last chapter but it was getting long - plus I kinda left at a point that made several of you go 'Nooo!' because I am evil :-D This chapter brings the two earlier timelines in synch, so from hereon there are only two to get your head around.
Chapter 24
Gabe cradled the injured man against his bare chest, white faced and sobbing at the sheer amount of blood that soaked into the earth around them. John was dying for sure and he didn't know how to save him. Greg, please… come quickly. Please help. John's hurt. There was a clamour of voices in his head, all demanding to know what was going on and where he was, but Gabe was confused and frightened and all he wanted was Greg to be there to help him. He pressed his palm to the wound on John's neck hoping it was the one that mattered, the one that would stop him bleeding out, because if he died Greg would be sad and he'd be mad with him for letting him die. Greg please help.
There was crashing and shouting, broken branches and crying, and then there were strong arms holding him and the body that had been held tightly against him was spirited away. "It's ok love, everything is going to be ok baby, I promise. He's going to be ok, you did so well." Greg was there, and it was going to be alright. Greg would make it fine and John would be ok. He let himself be rocked in his lover's arms and sobbed until his throat was raw.
John woke in the cursed hospital room at the Haven again but this time there was pain – excruciating pain – and a stranger looking down on him dressed in a white coat and holding a manila file full of notes. He looked to his other side and wasn't surprised to see a familiar figure sitting there, nose buried in a newspaper but completely ignoring the patient in the bed. John turned back to the white coat. "How bad?"
"You were lucky. Roughly four pints of blood lost, twenty internal stitches to the wound in your neck plus thirty external, and about fifty to the abdominal wound. If you were human you'd be dead. Luckily for you you're not. Internal stitches will dissolve; externals will need to be removed day after tomorrow. No changing until then. Mr Holmes…?" Mycroft looked up from his paper at the medic. "Please ensure the patient has rest, plenty of water to drink and a high-protein diet."
"Of course. Thank you doctor." The pair watched the doctor leave in silence and even after the door swung shut and the latch engaged they were quiet for a good five minutes. "So…?"
"So what the fuck are you doing here Mycroft? Come to apologise for your attack dog getting the wrong wolf?" John was in too much pain to be civil and too emotionally hurt to care if his words stung. Mycroft frowned at him in confusion.
"Your attacker got away, but he will be located."
"You made a similar promise eight months ago, yet I'm still waiting. Marcus should be easier to find."
"Marcus? He's down the hall. He found you and…"
"He tried to kill me Mycroft. He was the one who did this to me."
"No, you're mistaken. You're confused from the anaesthetic and blood loss." John stared into his eyes and saw the truth – Mycroft knew, he fucking knew – that John was telling the truth, but he wasn't going to do anything about it. Whatever his need for the psycho, it was far more powerful than any feelings he'd held for John. It was like a punch to the gut on top of the gash in his stomach, the pain was so overwhelming.
"Leave," he muttered. "Leave, and don't fucking come to see me in here again. If Marcus is still around when I get out of here he had better watch his back."
"John, you're not a vindictive man…" Mycroft tried smoothly.
"Try me if you dare Myc." He turned onto his side, wincing at the tug of the morphine drip and closing his eyes until his former lover left the room.