Thank you all. Again.
Finally on the way to recovery, is all I have to say.
Enjoy.
Not Meant to Be
17
Sherlock knew that he was improving. Could see it in John's face, still appearing worried, but no longer… no longer frightened.
Bladder infection, he remembered vaguely, but it seemed to have passed. He didn't feel much different, only colder, without the fever, as John had told him.
He didn't feel normal. Or at least he didn't feel as he assumed he should when feeling normal again.
And he still didn't understand why his brain was so… fuzzy sometimes. Most of the time.
Most of the time when he wasn't sleeping, that was.
He didn't feel fine, and he didn't claim to feel fine. He didn't, however, tell John how he really felt either. No need for John to worry. No need for him to worry more than he already did. Sherlock didn't like the way John was looking, tired and worn.
So he kept his mouth shut, did everything they told him to do, let them do anything they wanted. And felt horrible, to tired to even care.
The only one he couldn't convince, however, the only one who mattered, was John.
x
"And now, move your left hand, please."
Left hand... left... had to… had to… John's face appeared in front of his closed eyes, looking at him expectantly. John. Wasn't allowed to worry John.
Sherlock forced his muscles to contract, not entirely sure if it was his left hand in fact.
"Very well," he was told. "Touch your left shoulder with your left hand."
Even more left... Sherlock held his breath while he concentrated on his arm.
"It is important that you keep breathing regularly," the annoying voice reminded him. "Try again."
Breathing... Left arm... Sherlock flinched involuntarily at the sudden pain in his head.
"Once more, Mr Holmes," the woman sitting next to him encouraged him.
Once more... He pressed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, trying to breathe nonetheless... and raise his left arm. Shoulder... shoulder... breathe... breathe... It hadn't been so difficult with his right arm. And why was it so difficult at all?
"Very well," he heard again after what felt like minutes. "Very well, Mr Holmes. And now relax and concentrate on taking deep breaths."
After a while, Sherlock dared to open his eyes again, seeing the blurry figure of his... physiotherapist which was slowly clearing. And John, John sitting close, watching him with that gaze of his, appearing... worried. Worried.
Sherlock bit his lip to prevent a moan as another wave of pain shot through his head.
"How are you feeling now, Mr Holmes? Dizzy, as you did yesterday, or better? Nauseous?" the woman wanted to know.
"No," he lied croakily. "All... fine."
She nodded. "The doctor told me that they are intending to remove the catheter tomorrow, to minimise the risk of another bladder infection. If he keeps progressing so nicely, he will be allowed to walk a few steps in about one week, I think."
John mimicked her nod. "You're finished for today?" he wanted to know.
Sherlock let his eyes slide close, inhaling and exhaling slowly.
"We're done, yes," she answered. "See you tomorrow, Mr Holmes."
"Mh." He found he couldn't muster the energy to say anything else. Weak, so weak, a voice in his head said.
"Sherlock," John addressed him a while later. "Tell me the truth. Don't even think about lying to me. You are dizzy, aren't you?"
John. Too clever for his own good sometimes. "'m fine," he mumbled, turning his head away from John. "Jus' tired."
There was a cool hand on his forehead, a gentle touch to his skin. "You don't have a fever," John remarked quietly.
"Told you," Sherlock muttered, twisting a tiny bit, attempting to get more comfortable. And to get away from John's probing gaze. "Tired."
"Hm." John wasn't convinced, Sherlock could hear it very clearly. "It's only been two days since your fever disappeared, maybe it's too early…"
Sherlock forced his eyes open again. "Really, J'hn," he insisted. "Ex... Exhaust..."
"If you claim this in a complete sentence, I'll believe you," John muttered darkly.
Sherlock remained quiet and allowed himself to doze off.
x
Someone was talking, quietly, as if not to disturb him.
"…maybe should spend the nights at home, John, you look…"
"…leave him alone… Sherlock…"
They were talking about him, he realised dazedly. Mary and John, talking about him.
"…am your wife, John, and I understa… he'll… need you, too…"
"I love you, Mary, but Sherlock…"
The voices disappeared. No, Sherlock wanted to shout, wait! He couldn't, caught in blackness.
John and Mary… they belonged together, his sleep-deprived brain, sleep-deprived and fuzzy and not functioning properly, told him, John and Mary… not Sherlock.
x
When he woke in the morning, he was alone. Alone...
Panicked for a moment, Sherlock turned his head, looking for John.
