A/N: Well. It's been a while, hasn't it? No excuses here, just an apology and a chapter.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, and I am not a doctor, just a mortal muddling through with the help of Google. Please don't sue me.
As soon as Dr. Kent walked in, John knew it wasn't good news.
"You found something," he said flatly.
The other man looked apologetic. "John, I'm sorry." He looked down at the radiograph in his hand. "When I was reviewing your CT scan, we saw a mass. It might be nothing-"
"Or it could be cancer." John interrupted, crossing his arms.
"Exactly." Dr. Kent nodded. "I hate to ask this of you but, I need your permission for a biopsy."
John closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands down his face. "Fine," he said, voice muffled by one palm. "You have my permission."
Dr. Kent smiled a little. "Thank you, John. We won't be doing anything until tomorrow morning so we're going to move you upstairs to Neuro just in case. Should I, ah-"
"No need," Sherlock interrupted, striding into John's little room. The blonde rolled his eyes.
"Fantastic." He muttered.
"They suspect cancer?" Sherlock looked...dumbstruck. The expression looked so unnatural on the detective that ordinarily, John would have laughed his arse off. Since he was still battling this bloody headache, he only quirked a smile.
"Not quite," he assured. "But apparently they did find a mass in my CT scan. Better safe than sorry."
Sherlock stared for a minute. "It could be benign," he said, sounding almost as if he was asking for reassurance.
John nodded.
In the next second, Sherlock frowned. "Or it could be malignant." His voice was flat.
Sighing, John nodded again. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Sherlock. For now, I'm just hoping someone can give me something to stop this God-awful headache."
At that moment, a friendly looking orderly stepped into John's cubicle. "Hello Dr. Watson!" Her voice was cheerful, and she smiled broadly at them, not faltering when Sherlock glared at her. "I'm here to bring you upstairs,"
John studiously ignored Sherlock's mumbled "Obvious". "Great," he said, returning the woman's smile.
That night brought little sleep for John. He'd managed a bit after his nurse dosed him with hydrocodone, but now the anxiety over his biopsy left him staring numbly at the ceiling.
Far too soon, sunlight was peeking in through the slats of the blinds. John did his best to ignore the growing pit of anxiety gnawing at his gut. He sighed heavily, then yelped when he looked to the door and found Sherlock. "Jesus Christ, Sherlock," he panted.
Sherlock just quirked a brow at him. "You're less observant than usual," was all he said.
"I'm a bit distracted you arse," John sniped back, immediately regretting his words when Sherlock looked wounded.
"Sorry," he muttered, reddening a little. "I'm just...God, Sherlock, this is terrifying." Sherlock didn't say anything, just stared. That unnerved John a little, but he pressed on. "I mean, my mum had cancer when I was in uni but she ended up okay. I'm not exactly the most optimistic person but I guess I'm hoping that if she beat it, I could too." He exhaled sharply.
"John," Sherlock's voice was quiet, softened a little around the edges. "I promise you, no matter what ends up happening after today, you are not dealing with this alone. I will be present for any appointments needed, and if need be," Here he paused to inhale deeply through his nose. "I will call on Mycroft." Sherlock spat out his brother's name like it tasted bad.
This brightened John a little, and he smiled. "Thank you, Sherlock. Really." The detective nodded solemnly.
At that moment, there was a sharp knock at the open door. John licked nervously at his dry lips. A burly male nurse stepped into the room, glancing swiftly and unsmiling between John and the clipboard he held. "John Watson?" The doctor nodded, lips pressed tightly together.
"I'll see you in recovery," said Sherlock swiftly, giving John's shoulder a quick, awkward squeeze.
John swallowed hard. "Yep," he replied hoarsely.
Hours later find John blinking slowly awake, briefly forgetting where he was and why he was there. After a few minutes of confusion, his head cleared and he felt his stomach cramp with anxiety. "Sherlock?" He sounded hesitant.
"I'm right here, John," The voice came from John's left, and when he looked over he almost sagged with relief. The detective had contorted himself into one of the hard plastic visitors' chairs. John smiled tiredly at him. He gestured up towards his own head. "How bad does it look?"
Sherlock studied him for a moment before flapping a hand at him dismissively. "Hardly noticeable," he assured John, smiling a bit in return.
There was a rustling as the curtain to John's bed was pulled aside, revealing a grim looking Dr. Kent. John's stomach dropped like a stone. "It's cancer," His voice was remarkably steady.
The other doctor sighed heavily. "It is," he confirmed, looking between John and Sherlock before consulting his clipboard. "Ependymoma to be specific."
"Shit!" John snapped. "What type?"
Dr. Kent swallowed visibly. "Anaplastic. Grade three. We did remove the whole thing during the biopsy," he offered lamely.
"What are my options?" demanded John.
"Radiation is the best option," replied Dr. Kent.
John let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes and clenching his fists. When he opened them, he looked at Sherlock, who was entirely motionless. "Sherlock?" he tried.
Without a word, Sherlock fled, sparing neither man a glance.
Dr. Kent sighed. "So, radiation?" he asked finally.
John bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. "Yeah. I guess so."
A/N: This is just another reminder that I am definitely not a doctor. Not an oncologist, not a neurologist, nothing. If any medical experts are reading this and have corrections or advice, I'd love them! Honestly.
Thank you so much for reading. Please review and...
DFTBA darlings, :)