My dear readers! I am so very sorry that i am a week late on my planned update! My laptop had to go in for last minute service after one of my doggies decided to jump onto it. There were crazy lines everywhere! I had to do it right away because my warrenty was literally 5 days away from being over.
But i got it back and even made some changes that i feel have strengthened the chapter. This one was a hard one and very important. I didn't want to get it wrong. I hope you enjoy!
Sherlock's body twitched again as the electric jolt from the portable defibrillator coursed through his body.
And this time it was followed by a delicious hitch and sharp wonderful intake of air.
John watched in disbelief as Sherlock's chest rose and fell in deep gasping breaths as sleeping lungs woke up in an instant.
It just didn't make sense at all!
John pulled off the shock pads and placed skilled fingers to the right point of Sherlock's neck, relishing in the rapidly thumping pulse under his fingers. It was faster then he'd have liked but how was he to complain right now about a beating heart? If he was right about the adrenaline, it may take some time for the heart rate to go down. For the time being it was great just to HAVE a heart rate.
John kept his fingers on Sherlock's pulse but brought his other hand to rest on the side of his friends other cheek. This couldn't be possible! People don't just come back from the dead! And the cases in which people were dead for several MINUTES usually didn't come back… "right". What if Sherlock wasn't "right!" But he couldn't dwell on that now.
He heard a slight groan come from his friend's throat and felt the slight rumble under his fingertips, but those eyes remained closed. Oh how he needed to see those eyes to believe this moment was actually happening! He needed to know Sherlock was there still. Ready and waiting to take the control back.
"Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me? Open your eyes!" His voice was pleading but he didn't care how desperate he currently sounded.
John moved his hand down to rub his knuckles into Sherlock's sternum and in seconds he witnessed small flickers of blue finally escape from under heavy eyelids. The doctor inwardly thanked the heavens that a reaction didn't take long.
John stopped rubbing and rested a gentle hand on his friend's chest, feeling the up and down movement as Sherlock still took in precious oxygen in rapid hitches. Slowly but surely the trickles of blue became larger. John felt himself smile in spite of himself as finally the world's only consulting detective looked at the doctor with eyes at half-staff.
"Hi!" John exhaled breathlessly, the smile still on his lips. "God Sherlock… Welcome Back!"
Sherlock's tired gaze shifted about the room, taking in as much as he could without moving his head. John was pretty certain he couldn't yet. The happiness at seeing his friend alive and breathing momentarily tore his mind from his doctor responsibilities. He had to pull himself back on track. He had to make sure Sherlock was all there. John moved his hand from Sherlock's wrist to his finger, holding them gently in his.
"Sherlock can you squeeze my hand?"
The weak man in front of him gazed lazily at John for a moment and the ex-army doctor couldn't help but guess what snarky response he would have uttered if he had the energy to talk yet.
John smiled as he felt slight pressure in his hand. He couldn't help but release a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Sherlock understood and responded. Thank God…
"J…ohn…" Sherlock's voice was just a whisper but he locked hazy eyes with the doctor above him once again. John's smile was still glowing strongly. He couldn't help the liquid that welled in his eyes. That wrong feeling was now slowly feeling quiet right again. But that moment was quickly tossed to the wayside when Sherlock spoke again. Instead of asking what had happened or what was going on, he got a something that was most definitely and typically "Sherlock". He should have known.
"Get…. A.. sy…ringe..."
"What?" John sat back with confusion on his face.
Sherlock actually looked perturbed for a brief moment before turning his head groggily toward his right arm that lay limp by his side. The energy to try and speak again was momentarily missing.
John was no idiot and caught on fast as he began to roll up the sleeve on his friend's right arm. He was, however, surprised to have found marks in the crook of the Consulting detectives elbow.
"What the bloody hell?" The understanding in John's eyes as he looked back to his friend was immense. Moriarty… that git!
"Cat…ching… on."