John... John wasn't here.
Wasn't here, wasn't here, wasn't here. Got tired of him, the voice said again.
Sucking in a few shaky breaths, Sherlock forced himself to calm down.
John, where was John? Think. Concentrate. Think. And slowly, he remembered.
John had told him, John was at home, together with Mary, his wife. His wife. John was with his wife. John spent the nights at home now. John would come, soon, in the morning. John had told him... Sometimes, Sherlock recalled hazily, he would wake up too early and John would still be at home. And it felt… He didn't like it. When he fell asleep again, John would come and be there as soon as Sherlock woke up again.
"When you need me, press the call button and tell a nurse to call me. No matter how late. I'll take the next cab and come immediately." John had told him... yesterday? The day before yesterday? Sherlock didn't remember that.
Carefully, he tried to turn to his side, to make himself more comfortable.
"He barely found any sleep tonight," Mary had whispered to him after the first night, he remembered while closing his eyes. "John was so worried about you, so worried what might happen to you when he wasn't there..."
Sherlock sighed slightly, moving his arm a tiny bit. He didn't understand. Worried, Mary had said. And yet, John wasn't here in the nights anymore. Mary. Was he angry... But no, worried. Worried... Sherlock was too tired to grab what this was supposed to mean. Mary. John's wife. Of course he was with his wife, of course…it was where he should be, Sherlock managed to remind himself, with his wife. Husband. Wife. Family. No place for him. But alright.
His last coherent thought came to him when he was already half-asleep: John would come back, in the morning, and that was all that mattered.
x
John woke him by shaking his shoulder softly, very softly.
"Sherlock," he addressed him quietly. "The doctor's here, to remove the urinary catheter."
Urinary... Remove the catheter.
"What...," he mumbled, blinking heavily to keep his eyes open.
"Nothing," John answered quickly. "You don't have to do anything. Just lie still, alright? And don't fall asleep."
Oh John. Quick to anticipate what Sherlock meant these days. And there. Always there. Despite his wife, and duties, and family… "John?" Sherlock croaked hoarsely.
"Hm?" John turned his attention back to him.
"Thank you."
The smile that was spreading on John's face made Sherlock feel funny. Warm, all of a sudden.
"Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson," another voice appeared seconds later. "Ready, Mr Holmes?"
Ready whatfor? Sherlock wanted to ask while the doctor was pulling the covers away, making him feel cold, the warmth disappearing again.
"Can you place your legs differently? Like that?"
Sherlock didn't see anything, didn't know what he was supposed to do. He simply let the doctor and John do whatever they needed.
Moments later, John reappeared beside his head. "Don't look," he told him.
Sherlock nodded weakly. He couldn't have, not even if he wanted to.
It became even colder, causing him to shiver and goosebumps to form on his arms.
"Cold?" John asked him, grabbing one of his hands.
Sherlock attempted another smile. "Obviou... sly," he breathed.
Something happened in John's face, something... Sherlock couldn't name it, but then John started giggling and squeezed his hands. "Obviously," he repeated.
Sherlock suddenly felt a tiny bit of warmth besides the cold surrounding him.
"So, done," the doctor announced minutes later. John disappeared again, and the warmth reappeared. Oh. His trousers. He was wearing his trousers again, Sherlock realised eventually.
He didn't feel much warmer when John replaced the covers and the other doctor started talking to him. "Urinating will probably be a bit painful in the first time, Mr Holmes," he said. "You're still wearing diapers, so it won't be a problem if you miss the urge to urinate at first, but you should try to get used to calling a nurse as soon as you feel the need to. The nurses will assist you in relieving yourself."
Sherlock simply tried to nod. "Diapers?" he asked John as soon as the doctor had left. He assumed he should be embarrassed, but again found that it was too much effort.
John chuckled quietly as he produced another blanket from somewhere, spreading it over Sherlock and in general pulling the covers up to his chin, helping him to put both of his arms beneath them, as always mindful of the IV line.
"Yes, diapers," he confirmed. "Just in case."
Diapers. Sherlock exhaled slowly. "Don' tell anyone...," he mumbled sleepily, thankful for the warmth the blanket was providing him with.
John chuckled again. "I won't," he promised. Just before he closed his eyes, Sherlock felt another light touch. John, he registered distantly, John rearranging the covers or the IV line or the oxygen line... John. Thank you, John. Giving in to the warmth, Sherlock nodded off.
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