Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

A/N: This was cowritten with the brilliant writer par-0x-ysm who can be found on tumblr. I wrote as John and she wrote as Sherlock. Bolded words are meant to be texts. The perspectives do change back and forth.

"Like all magnificent things, it's very simple."
― Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

Sherlock was out cold as soon as John told him it was okay, and didn't wake up until he was in the hospital, being rolled into a room. He quickly let himself go back to sleep, the only thought crossing his mind that John was gone, and Sherlock, in his tired and pain-riddled state, was convinced he wasn't coming back.

When Sherlock finally came to again, he was in a white bed in a white room. He looked around and felt his heart plummet as John wasn't there. No one was there, but Sherlock didn't really care. John wasn't there. Sherlock awkwardly shifted in his narrow bed and winced, not trying to stop the the tears that began to form and fall down his face.

John had left the room temporarily to grab himself some coffee. He hadn't shut an eye ever since he and Sherlock had arrived at the hospital, and he desperately needed something to help keep him awake. Sherlock's condition was worse than he originally thought. Aside from the bruises, the split lip, and the broken collarbone, Sherlock also had four cracked ribs along with a light concussion.

John ruffled his hair, a warm cup of coffee in his hands, as he made his way up the stairs and back to Sherlock's room. John had been here for the past eight hours, and aside from himself, not one person had visited Sherlock. Not even Sherlock's family members. Surely, Sherlock's family was not so dysfunctional that they would shirk off seeing their own injured son? John couldn't believe it.

He opened the door, carefully stepping in to see Sherlock shifting in the bed, awake. John quickly put his coffee on the table and made his way over. "Thank God, you're awake." John smiled. "How are you feeling?" John frowned when he saw the tears dripping down Sherlock's face. "Jesus! What's wrong, Sherlock? Are you in pain?" he asked frantically, searching Sherlock's face.

Sherlock turned and realised John was there in front of him. Sherlock pulled John towards him, kissing him gently and wiping the tears away. "I thought you were gone. I thought..." Sherlock trailed off, planting a kiss on John's forehead and falling back into his bed. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, blinking the tears away.

"I over reacted slightly." He mumbled, feeling his lip and grimacing. "Sorry." The whole time he'd only been using one arm for all these things, trying to keep as still as possible and breathing very heavily. "What's wrong with me this time? I'm pretty sure the hospital will be sick of me if I keep coming back." Sherlock tried for a smile, but ran a hand over the scars on his wrist and little stitch marks there. He remembered the many times Seb had brought him here, acting like a worried boyfriend and holding him. Complaining to the nurse about just how clumsy he was. Sherlock grimaced a little and focused back at John. "Sorry."

"Sherlock," John breathed. "I would never leave you like that." He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's. "Not ever." John pulled a chair up next to Sherlock's bed and sat down, his hand taking Sherlock's frail one in his. He frowned. "Well, um it's pretty bad, I'm not going to lie. Multiple abrasions, broken collarbone, several cracked ribs, and a light concussion." he cringed as he ran through the list. How could one person do so much damage? And it wasn't just physical. That could be measured. That could heal. It was the emotional and mental side that John was worried about. Only Sherlock knew the exact damage that had been dealt. John was starting to regret not having put several more punches in.

John looked back down at Sherlock, whose eyes were focused on him. "You don't need to apologize..." John muttered, biting his lip. "I didn't stop it fast enough. I hope you're not mad at me... for breaking the promise. I know I told you I would stay away, but there was no chance in hell I was going to let him go at you like that..." he fiddled with his fingers.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded, looking down. "I got it, it's okay." He fiddled with the sheets on the bed and bit his lip, he wanted to ask a million questions, but none of them seemed appropriate. "What happened to Seb? Do they know it was him this time? If you tell them they'll probably figure out the rest of the times too." Sherlock itched the back of his neck with his arm he could still move and frowned. He peered up at John.

"What did you do to him? I... I can't remember." He flushed a little and looked back down, trying not to mention how John had been the reason Seb had attacked him in the first place. "I... Did he tell you what made him attack me?" Sherlock whispered, refusing to make eye contact.

"No." John mumbled. He gazed towards the window, which was covered by blue curtains. John stood up and made his way over, his hands lingering on the curtains. Sunlight filtered softly through the slit in the curtains. He turned back to Sherlock. "He never told me..." John's feet shifted. "But I think I have an idea..." John didn't want to believe it, but with eight hours to think, John could only come to the conclusion that it was because of John that Sherlock was injured. John's relationship with Sherlock had landed his friend into the hospital in this horrible condition.

