"The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep."

Stopping by woods on a snowy evening | Robert Frost


"I still think we should consider choosing another surgeon, Sherlock."

"No."

In a large, light-filled single-occupancy hospital room, there are only Sherlock and Mycroft. Propping his back upon a pile of pillows by the head of the bed, Sherlock slightly leans back and relaxes into it, while his left arm is hooked up to a heart rate monitor with a pulse oximeter inserted in his index finger. He looks out of the window, avoiding Mycroft's gaze. On the monitor screen, his vitals look acceptable. His skin is not as pale as in the past few days, today he seems to be in a much better condition, with a better mood. Londoners have a dry and very sunny day today, which should lift mostly everyone's mood. But Mycroft is still feeling really bad, he nervously sits on the small chair next to Sherlock's bed and speaks so softly to him.

"John might be psychologically affected, we shouldn't put too much pressure on him like that..."

"No. I said NO." Sherlock almost snaps at his brother. "I trust John with my life, if not John, no one else."

"How about another consulting doctor?"

"Now that is the definition of putting more pressure on him, Mycroft. Trust, do you even understand the word?" Sherlock almost instantly regrets an unintended tongue slip; he doesn't mean to mock Mycroft. Pausing for a beat, he lowers his voice. "I don't want John to feel monitored during such an operation."

Mycroft remains silent and says nothing more. He looks at Sherlock, trying to shake off his worries, but it seems too difficult. Mycroft doesn't have a good feeling about the upcoming surgery. It is true that Sherlock looks a little better these days, but he is still too pale compared to who he was more than a year ago - since his first heart attack – after that his condition has only worsened. He often faints, refuses to eat, and can barely walk for more than 5 minutes. Sherlock has dilated cardiomyopathy; at the time of diagnosis, he has already been in end-stage heart failure. Having been putting on an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator half a year ago, Sherlock spends most of his time indoors, his complexion is getting paler and paler, and his mood is also badly affected. Although Lestrade still tries to bring him cases for consulting, they all understand that solving cases cannot be based on papers and others' words alone, if Sherlock cannot go to the scene in person, it is almost impossible for him to pursue his favorite job.

John is also taking a break from work, he avoids appearing too busy in front of Sherlock, in fear that Sherlock may feel sorry for himself. He spends most of his time at home taking care of Rosie and Sherlock. Sometimes, he goes to the crime scene in place of his partner and video calls him, but he also avoids doing this too frequently, because he worries that the more frequently he does this, the more Sherlock will judge himself as incompetent and powerless. John never stops researching more about heart transplants, he reads all the latest studies and talks to the most well-known and talented surgeons in the country, while Mycroft spends most of his time searching and contacting to sign up Sherlock's name on every organ donation waiting lists. Given his addiction history, Mycroft has to do a lot to get Sherlock a chance to receive a new heart. And now, after more than a year, they have finally found Sherlock a suitable heart: a female patient being announced brain dead due to a traffic accident, is still very young, and her family members agree to donate their daughter's organs. Along with Sherlock, there are six other patients present at Harefield Hospital today, the surgery is expected to take place in the next 24 hours whenever the family finally decides to remove the breathing tube. Although Sherlock still insists that he only trusts John for the role, Mycroft is secretly preparing Dr. Wells and Bernet, just in case Sherlock may change his mind.

"It's not that I don't trust his ability, it's that I don't want him to be responsible for the outcome of this surgery. We already owe John so much; we should not force him to carry this responsibility too. Sherlock, you have to understand that even if everything goes as planned, even if the surgery will be successful, there will still be a very highly possible chance that complications will occur after surgery…"

Sherlock remains silent for a moment. He looks out of the window, to the outside world, there is a slight breeze blowing through the leaves. Then he speaks softly, his voice as light as the wind.

