Chapter Two

Two days later, John slowly blinked his eyes open for the first time. He instantly winced as his retinas were assaulted by the bright light, and closed his eyes into slits, breathing deeply from the strain, even though he logically knew he shouldn't be worn out simply from opening his eyes.

Sherlock just had time to release a surprised and relieved "John!" before John's eyes fell closed, and he slipped into unconsciousness once more.

The next time John awoke, it was a few hours later, and the room seemed much dimmer than before. This allowed John to open his eyes properly and keep them open long enough to realise that his vision appeared to be quite blurry. John felt a gentle hand rest itself on top of his own.

"Hey, John."

John turned his head slightly to the side in order to see who had emitted the words, and had to scrunch his eyes closed for a second or two as a wave of dizziness hit him. He felt nausea rise up in his throat, but he managed to swallow it down quickly.

"John? Are you okay?"

Cautiously, John opened his eyes once more. A curly-haired man with concerned blue eyes was looking down at him. Sherlock. Relief flooded John as his friend's name popped into his mind. At least he had something he was sure of. John realised he was lying flat on his back in a bed, a hospital bed, judging by the smell, and the bars either side of him.

"Are you okay, John?" Sherlock repeated.

John searched in his mind for the response, but he couldn't find one. He opened his mouth, hoping the words would come, but they didn't. Instead, he nodded slowly, although panic was starting to fill him.

"John, who am I? What's my name?" Sherlock sounded almost desperate. It seemed John's lack of verbal reply had sparked panic in him too.

John opened his mouth again and then licked his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on forming the word. After several seconds of trying, his tongue finally seemed to comply. "Sher…lo…h". He couldn't form the 'ck' sound properly, making him sound almost as if he had an Irish accent.

Sherlock smiled wide when John said his name, and then squeezed John's hand carefully. "I thought for a moment that you didn't remember me. The doctors said that you might have trouble talking to start with because of the ventilator you had in, so don't worry about that."

John was full of questions, but his eyes fell closed again before he had a chance to ask a single one. The simple act of forming one word had proved to be exhausting.

It wasn't until the following morning that John woke up again. He slowly blinked his eyes open, but rather than seeing Sherlock, as he had expected, he found that it was Mycroft who was sitting beside his bed.

"Good morning, John."

John wanted to ask where Sherlock was, or why he was here, or why Mycroft was here, but he couldn't find the right words. All he could do was slur out the elder Holmes's name. "Myc'oft." He was pretty sure that he'd at least said some of the letters wrong, or missed off the ending sound, but it didn't matter, because it was obvious Mycroft knew what he'd said from the fact he gave a very small smile at John's utterance.

"I sent Sherlock to get some coffee. He hasn't slept since your accident, which I'm afraid has left him in a rather irritable mood." At John's frown, Mycroft decided to explain a few things. "You were involved in a car crash, John, two days ago. You sustained a fractured arm and a head injury which required emergency surgery. At this time, it is unclear of the full implications of your injury. This is the first time you've remained conscious for more than a minute."

John searched Mycroft's face, trying to find out more information, but, as usual, it was unreadable. He was trying to formulate a question when a nurse entered the room. She gave an acknowledging nod in Mycroft's direction before walking around to John's other side.

"Hello. It's good to see you awake. My name's Sarah. Would you like a drink?" She had a cheerful and friendly voice which put John at ease. He nodded.

Sarah half-filled a polystyrene cup with water and then held it to John's lips with one hand, while using her other hand to lift John's head up off the pillow. John drank slowly and with much difficulty, but managed not to choke on the water, so decided it had been a success.

After checking John's charts, Sarah left the room, telling John and Mycroft that a doctor would be in to see John shortly.

When Sherlock arrived back several minutes later, he immediately looked up to see whether John was awake. Finding him with his eyes open, relief flooded his tired and drawn-out face. Mycroft had a short, whispered conversation with Sherlock before leaving, which caused John to frown. He disliked being left out of the loop, and felt he was being told a lot less than was known.

Sherlock took the seat that Mycroft had occupied moments ago and turned to John, studying him closely before speaking. "How do you feel today, John?"

It irritated John that Sherlock had phrased the question in a way that made it impossible to give a non-verbal reply. He eventually found the words he was looking for. "Not bad. Doctor's coming soon."

Sherlock nodded and smiled, pleased that John had said something that was almost to be considered a proper sentence. "Yeah, he should be here any minute. He's not bad."

John knew that was really code for meaning Sherlock didn't find the doctor quite as idiotic as he found most people, which he guessed was a good thing.

As promised, the doctor entered the room a few minutes later.

"Hello, John. I'm Doctor Horton, and I'll be overseeing your care here. Can I ask how you're feeling today?"

John opened his mouth to reply when everything suddenly seemed to go dark, as if his brain had shut down. His body began to convulse wildly, and the beeping of the machines raced into overdrive. Instantly, the room became a flurry of activity; several nurses rushed in and helped to push John onto his side. They held him gently in place, but didn't restrict his flailing limbs, as they knew this would cause more damage.

In all of this, Sherlock could do nothing but watch John as his muscles convulsed out of his control. This unsettled Sherlock more than he'd want to admit, but he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from his friend.

John's seizure lasted just over two minutes. When he was still again, the nurses gently rolled him onto his back. His chest rose and fell heavily, and his eyes fluttered slightly under their lids.

One of the nurses, Sarah, turned to Sherlock and gave a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry you had to see that. It's always an unpleasant thing to witness, especially for a loved one."

Sherlock barely looked up from John's unconscious form when he replied. "I'm fine. Will John be okay? When will he wake up?"

Doctor Horton stepped in, speaking calmly and with an air of control which Sherlock found reassuring. "It was a possibility that this would happen, based on what we know of John's injury, and the surgery he subsequently underwent."

"So you didn't think to warn me, to warn John?" Sherlock was incredulous now.

"We didn't want to worry anyone unnecessarily; it wouldn't have helped, and it wouldn't have prevented the outcome either. John will most likely sleep for a while now, or if he does regain consciousness, it won't be for very long. I regret to inform you that it is possible that John will have another seizure. If he does, we will have to consider prescribing medication to help manage the problem."

"Why can't you do that now?" Sherlock finally looked up at Doctor Horton.

"The drugs used to treat epilepsy often produce unpleasant side effects, so we need to wait to see whether this seizure is a one-off due to shock, or whether it points towards a more serious problem."

"What are the chances?"

"Based on the amount of time between the injury and the seizure, I suspect this will not be John's last fit. All we can do is keep an eye on him for now, and hope for the best."

Sherlock huffed and slumped in his chair, like a child who'd been told he wouldn't be allowed any pudding. He returned his gaze to John, watching him for any signs of movement – indicative of either another seizure or of a return to consciousness.

"We are monitoring John closely and giving him the best possible care, Mr Holmes. All we can do for now is watch and wait." With that, he and the two nurses left the room, closing the door softly behind them.

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair and rested a hand on the bed next to John's exposed forearm. "John, I'm not very good at…this sort of thing. Um, I know you're still angry at me because I left, but it was something I had to do to keep you safe. Moriarty is…gone now. If, if you want me to leave, I will, but I hope we can go back to doing cases again, when you're better."

What Sherlock didn't realise was the Mycroft had heard the entire speech, from the other side of the hospital door. He had a small smile on his face; the tiniest crack in his mask of apathy – maybe Sherlock and John would be alright after all.