John tripped over his own feet as he hoisted himself up and jogged to the kitchen. He knew exactly where to find the box of syringes… next to the spoons of course. Turning back in Sherlock's direction, the view in front of him finally stopped him cold. He knew it was stupid before he did it but that fact didn't stop Dr. Watson from closing his eyes and reopening them. He sighed loudly and made his feet move again. Did he really think when he reopened his eyes that Sherlock wouldn't be there? That this was a dream?
But it didn't matter how he was feeling right now. Sherlock needed him. Moriarty had given his friend something to cause the dormant state. And he was quite sure that Sherlock was aware of it. Whatever it was could still be coursing through his veins but would soon be all but gone as his body began to even back out again
John resumed his position next to his friend. Sherlock's crystal eyes were watching him lazily but closely as he pulled on the arm of the suit coat, loosening it up.
"Can you sit up? I got to get this jacket off."
Sherlock didn't answer but weakly lifted his hand to John as high as he could. He'd only gotten it a foot off the wooden floor before the doctor realized that it just wasn't in the cards yet. John grabbed the weak mans outstretched left hand and pulled a bit as his other hand snaked under Sherlock's right arm and shoulder, lifting the top half of his body off the cold wooden floor. The Consulting detective strained hard to keep his heavy head from lulling back towards the floor while John used the wood to his advantage, sliding his friend back against the armchair closest to them and onto the carpet. Thankfully the carpet would help. The doctor worked with delicate movements to prop up Sherlock as comfortably as he could and slide the arms of the jacket off, one arm at a time. He took great care with his friend's head, grasping at the base of his neck and lowering it gently to the cushion of the chair.
Sherlock's eyes were the only things working for him and John could tell he was taking full advantage as he stared into the doctor's eyes. Looking for something… thinking… working it all out as best he could with a foggy yet brilliant mind. John just hoped he was hiding his emotions well enough from him.
"Sherlock can you squeeze your hand into a fist for me? Right one." John tore his eyes from Sherlock's and focused on the task at hand. Rolling up the unbuttoned arm of the dress shirt properly, John prepped the pale arm and searched for the perfect vein.
"Let your hand rest now…" Sherlock complied and John didn't waste time. His steady hands found their mark and John watched as the red liquid filled the tube at a good click. Sherlock hadn't flinched when the needle pierced his skin and John inwardly hoped it was because of his skills as a doctor. An other piece of John relaxed as he watched the red flow. Even if he'd thought he was dreaming or losing his mind… dead men don't bleed.
Once he put the protective top on the needle, John pressed a paper towel he had also grabbed in the kitchen over the small puncture wound on his friends arm and sat back with a deep sigh.
He stared at his hand and the paper towel for longer then he intended, scared to look up in those eyes again. Those piercing eyes that he'd never thought he'd miss, yet still hid from. No secrets were withheld from those eyes. He'd found that out pretty fast.
"John…"
The doctor closed his eyes and inwardly grimaced… Stupid… he didn't need to LOOK into those eyes for them to pull out his secrets. How soon he'd forgotten. John let his eyes look back up at his friend.
"You ok?"
John couldn't help but let out a shaky laugh and shake his head at the backwards question. He should have been asking that but here was Sherlock Holmes… a man who people claimed did not have a heart… did not care about anyone or anything with true emotion… who they had buried today… asking if HE was alright? Him? After being "killed" and then buried… it was the great consulting detective asking little Dr. Watson if he was "ok."
"I'm great Sherlock…" he laughed out lightly. "How are you doing?"
John's smile got wider as he watched a lazy smirk spread on Sherlock's lips.
"Fantastic."
"Perfect." John reached up and grabbed a light hold on Sherlock's thin shoulder, squeezing gently. His smile started to fad as he stared at his own hand still holding onto his friend. The moment was finally hitting him.
"John?"
The doctor glanced up at his name and Sherlock looked at him curiously. He'd seen the change on the man's face. Not even a fool would miss it. John knew he'd have to explain.
"Its weird to be talking to you right now Sherlock… I… I tried to revive you… and… they put you in a bloody body bag!" John huffed at the sudden tears that came to glisten his eyes and he looked up and away from Sherlock before he could continue. "Today was your funeral. "
John reached unconsciously back down to Sherlock's wrist, making sure he didn't imagine the pulse and blue eyes that he was avoiding. He noted that the pulse was slowing back down to normal.