"Maybe. But even in the worst case, I still want to die when we are a team. If I will die, I choose to die while trusting John, dying in his arms. And I've talked to John about it, more than anyone else, needless me pointing out, John fully understands each and every complication that can happen after surgery. I've already emphasized that I or anyone in our family won't blame him no matter what may happen." Sherlock looks at Mycroft straight in the eye as if to remind him specifically. "I know you still brought Dr. Wells and Bernet here, but that's not going to happen, Mycroft. I won't be able to face John if I imply that I don't trust him. John is a good doctor, you know that, Mycroft. Maybe he's not the best, maybe John isn't as good as Bernet, but he is just enough for me."

Mycroft closes his eyes; he sighs softly and turns away from Sherlock's gaze. They both look out of the window for a long moment without anyone saying anything more. At this point Mycroft feels that perhaps he shouldn't put any more pressure on his brother, so he keeps quiet. He supports Sherlock, he knows his little brother is mature enough with his decisions, and he also knows that John is a good cardiologist. It's just that he's so worried, he wants to be able to help with anything, but right now he feels like he's totally useless in the upcoming major surgery.

They sit for a while longer, when suddenly there is a knock on the door. It's John. After a few more seconds, he enters the room. John looks somehow tired, but the fatigue cannot hide the sense of serenity that John is feeling. Having found an organ donor for Sherlock, John is overjoyed. Sherlock will live. Despite the fact that receiving organs from the opposite sex has a much higher rejection rate, since Sherlock's blood type is not highly compatible, finding a matching heart is even more difficult. John really hopes that Sherlock will make it through this surgery, then everything will be back to the way it was; he, Sherlock, and Rosie can be a happy family again. He promises to himself that he will do his best, and he will be extremely careful to make the surgery a success. Just less than a day left.

John approaches, he checks every of Sherlock's stat on the bedside monitor, feeling relieved, he smiles at Mycroft and then turns to take Sherlock's hand.

"How is my love feeling today?"

Sherlock just smiles without answering. He also takes John's hand. Witnessing the scene, Mycroft feels a bit awkward, he wonders if he should use an excuse to leave the room, maybe John and Sherlock might have something to talk to each other discreetly. But he still wants to be with Sherlock a little longer. He hasn't succeeded in getting the anxiety out of his head.

Sherlock gently speaks.

"Is Rosie being a good girl with auntie Molly?"

John sits on the bed edge across from Mycroft, rubbing Sherlock's hand gently with small circles.

"Yes, Molly actually just called. She said things were going well so far. Molly sent her regards; she must have called you too, right? Told me she really wanted to come, same as Greg, but I asked them to stay at home taking care of Rosie, we would be most grateful for their help. It will surely be a long wait, won't it, Sherlock?" John smiled gently at him. "It's unlikely we can have the organs removed before tonight, then the surgery will probably take about 7 hours more, I think everyone should not have to be waiting in the lobby. I also have to sleep a bit to prepare myself, Sherlock dear, please do sit with Mycroft for just a few moments more, and then remember to rest, okay? You better get some sleep, too. Even though you'll be sedated tonight, I still need you to stay the healthiest you can be. Okay? Remember, just sit a little longer."

Sherlock just smiles at John without blinking. Then he gently speaks, knowing that even though he is ready for any outcome, John must still be feeling too nervous, under too much pressure. How he wants John to feel at peace.

"It's okay, John. Everything will be fine, we take what comes, remember?"

Mycroft stands up, he really feels the need to leave them alone together.

"I'm going to give our parents a callback. Because you insist on not letting them come, you cannot imagine how many times I've been called. You two just take your time, I'll come in later."

Then Mycroft walks out the door. Closing the door slightly, he peeks in and sees John standing up to hug Sherlock. Sherlock also presses his face to John's chest and wraps his arms around his waist as well.

Mycroft really wishes they can stay together forever like this.


Hearing the door close, John and Sherlock both quietly release a breath they are involuntarily holding. They lean tighter in their hug as if they want to hide a part of each other deeper in their hearts, to take all that warmth, to always remember how the other person's skin feels against theirs. Sherlock presses his face to John's blouse, he inhales the antiseptic, the hospital smell, and John's cologne merging together; he leans even deeper into John's chest.

