John entered the all too familiar hospital, soaking in the scent of sickness and antiseptic. He headed to a counter where he was given a guest pass and led to the room in which Sherlock was being held.
Sherlock knew as soon as he heard the footsteps, John. He attempted to sit up in bed, excited to finally see someone he knew, but his injuries told him otherwise. He sank back into bed just as a thought hit his mind. 'John doesn't know… John doesn't know what I was going to tell him. John doesn't know why I was hit by a car. John doesn't know why I was leaving our flat.'
This left Sherlock with another problem, 'should I tell John everything? Or should I pretend I remember nothing?'
The seconds leading up to John arrival into Sherlock's room were ticking by faster and faster and Sherlock had a decision to make. He closed his eyes shut tight and searched his mind palace for an answer, hoping somehow there, somewhere in his mind, it would tell him exactly what to do. Time was running out though and soon there was a knock on the door.
Sherlock sighed and grumbled,
"Come in."
John ran straight to Sherlock's bedside, no longer able to hide the fear he had for his friend.
"Dear God Sherlock are you alright? Are you in a lot of pain? Are you going to be okay? Can I do anything for you?"
Sherlock just rolled his eyes in response and smiled at John's concern,
"I'm Fine John, really, there is no need to be so distressed. Why would my well-being matter to you anyhow?
"Oh I don't know Sherlock, because maybe I actually care about you. Maybe because that's what friends do. I would hope if anything happened to me you would feel the same."
Sherlock just smiled and patted an empty spot on the bed next to him,
"Sit."
John eyed the spot suspiciously before finally getting up and walking to the bed. He sat on the edge, careful not to bump Sherlock, and instinctively grabbed Sherlock's hand, caressing it in his own.
"Oh we're getting touchy feely now, are we?" Sherlock teased as he allowed John to stroke his palm.
"I was worried sick Sherlock. What did you think you were doing? Why were you in the middle of the street? Weren't you paying any attention to where you were going?"
With each question John felt Sherlock recoil, his face going from a smile, to a straight face, to a look of pain.
"John I'm sorry. I really didn't mean for all of this to happen but my brain was all over the place. It was thinking about other things and I should have paid more attention. Also that text I sent you, that's what mostly caused the accident. Instead of paying attention to where I was going I sent you that text."
John frowned and continued to stroke Sherlock's hand,
"Well a text message is never important enough to risk your life for."
"That one was", Sherlock whispered.
"What's that?"
"Nothing", Sherlock responded quickly.
"Sherlock I know you said something. Now spit it out."
"I'd rather not talk about it right now."
"Sherlock, that text message. What did it mean?"
"John… Not now… Please."
"Fine, but I expect an explanation as soon as you're feeling better."
John stood from the bed giving Sherlock's hand one last squeeze before walking towards the door.
"I'll be back tomorrow, rest up, and don't get into any trouble."
"Me trouble? Never."
"Of course not. Bye 'Lock"
"Bye John."
Sherlock's brain immediately went to work. ''Lock? Since when has he called me 'Lock? If only he knew the stress he puts on my mind. I hate sentiment, so why am I feeling it? Stupid sentiment is getting in the way of everything.'
'I hate love, it caused my brain to fry, my fingers to send that text, and my body to be hit by that car. If only I understood love.'
'If only I could make it stop, this feeling in my stomach. Why does he make my stomach tingle? Why does he make my brain hurt? Why does he make me feel? Feel love…'