"How long…"
John opened his mouth and shut it again. The gravelly voice was too calm for this situation and even though that was normal Sherlock behavior he didn't know if he could handle the lack of emotions from his Once-Dead-But-Now-Not So-Much-Dead friend right now.
"Four days."
"Wow…"
John's body froze. It wasn't the word, but again the tone. It just wasn't enough!
"Wow? Is that all you've got? Your brother even cried for you! And all you got is wow?"
"John…."
"No! Listen… You don't understand! People DO care about you… whether you can tell or not! And this has been the week from hell! Just because you cant remember it doesn't mean it should be taken lightly!"
John exhaled deeply in frustration and took a few seconds before he looked back at Sherlock. The man just watched him… waited for him take a breath before he responded.
"You done?"
"I don't know… should I be? Are you getting it?
Sherlock attempted to lift his head from the cushion but failed and resigned himself to continue this conversation as is.
"It wasn't real John…"
"It was real for me… and Mrs. Hudson… Poor Mrs. Hudson! Your brother, your niece and nephew!"
Sherlock actually didn't say anything back. He silently looked up at the doctor, waiting patiently for his emotions to even out. It was a normal response but he knew that John was tough and would bounce out of it quickly and get back on track. And of course… he was hardly ever wrong.
"Sherlock I have to get you to a doctor" John's eyes had cleared and now he was back in doctor mode. It made no sense to continue the conversation. He'd gotten nowhere and it wasn't helping any. So very Sherlock.
"Got one."
"Sherlock…"
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson cut them off as she burst through the flat door and rushed over to the lanky figure still propped on the floor. She grabbed Sherlock's face in between her hands.
"Oh my crazy boy!" She kissed the top of his black curls and shook gently in effect. "I don't know what you boys are on about but you, young man, have taken a good 5 years off of my life! And why are you on the floor?"
"Resting." Sherlock answered with a surprisingly gentle smile. He could see the relief seep into the woman's eyes and John's recent words echoed in his mind.
"We have to get you off the floor." John added trying to give his friend a break from the older woman's smothering.
"That would be good."
Just then the ringing of the old doorbell echoed through the flat, stopping all three.
"Expecting company? Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes actually. Mrs. Hudson?"
"Of course dear…"
Mrs. Hudson headed to the stairs to get the door while Sherlock reached up with as much effort as he could muster and grabbed onto the front of John's sweater, bringing the Doctors attention back to him.
"John… who…"
"Lestrade… should be anyways. When I found you here I had Mrs. Hudson call him. Privately of course."
"Why…"
"Cause we don't have many people we can trust Sherlock." Sherlock let his hand fall back to the floor, accepting the answer, but the questions were evident on his face. And John knew Sherlock couldn't handle unanswered questions for long. He might as well help the poor man out. "Moriarty was here."
"I know…" Sherlock's answer was a bit too quick and John couldn't help the stutter.
"Y… you…. Know?"
Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and answered nonchalantly. "Well… obviously. Who else."
John gave him a side look that screamed 'bullshit'. "Sherlock, I know you well enough to know you got more then 'who else'.
Sherlock fluttered his eyes back open but turned away from John's stare as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Of course I do… all in due time. We have company coming."
John huffed but he wasn't really mad. It was normal Sherlock and he was more then glad to have him back… even if he WAS taking this a little too well. The doctor pulled himself up off the floor and hurried over to the door, hoping to break this easy on the inspector. He was just in time and caught Lestrade on the top of the staircase before he could really see into the flat.
The DI looked a bit frazzled and glanced down at the crunch of glass under his shoes. "John? Is everything alright? Why did you have Mrs. Hudson call? And why the hell is there glass all over the place?"
"I was hoping no one would be paying attention to her phone calls… and she dropped a teacup."
"What? Phone calls?" The DI's eyebrows fused in confusion.
"Lestrade… Moriarty was here when I got up the stairs tonight."