"What are you thinking?" John smiles. Then, without waiting for Sherlock to answer, he murmurs while burying his face in Sherlock's hair, inhaling his scent.

"Wait, let me guess. You're thinking that when you get better, we will still have Rosie at Molly's, then we'll spend the whole week so alone together. We won't get out of bed; we'll just make love then go to sleep. I won't make you eat the horrible food I cook."

Sherlock laughs.

"Close."

"Yeah?"

"Actually, I'm thinking that I want you to stay by my side now. Hugging you like this really feels so nice." Sherlock squeezes John even more tightly in his arms. "Where are you going to sleep? Lay here with me, on my bed, I promise I won't do anything, I will let you sleep."

John laughs, sitting back down on the bed, looking Sherlock in the eye, and bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks.

"If you're not doing anything to me, what's the point of me laying here? It will be too boring."

Sherlock puts his arm around John's neck.

"I promise I'll make it up to you when I get better..."

"Sherlock, you think your new heart will love me as much as your old one?"

"Really, John? I think you can write that line on your blog." Sherlock rubs his nose against John's. "I love you with my entire being, John, not just the heart. Nothing will change that. Now John, where is my lucky kiss?"

John doesn't need Sherlock to remind him, he moves forward and kisses Sherlock on the lips. John gently plays with the curls at the nape of his neck, then pulls him into his arms. John feels a surge of intense emotions in his heart, he loves Sherlock too much, and he is also too worried. What if he makes a mistake? Who knows what wrong can happen during the surgery, or if Sherlock's body may reject the new organ? If Sherlock no longer exists, will he still be able to continue living for Rosie's sake? He dreads the thought of that question. He knows that at this moment he must keep his mind stable, to avoid affecting the surgery's results, but why does he find each wave of anxiety rising in his heart? He only has one simple wish that he can hug Sherlock like this forever, is it really an unreasonable wish, why does God have to test them two like this? But no, everything will be okay, everything has to be okay, because John won't let any bad things get into Sherlock. He must save his Sherlock by all cost.


Mycroft sits alone on a bench in the hospital corridor, fidgeting with the umbrella handle in his hand, deep in thought. At times like these, he suddenly recognizes his own lonesome too clearly. Even though he thinks he gets used to being on his own, he can't help but feel a little jealous when he sees that the people around him were all coupled. To see Sherlock and John have found each other just like two pieces of a puzzle, Mycroft sometimes wishes he had one too. Someone to be with, to talk to, to share this life with. A person whose existence gives meaning to his existence. Mycroft seems to be the luckier one between them two brothers, he has a healthier heart, but actually, to Mycroft, he feels like that even if he died right now, his death probably wouldn't have too much of an impact on anyone's life. Unlike Sherlock and John, they can both die for each other, and if one dies, the other isn't willing to live anymore – Mycroft doesn't have such a relationship with anyone. Perhaps his value lies only at work, as an emotionless machine. And worthless. For if he considers himself a machine, he must fully understand that any machine can simply be replaced.

John opens the door, he steps outside, and is lightly startled to see that Mycroft is not using his phone, he just sits there alone without doing anything, seems like Mycroft just avoids being in the room. John feels surprised because he never thought Mycroft could think for others' sake like that, he wanted them to have a private moment, so he made an excuse to get out of the room. John sits down on the bench next to Mycroft.

"I'll do my best to ensure Sherlock's safety, don't you worry too much."

Mycroft turns to John; he clenches his fist hard.

"I trust you to do your best, John. I'm not just worried about Sherlock, I'm worried about both of you. I'm afraid that you are putting yourself in a too pressured situation because you will have to operate on his body with your bare hands, but since you and Sherlock have both made your decisions, I have no choice but to put my faith in you two."

"Thank you, Mycroft… Actually, we talked…"


And then John remembers the night before, when Sherlock was resting his head on John's lap on the long sofa, John had said these words to Sherlock while his hand was gently playing with his curly hair.