Sherlock watched John walk across to the window, and ached to join him. He closed his eyes slightly. "Are they pressing charges, or is it not serious enough?" He opened his eyes again, watching John carefully. "This was not your fault. You... You couldn't have done anything." Sherlock honestly believed that, even if he hadn't spent the night with John in his room, Seb would find a way to hurt him. A reason. An explanation. Sherlock shivered slightly and burrowed into the bed.

"It's up to you Sherlock." John replied softly as he moved away from the window back over to the chair. He stared absent-mindedly at a painting of clouds on the wall. How many people had been in this room before, John wondered, hoping to look outside, to see what he took for granted everyday, only to be confined to staring at this portrait on the wall? Only to have their last vision of the infinite sky, their window to the world outside, be a 30 cm by 20 cm framed image? And it wasn't even that good.

John found this to be deeply saddening.

How many times had Sherlock seen this image? How many times had he found himself staring out a closed window, longing for a way out? For how long had Sherlock stared at the sterile white walls of his room and thought about how that very window might never open for him? That maybe he didn't deserve that open window?

John didn't even know when he had started crying.

"Maybe." Sherlock mumbled, picking at the blanket. "I don't exactly have evidence." He grimaced as the pain attacked his collarbone. Then he noticed. "John?" Sherlock asked, slowly sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to reach him. "Come here, John. Please." He reached out his good arm and clenched his fingers closed and open again. He was worried, John was crying and he had no idea why. Was it him? Sherlock didn't know what to do, so he bit his lip and frowned.

"John, are you okay?" Sherlock's mind convinced itself that he'd caused this, he'd done something to make him cry and Sherlock cursed his body for being in too much pain to stand up.

John frowned, quickly wiping his tears away. "I'm bloody fine..." he tried to laugh, but it came out more as a strangled choke. Truthfully, John wasn't sure he was. "I just..." John closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. "Sorry... I'm usually not... It's nothing." John looked down at his fingers, before gazing back at Sherlock. His friend was reaching out towards him, his pale face contorted with pain but his grey eyes frantic with worry for John. John's hand met Sherlock's and he gave him the most reassuring look he could muster. He had to be strong. If not for himself, at least for Sherlock. "I was just thinking about things, Sherlock." he whispered finally.

"Things that make you cry." Sherlock clarified, pulling John closer to him. "Don't think." He mumbled, resting his forehead on John's, John almost kneeling in front of him. Sherlock searched John's eyes, reaching his hand to brush the wetness from his cheek. "It's okay not to be okay, you don't have to soldier on just to make me feel better." Sherlock smiled gently and kissed John softly on the nose. He winced a little as the bed shifted, but pulled John up next to him anyway.

"I suppose," John mumbled as he rested against Sherlock. He concentrated on the feeling of Sherlock's fingers running through his hair, on his gentle breaths, and on the steady rise and fall of his chest. John chuckled. It was a little funny that he was the one being comforted when Sherlock was the one who had been injured. He sat up and gave Sherlock a small smile. "Do you want me to open the window?"

Sherlock made a face. "But I'm cold." He mumbled, pulling John closer again. He was cold, shivering almost. And the fact he had no shirt just made it very, very obvious to him. He grimaced as he shook a little, jolting his shoulder. He tried not to pout at John, focusing instead on John's shoes. "Do you think I should press charges?" Sherlock mumbled, a blush colouring his cheeks. "I mean, he's technically still my boyfriend." He murmured, starting to pick at the blanket again.

"I don't think that matters, whether he's your boyfriend or not. He hurt you. As much as I don't want him to get away with that, I think you should do whatever you think is best for you, Sherlock. It's up to you whether you want to pursue a case against him..." John murmured as he took Sherlock's frigid hands in his. He began rubbing them between his hands in attempt to transfer some heat over. "Jesus. You are freezing! Should I go get some more blankets for you?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head and clambered awkwardly under the sheets on his bed, patting the space next to him and smiling. "We'll share body heat." He said, nose crinkling slightly as he watched John, eyes lighting up. He wasn't going to let Seb fuck things up. Not now, not again. "Of course it works better if you're naked but, I doubt the hospital will approve." Sherlock whispered, giggling a little. It still hurt, of course it did. But Sherlock wanted to make John smile again, and he wanted to forget about all this.

John chuckled, his cheeks flushing red, but he climbed onto the bed anyway. He squeezed himself in the small space between Sherlock and the bed. "Well, uh..." John pulled his shoulders together and rested his arms on top of his stomach. He played with his fingers, trying hard not to focus on his rapidly beating heart. "This is a little tight, don't you think?" He craned his neck to look at Sherlock, who was pressed against the edge of the bed.

Sherlock smiled and rested his head against John's chest. "How I like it." He mumbled, closing his eyes and linking his hand with John's. Sherlock was surprisingly contented, even considering his collarbone, ribs and whatever else. He started tracing circles on the back of John's hand. "You've never been with a guy before have you?" Sherlock asked quietly, focusing on the circles he was making and blushing a little. He didn't know whether that was appropriate or not, but he was curious.