The Inspector put his hands on his hips in frustration. "What the hell? So he's alive then… What did he want?"
"Yes he's alive. And looking quite well… the bloody bastard. He dropped something off. I'm not sure what it means to be honest but I'm sure its all part of another game."
"Games… I'm sick of Games. Was never very good at them."
John could see the sadness appear on the man's face. He knew Lestrade was inwardly thinking about Sherlock and his ability to solve these games and how helpful it would be right now.
"Lestrade… I don't know how I can break this gently to you. So…" John grabbed the inspector by the upper arm and pulled him into the flat the last 4 steps.
The gasp that followed was expected and John walked himself slowly back over to Sherlock who was busy trying to pull himself farther up into a sitting position.
"I can't believe it…" the Detective Inspector's jaw was dropped and his eyes were wide with shock. He certainly hadn't expected this when he rushed over to check on John.
"Yea well… believe it." John replied, reaching down and grabbing Sherlock gently under his right arm. "Here help me…"
Lestrade, being a man of the force and seeing some amazingly horrible and surprising things, pulled himself out of his shock relatively fast and put his jaw back into place as he walked tentatively over to Sherlock's left side. He didn't reach down to help right away, still taking in Sherlock's presents and not to mention those piercing eyes were on him.
"Lestrade… I'm not going to bite you."
John let out a short laugh and patted Sherlock on the shoulder lightly. "Am I mistaken or was that a zombie joke?"
Sherlock smirked again but didn't verbally answer.
Lestrade snapped out of it and leaned down to take Sherlock's other arm. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor Holmes."
With a nod from John, both men lifted up as gently as they could and placed Sherlock into the armchair. The weak man bit his lip as his sore muscles began waking up. The pins and needles feeling coursed through his body as he was lifted up and the grimace on his face did not escape John's notice.
"Sorry Sherlock… It's probably going to be a bit painful for a while longer. The numbness is subsiding."
Sherlock nodded and let his head lull back again.
"How is this possible? We all went to your funeral. You were buried." Lestrade still had a certain kind of look on his face that screamed confusion and even a bit of annoyance at not knowing all that was going on.
"So I keep hearing…"
"Moriarty gave him something. " John interrupted. "I don't know when or how but it slowed down his body to dormant levels. "
"After I pulled you out of the pool." Sherlock's voice was still rough and strained but it was now sounding less like a whisper and more himself.
"What?"
"I got you out… and he got me while I was laying there catching my breath."
John just stared down at Sherlock. He had no recollection of getting out of the pool. He'd just resigned himself to thinking he'd done so unconsciously. They'd been told that Sherlock died of compression. That his insides had crushed from the blast. John should have known better. Here he thought he'd helped with killing his friend when he leaped at him, sending them both into the pool. His body had taken more of the blast then Sherlock's. He'd felt it for days afterwards. Hell… he still felt it.
Sherlock had saved his life. HE pulled him out of the pool. All the signs were there. After spending so much time with the consulting detective he should have known to look deeper.
In his line of work dead was dead. There was no coming back. How could he blame himself? He'd checked Sherlock's pulse himself. How was he suppose to know what was happening?
But John had touched Sherlock's chest… He'd performed CPR. His fingers felt no breaks, no fragments of ribs. No signs of compression. How come this only registered to him now?
"John… snap out of it."
John looked back down at his friend who was now shaking his head slightly at him. Of course Sherlock knew he'd been berating himself in his head.
"Shut up."
"Right."
Lestrade watched the two good friends and smiled. For personal and professional reasons he was glad to have Sherlock back. But his relief he was sure had nothing on John's. Sherlock was a different breed. No one ever seemed to understand him… until John. Their friendship was something he may never understand. Two fractured souls, one from War and one from misunderstanding, pieced back together. This moment was surely treasured miracle. It was shame he'd have to interrupt it.
"So what's next?"
Sherlock went to open his mouth but John cut him off.
"What ever you're about to say better involve getting food into you and then to bed. Your body is recovering. Moriarty's game can wait."
"Ok... Game… What's he got going on now?" Lestrade really didn't think he wanted to know but he had to ask.
