Amy's POV

"Th-this is your house?" I say breathlessly from the pavement outside a door.

Sherlock nods and wipes his sweat covered forehead. My leg aches and am desperate to rest it. I go to open the door but he waves his hands to stop. Immediately after, the door swings open. A angry man strides straight passed me, almost knocking me off my one foot that has holds the full weight of my body.

The man that Sherlock promised was a doctor grabs him by the throat. Sherlock tries weakly to push him off and I contemplate stepping in.

"Not. well." He manages to slip out.

"Where have you been?" The man yells with flushed with anger, pressing deeper into Sherlocks throat.

"T-too tight. John."

Sherlock starts to gasp for air and his legs start to buckle.

Without thinking I speak up. "Leave him alone!"

John quickly looks around at me, first with anger in his eyes but then something changed. He looked back at his hands and loosens his grip. Sherlock's weak body slopes against John's chest. I notice that John feel ashamed as he puts his arm under Sherlocks and drags him towards the door.

"Are you coming in?" He sighs.

"Well I'm not going to leave you two alone."

Sherlock's POV

I wake up feeling awful. My joints ache and the coldness of the 221b bathroom floor is slowly draining every inch of warmth from my body. A soft blanket smoothers my bare skin. It's the sick blanket. I never understood why a blanket should be repeatedly be used for when one is sick. Even if it is sterilised, what's the difference between this one and any other. However, John is a stickler for traditions and the very fact that it is there means John put it there, so I do allow myself to take comfort from its presence.

Out of nowhere a worried voice startles me. "We put you in here in case you threw up again."

Sitting just outside the door is Amy. In my oversized purple shirt, which covers up to her upper thigh and the same bloody bandage as before. She looks feverish and I am confused as to why she hasn't moved to some place more comfortable.

"Why haven't you let John fix your leg?" I try ask her but all that come out is a high pitched squeak and a raspy cough which knocks the air from my lungs.

She tries pulling down the shirt in a half-hearted way to cover it up. I look at her bloodied knuckles and sigh.

"Oh. He told me to tell you not to speak."

I manage to lever myself up on the bottom set of draws so I could catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. When I see the purple bruises around my neck, a wave of memories of John closing my wind pipe come back.

"You said he's your friend?" She questions.

I shrug and she accept this as an answer. I deserved it. I haven't spent a night here in weeks and I feel like I over did it this time. I have to accept that he's going to get mad at me. Just like everyone else.

I want to ask her where he went. It's not like him to just leave me here. Or leave her like that, I might add. Though she is younger, John always had a soft spot for mysterious women. I think Amy picks up on this as she slyly takes my phone out from behind her and begins to text someone. I don't know how she managed to log in or even when she swiped it but I'm impressed. She sees me eying the phone and slides it back to me. I don't check it.

Less than a minute later, I can hear John's loud bullish footsteps make its way up the steps and through the house. Amy looks up at him suspiciously before she painfully moves her leg to allow him entrance to the bathroom. I notice the tension between the two instantly and am not surprised when I see john's black eye. This must be why her bandage hasn't been changed. They had a fight. About me, I presume.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock." He says while knelt down next to me.

I let out another belt of splutters that I didn't know I had been holding in which bring tears to my eyes and makes me wheeze.

"It's just sometimes I see red and I can't…" My coughing drowns him out.

John waits until I finished before he does his medical checks on me. I flinch involuntarily when he begins to assess the delicateness of my throat and I can see that it pains him, so I move my head back to allow him to finish.

"Well I didn't crush it. It should be alright, just try and not damage it any further. You'll get your voice back soon. Oh and no singing, okay?"

I smile at the ridiculousness of me wanting to sing anytime soon.

Amy's POV

I watch as Sherlock accepts John's peace offering of a glass of water and decide to drop my grudge with him. The decision is highly influenced from the fact that my bandage is starting to become more blood than cotton.

"John?" I perk up.

"I'll get my stuff." He sighs and Sherlock lets out a short croaky laugh.