Dearest readers, I just wanted to take some more time to thank you so much for your reviews. They're so kind and supportive, logging in has become such a joy. When I started this story months ago with Intimate Inverness I never thought this story would get to be over fifty chapters long with over two hundred reviews. Your support means everything to me, so long as you are reading I will be writing.
On that note, StarMaya asked: "Can you do one where Sherlock gets hurt badly and John cares for him and be protective?"
I tried my best to write something like this, though honestly I couldn't decide between a hospital scene or a more homebound scene. Maybe we'll see the other version in the future.
Can we talk about how many of my stories have ended with the two of them sleeping in a hospital bed recently?
Enjoy!
12:00 A.M.
Five year old Debbie Dolan, daughter of rich businessman Richard Dolan had been kidnapped earlier that week. After a few unsuccessful days at the Yard, Richard Dolan had set Sherlock Holmes on the case. Sherlock made quick work of it, tracking the kidnapper with ease. Just a few minutes earlier Sherlock had led them straight to where the kidnapper was holding Debbie for ransom.
However not even Sherlock Holmes was flawless, the kidnapper heard them arriving and fled the scene with the girl. Sherlock and John ran off in hot pursuit while John placed a call to Lestrade, phoning in their location. Sherlock easily ran ahead of John, his long legs and endless energy aiding his speed. The kidnapper was dragging Debbie across the road, and the girl was trying to fight him but his grip tightened on her wrist and she began to cry. Sherlock leapt into the street after them, and he was so fixated on the criminal and his hostage that he didn't see the car speeding towards him.
For one second his head turned suddenly, and shock spread across his face making him look even paler than normal. The headlights bathed him in a golden glow and then the car struck his body fling him over the windshield which cracked on impact. Then he was tossed over the car onto the street with a sickening crack.
"Sherlock!" John screamed, running forward and already fearing the worst. He was cursing that idiot and his intentness towards a case, cursing his leg for making him so slow, and screaming out his boyfriend's name.
A crowd had already gathered and cries of "call an ambulance" and "did you see what happened?" were ringing through the air. The driver of the car, a rather shocked man, was still sitting in the car gripping the steering wheel as though trying to strangle it.
John slid down to his knees, most likely scraping them in the process. All he could see was Sherlock covered in blood and looking so...broken and wrong. He was breathing so lightly, and his magnificent coat which often made him look so tall and impressive was not helping him at all now. Now he just looked small.
John went to work right away, doing what he could to staunch the bleeding and checking to see what was broken. His mind was so intent on his work that when the ambulance showed up the paramedics actually had to drag him away in order to get Sherlock into the ambulance.
John didn't take his eyes off Sherlock until they got to the hospital, and the detective was rushed off to the ER.
12:30 A.M.
John had his head in his hands, when Lestrade appeared at his side.
"Here." He pushed a paper cup of tea into John's hand, his face full of sympathy and concern. John took the tea gratefully and with a sigh. Behind Lestrade and through the glass doors to the hospital entrance John could just make out Mycroft's black car speeding into the parking lot with a kind of urgency that no one would associate with the normally lethargic man.
"I should be in there." John muttered to Lestrade. "I could be helping."
"I don't think this is something you should help with." Lestrade replied softly. "Besides. I'm sure he'll be fine. Come on, he's Sherlock Holmes!"
"He's Sherlock Holmes." John repeated as though the words were a prayer.
Mycroft was making his way quickly into the waiting area, ignoring the nurse who practically begged him to sign in.
"Mrs. Hudson is trying to contact you." He said to John in lieu of a greeting. "I would respond to her if you don't want her here in tears."
John sighed, he was not in the right mood to console anyone right now. In fact all he wanted to do was scrub up and save the life of the man he loved. It angered him to have other doctors tell him to wait outside, that they needed to work.
Besides, every time he closed his eyes he could see Sherlock flying over the roof of the car...
The three men waited there for hours until a nurse finally came to tell them that Sherlock was out of surgery and could be well enough for visitors in around three or four hours. Mycroft and Lestrade had nodded and made moves to leave but John just shook his head.
"I'll wait here until then."
"Sir, it's nearly two in the morning. Even if you wait that long, visiting hours won't start until ten o'clock." The nurse replied with a shocked look and pursed lips.
"You should go home and sleep." Lestrade pleaded and Mycroft nodded.
"The detective inspector is right. There is nothing more you can do." He gestured towards the door.
"I am going to wait here." John insisted. The nurse just shrugged, clearly more worried about angering her superiors than the antics of the worried man in the waiting room. She rushed off without another word. Mycroft sighed as though used to to this sort of thing and then said his goodbyes promising to stop by later followed shortly by Lestrade who was still trying to get John to go home.
"Are you sure you want to stay here that long?" The detective inspector asked.
"Yeah. I'll be fine. Go on home." John forced a smile onto his face to convince the man that all was well enough to leave.
"Sherlock is lucky." Lestrade sighed. "When he wakes up, I'm going to tell him that."
8:00 A.M.
John swore and gave an angry kick to the vending machine. How cliche, a hospital vending machine that refused to work. All he needed was something to keep his blood sugar up because at this point his stomach was growling and he was feeling dizzy. However there was the high calorie snack cake stuck on it's metal rung, taunting him.
"Excuse me?"
John turned to see another nurse standing beside him. She was a young brunette with a look of recognition on her face, her name tag read Ellie M.