"When I came up into the flat and found Sherlock laying here… Moriarty was here too. He told me I had 24 hours to bring you around." He said down to his friend. "He actually helped me figure it out. I'm sure he meant to. Something Mrs. Hudson said caught me onto it though."
"Adrenaline."
"Well... yes how'd you know?"
Sherlock lifted his eyebrows and John rolled his eyes. "Never mind… you always know."
Mrs. Hudson returned with a small glass of Orange Juice and John smiled in appreciation. That motherly instinct certainly came in handy.
"Thanks Mrs. Hudson… We have to get some food in him too… how about some soup?"
"Of course dear. I have some broth warming on the stove."
"You truly are the best." John didn't know what he'd have done without her.
"Anything for my boys." The older lady handed John the glass and ruffled Sherlock's black curls gently before walking back out.
Lestrade couldn't help but smile at the little old lady as she passed but got right back to serious. "So you're saying we shouldn't do anything right now?"
"For now…" John replied as he helped Sherlock sit up a bit straighter. "I want to get Sherlock back on his feet first."
"Do you really think he's going to believe you didn't figure it out?" Lestrade shook his head at his own words. "The guy seems to be 5 steps ahead of everyone."
"I hope he does." John leaned down and took Sherlock's weak hand in his own, encircling them around the glass of orange juice. "Drink this… it'll boost your blood sugar."
"Yes Doctor Watson." Sherlock shakily lifted the glass to his lips and poured a fair amount of the cold sweet liquid in. It felt and tasted wonderfully but John stopped him before he could finish off the glass.
"Slowly" John whispered, and took the glass back as Sherlock grumbled slightly.
"What will we be doing in the mean time?" Lestrade locked eyes with Sherlock for a brief second before looking back at John.
"Go do what you normally do. Not one word about Sherlock to anyone. Act like you never saw him."
"Alright… then?"
"Then I don't know what. I think we can figure out our next course of action once Sherlock's brain is running on all cylinders. " The Doctor brought the glass back down to Sherlock's waiting fingers.
"I'm fine…" Sherlock mumbled before taking another sip.
John patted Sherlock on the shoulder with a smirk. "Of course you are."
"What about Mycroft." Lestrade honestly didn't know why they called him and not Sherlock's well-connected brother.
"What about him…"
"Sherlock…" John scolded. "I'll contact him once I get this one settled. He can help"
"Help…" Sherlock huffed.
John shushed him again and set the now empty glass on the side table before motioning Lestrade to walk to the doorway. John followed him over.
"Do you need any help getting him into bed?"
"I'm going to give him some more time here. Let him eat first. I want to check him over too. Technically he never received treatment from that night and may still be feeling some effects. Can you do me a favor?"
John reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the vile of blood.
"Can you bring this to Molly at St. Bart's? Ask her to analyze it. It's Sherlock's but don't tell her where it's from."
"Of course."
"Only Molly… and ask her if she knows a Jerry Williams…"
"John…. Its ok… I got this. Go take care of him."
"Thanks again…"
Lestrade put a hand up to stop the doctor. "What did I tell you about saying 'Thank you?'"
"Right… well good luck."
Lestrade looked over John's shoulder to Sherlock who had been watching them like a cat. "You too…"
After Sherlock ate half a cup of Mrs. Hudson's soup, John was satisfied enough to get his friend up and into bed.
"Think you can stand?"
Sherlock looked up at John and momentarily paused before giving a curt nod. There was a hint of insecurity in his eyes but John ignored it. He knew Sherlock would as well. He'd stand up and dance if someone told him he couldn't.
"We'll take it slowly. Just let me know when you've had enough." John reached down and took the crook of Sherlock's elbow. He waited patiently while his friend pulled his lethargic legs into position and his other hand securely on the armrest for leverage.
It took some shuffling but Sherlock was able to get to his feet and stay there with help. John waited a few touchy seconds for the taller man to find his footing and threw a long arm over his own shoulders.
"Ready?"
