John jolted awake early the next morning in a cold sweat. Sunlight was feebly struggling through the skeleton fingers of the trees, and glinting off the mounds of slowly-melting slush and the frost on the grass. It was February and still bitterly cold, even at- his watch read 8:06am. He rubbed his neck that was stiff and sore from sleeping in a chair for the third night in a row, and grappled with his bleary mind to try and remember what had woken him up. The nightmare was quickly slipping out of his conscious mind, and all he could remember was Sherlock, wounded and unconscious, and something about...bunnies? Thank god that it had only been a dream...wait. Oh bollocks. His memories finally flooded back into his awaking brain just as Sherlock rolled over on the bed in front of him, utterly adorable, blissfully asleep and happily dreaming. Sherlock reached his hand out, grasping for something in his dream. "Come here Twilight Sparkle, come here Pinkie Pie! Let's go frolic in the meadow!" Oh dear God, thought John, I can't believe he actually watched those My Little Pony episodes on my laptop... Sherlock's arm dropped back onto the blankets, and his long eyelashes fluttered delicately as he opened his eyes. "John-John?" He called feebly, struggling to sit up. "There is my John-John! I want cuddles!" He beamed ecstatically, far too hyper already to notice or care about the massive bags under John's eyes, or his stubble, or his exhausted frown. "I'm coming, crazy hyper Sherlock, I'm coming." He muttered, sitting down on the edge of the bed and awkwardly fitting himself into Sherlock's flailing arms. They sat for what seemed like hours but was probably only 15 minutes or so, with Sherlock wrapping his arms tightly around John and whispering strange ramblings about spaghetti and religion into the nape of John's neck. Eventually a nurse quietly knocked on the door and tentatively came in. "Sorry sir", she said shyly, "but the doctor says he can be discharged today, and sent me to do a few last checks to make sure he's fine to leave. Nothing too painful or anything."
"Oh, okay then, well...if you'll be with him for a little while, I should probably go get some coffee. Sherlock?"
"Mmmm...yes John-John?"
"I'm going to go get some coffee, but this lovely nurse is going to take care of you for a little while, okay?"
"No, no, you have to stay here, I need my John." Sherlock whimpered, and clung to John like a frightened child. John's heart felt like it was breaking in two at the sight of Sherlock's quivering bottom lip, but it had been nearly a day since he'd been able to work up the courage to leave Sherlock's side and go down to the cafeteria, and his presence would probably only hinder the nurse. "I'm sorry Sherlock, I have to go. I'll be back very soon."
"Promise?" Sherlock's eyes were sparkling jewels of building tears.
"Of course Sherlock, I promise." Sherlock reluctantly uncoiled his arms from around John's waist and John turned and left with a heavy heart. Oh come on, don't be so pathetic and overprotective, you're a soldier for god's sake, he mentally berated himself, what could possibly happen to Sherlock in twenty minutes?
Almost half an hour later, John was walking back down the long hallway towards Sherlock's room when he heard the scream. The scream of a man with a child's fear, desperate, terrified. Sherlock's scream. Not even gunfire ripping into the ground around him during the war had made John run as fast as he did now. Adrenaline coursed through him in fiery torrents, shutting off his mind, screaming to his muscles. Faster. Faster. Sherlock. SHERLOCK. FASTER. At last, Floor 2, Room 21-Sherlock's room. With a madly pounding heart he wrenched the door open, to find Sherlock crying, sobbing, hugging his knees to his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Said the nurse, bewildered and shocked. "I was just taking the I.V out of his arm, and all of a sudden he started trying to pull away and started crying..."
"John, please, make the dinosaur go away, please John." Begged Sherlock, tears still streaming down his cheeks. "She's trying to eat me with her big sharp teeth, she's going to swallow me up and then I won't see you ever again."
"I'm so sorry about him, you can go now if all your tests are done, I'll calm him down." John reassured the nurse, who immediately scrambled for the door.
"Yes Mr. Watson, please just sign him out at reception when you leave. And make sure he takes the tablets on the table three times a day." The nurse told him hurriedly as she closed the door behind her.
"Shhhh, Sherlock, it's okay, I'm back." Watson gently whispered, climbing onto the bed and taking Sherlock into his arms. Sherlock pushed him away and blinked at him in confusion for a few minutes, while Watson perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed, waiting to see what Sherlock would do next. Given the rollercoaster ride of Sherlock's behaviour for the last two days, he didn't have a clue. Sherlock finally shook his head like a wet dog trying to dry off, and stood up on shaking feet.
John instinctively put his hand out to support him. "John, I'm fine, I can stand by myself." Sherlock muttered in a very faint attempt at a stern voice, but he took John's hand anyway. Sherlock's hands were freezing cold, but John didn't even consider letting go. Sherlock's long, feeble, shaking fingers said more about his mental and physical condition than he could ever admit in words. John helped Sherlock change out of his hospital gown and into clothes that Mycroft had brought along on his first visit as discreetly as possible, being both relieved and slightly disappointed that Sherlock had kept his underwear on. Once Sherlock was changed, Watson led him slowly downstairs, signed him out at reception and hailed a cab outside the hospital. They spent the drive home in near-silence, with Sherlock huddled against the door and glaring out the window at the struggling mid-morning sun. Every few minutes Sherlock would furiously scrub a tear from his cheek. Was it pain that was making him cry? John wondered. Fear? Embarrassment? How much of the last few days could Sherlock remember? He said nothing as the cab drove on towards 221b Baker Street.