Sherlock woke up to the doctors and nurses rushing about like they usually do. John was sitting in a chair across the room trying to read but his mind was racing. Hamish was still sleeping and hadn't moved since the night before.
"How is he?"
"Fine, I suppose."
"Sherlock…"
John stood up and walked over to him. He took Sherlock's hand in his and tried to meet his eyes but Sherlock kept staring at Hamish.
"He'll be fine, Sherlock."
Sherlock looked at John with red eyes. His throat felt small and he swallowed hard.
"Can you promise me, John?"
John's face fell. He was doubtful, as they all were, and replied with a sigh.
"No, Sherlock. I cannot."
John could feel his tears coming. He grabbed Sherlock's chin and planted a soft kiss to his lips. He could tell Sherlock was about to lose it. He bent down and kissed their son's forehead and left to go to the bathroom. He didn't want Sherlock to know, but he felt sick. He had felt sick for weeks. His stomach was in knots constantly. He threw up for the second time that day.