John bit his lip, his eyes picking out the cracks in the ceiling of the hospital room. He became very aware of Sherlock's close proximity to him, of Sherlock's fingers drawing soft circles on his hand, of his hand in Sherlock's, and of Sherlock's head on his chest. John was sure that any moment his heart would fly out of his chest. "No, I haven't. Um... you would be my first." John whispered. "Well, I mean, that is, if you want that..." he quickly added.

Sherlock smiled into John's chest. "Obviously yes. I just don't think it's a good idea right now." He gestured a little to his ribs and collarbone. "When you want to." Sherlock said, sinking back against John and resting against him. He could hear John's heart beating and placed a hand on it. "Mine." He whispered, removing his hand and kissing where it used to be, a feeling of protectiveness suddenly overwhelming him. "Mine, mine, mine." He repeated, snuggling back into John's side.

John closed his eyes, trying hard to fight the big smile on his lips. He felt Sherlock's hand rest on top of his quickly-beating heart. Could Sherlock feel it? All of his emotions? His nervousness, his happiness, his love even? That made John wonder: was Sherlock's heart beating as fast as his? John placed his hand on top of Sherlock's chest, right above where his heart was. He could feel the soft thrumming of Sherlock's heart, the quick beats pulsing up his hand. Mine, mine, mine. Sherlock had said. John had always been Sherlock's, from the very beginning. "Yours." John nodded softly in agreement. "Always."

Sherlock smiled at John's hand, kissing his shoulder gently. "Always is a long time." He teased, working his mouth up his neck and to his cheek. "I don't think I'd mind spending it by your side." Almost as if to emphasise his point, Sherlock pulled John closer to him, leaving him hip to hip with John, bodies touching all the way up. He pressed his lips gently against John's, pulling away after a couple of seconds to push himself into John's side.

"I'm tired." He mumbled, eyes closing a little. Sherlock struggled against his eyelids and tried to look at John. "Love you." He mumbled almost inaudibly, eyes sliding shut and Sherlock resting his head back on John's chest.

"Love you too." John whispered, but it went unheard. John felt Sherlock's breathing slowly even out. Sherlock's face had smoothed out, his eyelids closed and the lines of hurt, of worry, and of fear, all washed away peacefully. John watched Sherlock's chest rise and fall steadily, and he smiled softly as he lay quietly in place with Sherlock's head resting gently against his chest.

John was happy.

And that was the last clear thought John had before he faded into a silent sleep.

When Sherlock woke up, he heard John's steady breathing and realized he was asleep. He looked around slowly for a clock. 3:33 AM. Sherlock blinked and smiled at the coincidence, watching carefully for the clock to turn to 3:34 AM. After a moment, he lent his head back against John's shoulder.

"I love you." He whispered, gently pressing his lips on the skin below his ear. "I'm sorry I got you involved in this, and I'm sorry I made you angry." Sherlock paused and nestled his face a little bit more into the crook of John's arm. "I'm so sorry I'm weak, and I'm sorry I'm too scared to say this all out loud when you're awake. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it, and I'm sorry I broke your heart." Sherlock sighed softly and continued to whisper to John's sleeping form.

"I know you love me, I don't get why or how or which God blessed me, but you do. And thank you, thank you for loving me when no one else did. Thank you for showing me that not everyone is just using me for sex. Thank you." Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, feeling wetness there. "I wish I could tell you." He mumbled, closing his eyes more normally and trying to find sleep. "Sorry."

John became faintly aware of a voice in the background and a hand gently shaking his shoulder. John stirred, slowly opening his eyes to find himself in the hospital bed. Small delicate strands of sunlight were filtering through the window curtains. Beside him, Sherlock was still sleeping quietly.

There was a young female nurse standing patiently beside him, a soft smile on her face. She had a small clipboard in her hands. John could feel his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He hadn't meant to fall asleep in Sherlock's bed. John carefully slid his arm out from beneath Sherlock, slowly so as not to disturb his sleeping friend, and sat upright.