"Uh...yes?" He asked, hoping he didn't look like an escaped patient from the mental ward with his messed up hair, wild eyes, and war with the vending machine.
"You're...you're John Watson right? You have the blog." She laughed nervously.
"Yes, that's me." John tried to smile politely, not sure if he could deal with a fan at the moment. If he had to answer one more question about who wore the pants in the relationship...
"I'm a big fan." Ellie smiled. "But...why are you here? Is someone hurt?"
"Yes actually...Sherlock is..." John sighed and the nurse's mouth formed an "o" of surprise.
"I didn't know!" She squeaked. "Oh, how long have you been here? You look awful." She pointed out blatantly.
"Well...since twelve or so..." John ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the snack machine for support. "I'm not leaving until I can see him."
Ellie looked around nervously, then she stepped closer to John and began to whisper.
"I know it's against the rules, but I could probably get you in to see him if you wanted." She nodded.
John's heart nearly stopped and a thrill of relief and joy flew through him.
"That would be...fantastic. Could you do that?" He felt guilty about potentially getting the young girl in trouble, but right now Sherlock was his first priority.
"Yes, just give me a second to find out what room he's in." Ellie smiled.
"Thank you so much." John nearly hugged her before she ran off to go check the patient records.
8:15 A.M.
"Just try not to be seen. If a doctor comes in, you never heard of me, got it?" Ellie smiled from the doorway and John nodded vigorously.
"I really appreciate this." He thanked her again and she nodded.
"It's the least I could do." She said before slipping out the door, closing it behind her.
John, being a doctor, went to the chart first before he even looked at the slumbering man lying in the hospital bed.
Broken ribs, broken radius, internal bleeding, concussion, damage to internal organs minor. He'll live.
John sighed with relief and placed the chart back on the end of the bed before turning to face Sherlock. The man looked even more pale than usual, which was understandable considering how much he'd been bleeding. He was sleeping soundly, his breath ghosting through his lips in a shallow way that sent a pang of concern through John's chest. He approached Sherlock's bedside and thoroughly examined the man that he was now considering his patient.
Finally he retreated to a chair in the corner of the room, collapsing into it with a yawn. Now that he knew Sherlock was okay, he could sleep.
10:30 A.M.
John stretched and yawned, his back was killing him almost as much as his leg was. As his eyes opened he noticed that Sherlock was awake and sitting up with a book propped up on his knees. It was almost comical how the detective insisted on holding the book when his left arm was bound in a cast, hence laying the book against his knees.
As John stirred Sherlock looked up from his book with a look of pure bored annoyance.
"Can you believe this? They won't let me go home, John." He hissed.
John could hardly believe his ears. The man was hit by a car and still he found a way to complain about the doctors that saved his life. John opened his mouth to say something about how it was a good thing that Sherlock was still in the hospital but he ended up just snapping it shut again and shaking his head with a sigh.
"Where'd the book come from?" He asked instead.
"Mrs. Hudson dropped by. She knew I would need something to keep myself busy. She's learning." Sherlock replied. "She said something about me terrorizing doctors. I don't know. Mycroft came too while you were asleep."
John stood and walked over to Sherlock, nodding at the words leaving the detective's mouth without actually listening to them.
"I'm apparently bedridden. Also I'm forbidden from telling the doctors about their own personal lives." Sherlock continued to complain and John sighed, lifting a hand to silence him.
"Sherlock." He commanded. "Just...shush."
Sherlock opened his mouth as though to protest but then shut it firmly. John approached Sherlock's bedside and almost fell onto the man, hugging him tightly.
"You sod." He growled. "I can't believe you."
"I'm sorry, John. Next time should I try to not be struck by a vehicle?" Sherlock's voice held all of it's usual snark but there was just a bit of pain layering the words. John pulled back ready for two different kinds of lectures.
"First of all, yes try not to be hit by a car because that was entirely your fault. Secondly don't get sarcastic because you're uncomfortable with me being worried and in pain from me hugging you." He scolded, and Sherlock at least had the decency to look downwards.
"Good." John sighed, bending down to press a kiss to Sherlock's forehead.
3:00 P.M.
"Shit."
John sighed and stared down in frustration at the puddle of split tea that had accumulated on the floor after he'd tripped and dropped the cup he'd been bringing to Sherlock. Trying to ignore the looks that the detective was giving him, he looked around for something to mop it up with. Finding nothing he simply sighed and tossed the paper cup into the trash can and walked around the tea to collapse into the chair he'd dragged to Sherlock's bed.
"You're tired." Sherlock pointed out, unhelpfully.
"Yes." John replied, rubbing at his temples.
Sherlock shook his head and settled back onto the pillows, a wince flickering over his features faintly. John's brow furrowed in concern.
"Does it hurt?" He asked.
"Hardly." Sherlock snapped, glaring back at his companion.
"When was the last time you got medication?" John pushed.
"Unimportant. It's not that bad." Sherlock huffed, insistent on not looking weak.
John shook his head and crawled into the bed next to Sherlock, peppering his face in kisses.
"Of course not." He teased. "Even so there will be no running around chasing criminals until you've made a full recovery." He insisted knowing full well that as soon as Sherlock could run he would.
"You're asking too much of me." Sherlock replied.
"Sherlock. Rest." John sighed, pulling the man down into his arms. Sherlock acquiesced, though he grumbled about John's restrictions until he fell asleep.
None of the doctors or nurses were brave enough to ask Captain John Watson to move from Sherlock's side that night.