"Always…"
The first two steps were rough and John took on all the weight laid upon his weary body to keep them both standing. Once they both found their momentum things got easier and the bedroom got closer. Sherlock's knees buckled every few steps from weakness but they made it to Sherlock's bedroom without too much trouble. John knew the food had helped tremendously but wouldn't be satisfied till he checked him over.
John deposited Sherlock on the edge of the bed and went over to the dresser. He did some rummaging before throwing an old t-shirt and pajama bottoms at the dark haired man.
"You can handle this right?"
"Of course."
John nodded and closed the door gently, leaving Sherlock to change on his own. He could have helped but he knew helping feed him earlier was degrading enough for the other man. Besides… He needed to start doing things for himself and get himself jumpstarted. John headed back to grab a few things to keep his friend occupied and still in a relaxed position. Laptop, pile of newspapers… he even considered wheeling in the TV but decided not to. They didn't have time to be watching TV.
John gave Sherlock a good 5 minutes before coming back with his hands full. He knocked on the door gently and when he received a mumbled "Come in" he wasn't expecting to find Sherlock having a row with his t-shirt.
The Doctor tried his best not to giggle at the sight and set the stuff in his hands down onto the side table. "Troubles?"
Sherlock let his tired arms fall back down to his side. "Arms aren't cooperating yet."
"Well I'm glad you at least got the bottoms on." John said with a smile trying to lighten the mood.
"Ha…"
John reached over and pulled the t-shirt free of the curly head to straighten it out. His movements stopped briefly when his eyes landed on the bruises covering his friend's torso. He hated to think of how he'd gotten them. Were they from the explosion? His CPR attempt? Or were Moriarty's men less then gentle pulling him out of his grave and dragging him into the flat. John shook his head slightly to rid himself of the thoughts digging in deeply. He stretched the neck out slightly on the T-shirt before putting it over Sherlock's curls and then guided his friend's arms in the sleeves one at a time as gently as possible. Sherlock took control on pulling it down the rest of the way and sighed deeply in frustration.
"Don't worry… It'll get easy faster then you think."
"Yea…" Sherlock paused, looking over at what John had set down. His laptop with some newspapers on top. Finally he looked up, his eyes soft and gentle. "Thank you John."
"No problem."
"No really… Thank You. I'd still be… if you hadn't… "
John interrupted him, clearly not ready to discuss this yet. It had been a long night and his head was still wrapping around everything. The timing was terrible.
"Sherlock can we talk about it later? Stretch out and I'll check you over."
"I don't get mushy often John…" Sherlock scolded light heartedly. "Or actually… ever…"
"I know… I just cant right now…" John looked right into those sharp blue eyes to emphasis his words.
"Ok." Sherlock looked slightly dejected and that rare look had John scrambling to explain.
"I'm sorry… it's just… too much to soon you see. And I need to concentrate here. "
"I understand…"
John smiled warmly. "I hope so…. And anyway... you don't need to say it. Now stretch out. I want to check you over. Anything hurt?"
Sherlock scooted up onto the bed sluggishly and plopped his head on the pillow. "Honestly everything is sore."
"The sad thing about that is…" John started while running his fingers along Sherlock's ribs through the thin t-shirt, checking for any cracks or breaks. "… I don't know if it's from the lack of use or from the bomb."
"Well… Nothing feels broken if that helps." Sherlock added as John continued from his ribs to his neck and shoulders and down his arms, checking the bones, muscles, and tendons... Everything. "Who is Jerry Williams?"
"Hmmm…. What?"
"You told Lestrade to ask Molly if she knew a Jerry Williams."
John looked up from his examination, slight shock and a touch of amusement on his features. "Why would I think you didn't hear that? Jerry Williams was at the morgue… that night. He was in charge of your autopsy. He'd told us your cause of death."
"Well obviously he is part of the game. As far as I knew there is no Jerry Williams working there." Sherlock suddenly hissed as John's fingers ran over a bruised part of his skin.
