John's P.O.V.

I listened hard. It was around eleven thirty and I could hear the faint footsteps coming towards my room. Sherlock would be here any second know with real clothes and an access card he swiped of another doctor. The door opened and then quickly shut.

"John? Are you still awake?" he questioned.

"Awake and ready to go." I answered glad it was dark in here. "Do you have it?"

"Yep. Follow me. We're getting out of here." he held the door open as I went through, slower because of the wheelchair I was forced to use.

As we entered the dimly lit halls I fought hard to avoid Sherlock's eyes. I didn't want him to see the fact that I was ashamed of the wheelchair. We went up to a door and swiped the card, flinching at the faint beep.

"Ready?" I heard Sherlock ask.

"Ready. Let's go and stay close. These halls and tunnels can be super confusing." I warned. "Just stay with me and we should be fine."

It was a ten minute walk to the single entrance that lead outside. This entrance was in case of emergencies or if doctors needed to step outside for a second. We went through it, breathing in the cool air of night time London. It was nice to be out of that stuffy hospital.

"Where to now?" I asked.

Sherlock pointed an northeastern direction. "Your house. We'll get a cab and then some rest before getting to work on this case."

We had to go three blocks before we were able to pull over a cab. On the way there, Sherlock addressed something that I was surprised he even thought about and the fact he actually read the note I left for him.

"John, did you really mean it?"

I looked at him for a second. "Mean what?"

"That I shouldn't contact you again. That everything was your fault?" Sherlock questioned, curiosity filling his voice.

"Yes," I nodded. "I really did mean it. I yelled at you and that caused an entire domino effect. I mean, look where we are now. You're recovering from poison, I can't walk, and we're breaking out of a hospital. If that isn't enough reason not to be around me anymore, I don't know what is." I gave a weak laugh.

The detective was silent. I heard nothing more than the normal sounds of the streets of London. I had a feeling that my words had upset him, and was just as uncomfortable as he was. Thankfully a cab pulled up.

Sherlock helped me in, giving me that useless and empty feeling once more. He folded up the wheelchair, putting it in the back and got in himself. The cab driver gave me a small look of pity.

"Where to boys?" he asked.

I answered quickly. "1755 Mangolia Way sir."

The entire ride was silent. When we finally got there, Sherlock got out and set up the wheel chair for me once more, as I paid the driver. With Sherlock's assistance, I got out and up the three steps that led to my front door. I unlocked the door and rolled in. I frowned as I saw the look of everything.

Sherlock surprised me, as he set about to cleaning everything. He didn't once glance my way or say anything. I cast my eyes downward, remembering the dream of the ship earlier. Part of me wanted to go back, pull the trigger of that gun. The other knew I couldn't, wouldn't, break Sherlock's heart like that. But I felt so helpless, unable to do anything. So I mainly sat and stared slowly nodding off. Before I knew it, I was sound asleep.

Eight Hours Later

I awoke in my bed, Sherlock on the floor, looking extremely uncomfortable. I went to get up, when I remembered I couldn't. I sighed and tried to go back to sleep. I didn't have the heart to awake the detective. I knew he wouldn't mind, but still.

Deciding to try getting out of bed myself, I turned my legs towards the edge of the bed so they were hanging limply. I slid off, and tried to put weight on them, but as soon as I did, I crumpled to the floor. Sherlock moved as quick lightning.

"Oh gosh, John! What happened?" he moved around to help me up.

I felt the tears coming again. "Just trying to get out of bed. I didn't want to wake you." I muttered.

"Oh John, you should've. I would've helped you. You should know that. I'll always help you." he put me on the wheelchair, which I was starting to hate as much as the color white.

"I know. I just hate it. It makes me feel so helpless and worthless."

"Must I tell you again? You aren't worthless, and so what? You need a little help getting around. That doesn't make you helpless. You just have to trust me. Sometimes accepting help saves your life." he looked meaningful at me, showing that what he was saying was true. "Now come on. Let's make breakfast and then get back to work on this case."

Well both headed that way a small piece of me reinsured. Both by that distraction we both managed to miss an extremely important detail.

We missed the two pairs of eyes, starting in on us.

Double update again! Who knew I could be so motivated? Thank you so much for the review, and I hope y'all enjoyed! Please review!

Best Regards,

PFT221B