"Sorry, honey," the nurse whispered, nodding towards the door. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. We'll need to do a quick checkup to make sure everything is okay."
"Oh, yeah, sorry." John mumbled, scratching his head awkwardly. He slid off of the bed, and turned around to readjust the blanket on Sherlock. John's eyes glanced towards the time. 6:58 AM. "Is it okay if I wait outside then?"
"Of course," the nurse nodded. There was a moment of silence before John made his way towards the door. "You've been here for a while." John paused.
"Yes. Yes, I suppose I have." John shrugged, turning around. The nurse was making small notes on Sherlock's chart. John had been here for almost a whole day. His stomach growled loudly, and John bit his lip. "Uh, suppose I'll go get some food then."
"The canteen is down the stairs, to the right of the lobby." John nodded in thanks. The nurse looked up from her clipboard, her pen resting in the air, and she smiled kindly at John. "You really care for him, don't you?"
"Yes, I do." he glanced at Sherlock's tranquil form. "I always have. As mates, and as whatever else." John shifted his feet and stared back at the nurse. "I know most people might write us off, just because we're young, but I really would do anything for him."
"I believe you." the nurse nodded, before turning back to her clipboard.

John stood still for several more seconds, before he opened the door and quietly left the room.

Sherlock was awake but kept his eyes closed, he felt John slide an arm out from under him, but kept his breathing steady. He felt a bit harsh for listening in to the conversation, but he was curious. I know most people write us off, just because we're young, but I really would do anything for him. Sherlock smiled gently, and pretended to sleep until John left the room. When he left, he woke up slowly, opening his eyes to the nurse. "Where's John gone?" He asked, voice a little croaky.

"Canteen." The nurse seemed more interested in checking him over than talking to him right now, so Sherlock sat up and let her poke at various bruises on his body. Eventually she left, and Sherlock sunk quickly back into the bed. He shoved his face close to the side of the pillow John had been using and breathed deeply.

Mine.

John stood in line, a plate of sausages, eggs, and baked beans in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. John paid the cashier, before gingerly making his way over to an empty table near the window. His stomach growled loudly as the smell of food permeated the air around him and wafted up to his nose. Was Sherlock hungry? John wondered as he took a bite out of the sausage. Perhaps he could grab something for Sherlock to eat before he went back up to the room? John was halfway done with his plate when he felt the presence of someone standing next to him. He looked up to see a slim, pale boy smiling down at him. The boy's hazel eyes crinkled bashfully, his hand smoothing through his ebony hair as he waved at John shyly.

"Hi. Can I sit down?" he asked, a slight Irish lilt in his voice. He nodded towards the empty chair across from John. John quickly swallowed his food, his hand gesturing at the chair and nodded.

"Yeah," John replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Go right ahead." The boy slid onto the chair, and began eating an apple. John took a sip of his coffee and looked at the boy sitting across from him. He was dressed in a grey v-neck shirt and had a pair of brown pants on. John's gaze fell on to his right hand where there was a hospital tag hanging limply around his wrist. John thought it was rather curious how the boy was not in hospital garb, seeing as he was a patient here.

The boy looked up from his apple and noticed John's staring. John blushed, turning back down to his plate and continued eating.

"Don't look sick, do I?" he asked.

"Sorry," John mumbled, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"It's fine. I'm not sick, really." The boy chuckled. "Though the doctor seems to think otherwise." he leaned in close and whispered. "But between you and me, I think they're all idiots." John swore that he saw a dangerous glint flash across the boy's eyes for a moment, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, so John couldn't tell if he had actually seen anything.

"Ah." John mumbled, chuckling nervously, and looked back down at his cold plate. From anyone else, John might have laughed, but for some reason John couldn't place, the boy sitting in front of him unnerved him.

"Dreary place, isn't it? What are you doing here?" The boy gestured around him.

"My friend was injured." John answered, taking a small bite of his eggs.

"Lucky friend he is. I've seen you around here since yesterday." He took another bite out of the apple.

"Yeah..." John nodded, picking at the beans on his plate. There was a palpable silence, save for the quiet chatter in the background and the occasional crunch of teeth biting into an apple.

"That's sweet. You two must really like each other."

John blushed.

"Is it that obvious?" he muttered, setting his fork down.

"Yes." the boy shrugged, taking another bite. John laughed at the boy's frankness.

"But you know what?" The boy crossed his legs, a slight pout on his face. "I envy that." his brown eyes flickered up to look at John.

John frowned.

"Are you... alone?"

The boy shrugged sadly, and John felt a pang of pity shoot through him.

"I'm sorry to hear that." John looked at the clock. He stood up, gathering his plate and his cup. Sherlock was probably eagerly waiting for him right now. "Sorry," John shot the boy a sheepish look. "I probably should be making my way back. It was nice talking to you. Perhaps, we'll... see each other around?"

"That would be lovely."

"My name's John." John held out his hand. The boy took it and grinned widely.

"Jim."

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! I also wrote as Jim. :3 Thanks for the favorites and follows and much appreciation to Kurikara-tan, KittiBell, and foxeeflame for the reviews! I love all of you so much!~ Have some cookies! Please don't forget to leave a review and let Mollie and I know what your thoughts are! :) Virtual cookies to all that do!

-omnomchocolate