"Sorry…" John whispered as he moved farther along. "Exactly… and you would know. He surely knew you weren't dead. I'm thinking that he may have given you another injection to keep you under. You have more then one mark." John's fingers ghosted over the marks on his friends arm. "I just want to verify with Molly. Either he's an actual employee that is under Moriarty's control or…"
"Or he was placed."
John nodded. "Right."
"I'm quite sure he's gone now." Sherlock said his last word through gritted teeth as John ran over another sore bruise.
"I'm sure you are right." John ran his fingers back over Sherlock's ribs, double-checking for his own piece of mind. "Bare with me a few more minutes. Almost done."
Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. "Why wasn't Molly there? She always likes to work the later shifts."
"She… left…"
John's words had the consulting detective open his eyes again. "That doesn't sound like Molly."
"Well where you are concerned… she couldn't control her emotions."
"Hmm…."
John pulled his eyes from his examination when his flat mate became silent. Clearly thinking deeply on the last thing he'd said. His eyes were looking straight up at the ceiling with a grimace on his face.
"Don't ponder so hard over someone else's feelings Sherlock. You'll hurt yourself. I told you people mourned for you."
Sherlock was silent but he looked at john with a painful expression. Not physical pain… but another kind of pain. An expression he last saw on his friend's face the night he yanked a bomb vest off his back. John wanted to bring the conversation back to the present and get rid of that look on Sherlock's face. "Ever had a broken bone before?"
The dark haired man blinked a few times and brought himself back out of his mind once more. "A Couple…"
"Ok then… so you'd know how it feels."
"Oh yes…"
John finished up with Sherlock's collarbone and nodded in approval. "Do you think your legs are fine?"
"Yes just sore."
"Well Sherlock I think you'll be just fine. You need to rest now though… And I'm serious. No overdoing it."
Sherlock nodded but John was pretty sure his friends mind was already running many scenarios as to what he'd rather be doing then laying in bed.
"I'm going to go make myself something to eat and check on Mrs. Hudson. I'm leaving your door open so just yell if you need anything."
"You should sleep."
"And leave you to your own devices? You really do think me a fool don't you Sherlock."
"I think nothing of the sort. You look tired."
"I'm bloody exhausted… thanks for noticing. Read your paper… catch up on your Laptop. But NO updating your blog… don't do anything to signal your alive. Not yet."
"You are no fun." Sherlock responded with a hint of amusement.
"So I've been told." John lifted himself from the edge of the bed and headed to the door.
"Hey John?"
"Mmm…" The doctor stopped in the doorway and looked back at his name.
Sherlock paused a brief moment but kept a firm hold on John's stare.
"I'm glad you're on my side."
John stopped a moment, taking in those words. Suddenly a smile spread over his tired face.
"Likewise… Goodnight Sherlock. Call if you need me."
Sherlock nodded lightly with a fresh smile to match John's. "Always."
John nodded his goodnight and pulled the door halfway shut behind him. He stood for a moment; eyes closed, and tried to take in the events of the day. Certainly a rollercoaster of emotions from start to finish.
He moved away slowly from the door and headed over to the sink. His hand hovered over the kettle but soon withdrew. He didn't have the energy to bother making tea or food right now. Instead, John moved his way to the flat door and shut it tight, locking each lock including the chain. Then he made his way over to the couch and sat down heavily. Maybe in a few minutes he would recover from the overwhelming feeling in his body. Maybe a few minutes nap would do the trick as well. Then he'd make something to eat and check on Mrs. Hudson. All he needed was a 5 minutes catnap. Then he'd be ok.
John leaned his head back into the cushions and his aching and tired body relaxed into the material.
The relaxed and loose feeling in his muscles felt wonderful. Even his mind seemed to clear itself. He hadn't felt this ease in so long.
Sherlock was alive… and even with all the newly added stuff… Moriarty and his new game… their unknown next step… he couldn't seem to care at the moment. Things were actually feeling more normal even with how messed up everything still seemed to be. It was odd how that worked out. But of course ever since he met Sherlock Holmes the definition of "Normal" had been slightly skewed.
Hopefully in the morning they could work out a plan. But for now, John let his eyes close. He would think no further tonight as darkness overtook him.