"Listen up, Sherlock."

"Hmm?"

"I will have to use a sternal saw to open your entire chest, by splitting the breastbone, then take your heart out. There's a very real possibility you could die on the operating table even before the transplant."

Sherlock was silent for a few seconds, then he took John's hand and pressed it to his chest.

"I had died on the operating table before, John. I don't mean to bring back bad memories, but… I came back for you, remember? I will do it again, if needed to. I knew how, I had the experience." Sherlock smiled. "Don't worry, John."

John took Sherlock's hand.

"There's a fifteen percent higher risk of rejection, because of the size differences in the heart of men and women, not to mention hormonal and immunological factors."

"I do hope she has a big heart." Sherlock tried a joke unsuccessfully.

Then he softened his voice.

"I've done my homework too, John."

"And even when the transplant is successful, there is still a high chance that you will be dead in the next ten years. Fifty percent chance."

"And? What are you trying to say?"

"I don't know. I feel like I should mention all the risks to you before the surgery… Maybe it's simply… medical ethics. So you can be ready. Be… prepared…"

Sherlock pressed his face deeper into the hem of John's shirt. He whispered.

"If I die, what will you do, John?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"What do I want you to do? I certainly want you to continue living happily, whether I live or die I want the same for you."

"But what if happiness is no longer an option? Sherlock, you must know that to me, continuing to live without you is a harsher punishment than death. You must know that, Sherlock. I had the experience too…" John felt the bridge of his nose sting. "Those two years… I really couldn't go through that again…"

Sherlock looked up at John.

"Don't tell me that if I die, you'll kill yourself?"

John remained silent and did not answer. Sherlock sat straight up and looked John directly in the eye.

"John, you can't do that. You must live on. For Rosie, and for your own sake too."

John felt his eyes blur. He choked.

"I don't know, Sherlock. I feel so bad. Just thinking about Rosie scares me again. It feels like she has taken away my right to dare to die. Now I'm just a coward, who is afraid of everything. I can't even be allowed to say the truth that I, too, want to die… Really… Sherlock, don't leave me alone. I won't know what to do anymore… Without you, I'd just want to die, and if even that simple wish can't be fulfilled… then how can I know what to do, Sherlock? How do I even continue to exist?"

Sherlock hugged John, he buried his face in John's neck and murmured.

"John, I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault, Sherlock." John burst into tears. "How can this even be your fault? I only dare to wish that tomorrow's surgery will go well. Don't leave me now, Sherlock, while I have so many responsibilities for Rosie… Don't do this to me, don't leave me alone. I'm not asking for much, just 10 years, promise me you'll be with me for the next 10 years, and then I'll go with you. When Rosie grows up a little bit more, I'll go with you. Okay, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sat up straight, he brought his hand to John's cheek, gently wiping away his tears with his thumbs.

"John, listen. Do you remember my vow? That whatever it takes, whatever happens, I will always be there for the three of you?"

"Yes."

"Mary's gone, but Rosie..." Pausing for a few seconds, Sherlock continued. "Rosie is not only your responsibility; she became mine as well. Because of you and Rosie, neither do I dare to live a risky life like before, I don't dare to die anymore. So, John, don't feel that your responsibility is too heavy. I'm here to share half with you. No matter what happens to any of us, the other will have to stay strong and live on, for Rosie's sake, right, John?"


Looking haggard, John sits on the bench next to Mycroft, both lost in their own thoughts and no one says a word to each other. John speaks first.

"So, I'll have to go now to arrange some work, I'll come back later. I'm glad we have you here to be with him."

Mycroft gets up to see John off a few steps, he can't help but feel a little offended. Before, it was him who always asked John to keep an eye on Sherlock, since when did everything change to John asking him to take care of Sherlock? Since when did the person closest to Sherlock become John not him, since when did his responsibility of taking care of Sherlock become John's? Suppressing his thoughts, he speaks to John's shadow who is slowly disappearing to the end of the corridor.

"Thank you, John."