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"Doctor, it's time." The nurse's hushed voice brought John back to reality, back to the operation theatre, back to Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes had closed by then again, this time due to the drug that had been administered. John took a deep steadying breath, tried very hard to be the doctor that he is and not the man madly in love with Sherlock, tremendously worried at the moment and on the verge of breaking down crying.

This is my fault. I have to make it right now. I will make it right. Be with me Sherlock. I'll make it alright.

An hour or so later John was sitting in the locker room, still hadn't changed, one hand fisted to his mouth, elbow resting on the knee, another hand holding tightly the bench he sat on. Deep in thought. No vital organs were nicked but the blood loss was fatal. Sherlock was in intensive care. The next few hours were crucial. The vision of Sherlock lying prone on the hospital bed, multiple cords attached to him. He couldn't remember seeing Sherlock so very limp. Sherlock was made of energy and it was infectious. It now looked like his limpness was also, at least John felt so. He didn't feel like moving, looking, breathing even. He just wanted to lie beside Sherlock and see the mild heaving of his chest as he breathed, take in any, if any movement that limp body made. A twitch of hand, moving of eyeball a hitched breath, anything. The very feel of Sherlock being okay, warm and alive would be enough to sustain living for John right now.

"He'll be okay." He said without looking up as he heard light footsteps behind him. It was Mycroft, he knew. He shouldn't be in here, but then he could be anywhere he wanted to.

"I'm sure he will be. He's in the best possible hands." Mycroft said softly.

John didn't reply.

"John, keeping the nature of my brother in mind I'm sure that as soon as he gets to his senses he would want to go back to 221B Baker Street."

John maintained his silence, knowing Mycroft was right.

Mycroft resumed "I can arrange for the best possible infrastructure and staff to take care of him in there but…"

This time John looked up to his face.

"…but I'm fairly sure he wouldn't approve any of that." He sighed.

"He will need looking after. But I don't see my brother letting unknown people touching him even for medical purposes for as long as he can resist." He looked away as if dejected.

"I'll be there." John said curtly, his voice grave.

"You will?" Asked Mycroft as if what he was hearing was too good to be true.

John got up from his seat. Time to check on Sherlock.

"Though he will have to be here at least for another day or two."

Mycroft nodded and turned around to go out, when he heard John say

"You're not the only one who worries about him, constantly."

Mycroft smiled to himself and thought going out of the room

All it took was another wound to cure the others.

Sherlock was standing in front of a beautiful red brick house with a white fence around it. It had a small but well maintained garden in front. The white door was ajar with a Christmas garland on it. He could smell fresh bakery and hear sounds of laughter coming from inside. For some unknown reason Sherlock felt welcomed, as if he was invited and he entered. The house was cosily decorated, it was warm, friendly, bright, charming. Everything about the house reminded of John. There's another door opening into a similar room from where the chatter is coming. Sherlock stands at the doorway as a beautiful scenario unfolds before his eyes. There are three kids, two boys and a girl. All blond, freckled, healthy, happy. On the sofa there was a woman with bright blue eyes, golden hair and warm smile. The kids were playing around her. They were wrapping gifts. The table in front contained steaming tea, cakes, ribbons, wrapping paper, sweets and so many other things. Things that John liked. In front of the sofa, cup in hand, wearing a grey sweater stood John, looking at him, happy, smiling, contended.

"Welcome Sherlock! We're so happy you could make it!" he said.

We?

"Well yes! This is my family! That's my beautiful wife and these are my kids!"

Sherlock felt dizzy, a nauseating feeling creeping up his neck to choke him.

"Are you happy John?"

"Why of course I am! Look I have everything you thought I wanted! Thank you for leaving me Sherlock. It was really big of you."

What do I do now John?

"Be gone again! Obviously! Who needs you?"

With those words Sherlock felt the floor beneath him give away and he started falling… John's last words echoing in his mind "Who needs you?"

Suddenly he felt a jerk as if he had hit the ground and a pounding on his chest. He tried to breath but it was difficult and a voice calling him from far away.

"SHERLOCK!"

A scream brought him back to his senses faintly. Opening his eyes the first thing he saw was two golden brown eyes, so familiar, so anxious. Then he felt a pain in his chest. He tried to turn but couldn't. he felt as if something heavy and uncomfortable was attached to his right side. He was trying desperately to grasp things, hold on to the little consciousness he had regained. At least he felt he could breathe properly now and coughed a little. Two warm hands stroked his head and chest. He felt he was sweating, the hands wiped his sweat off his forehead. Sherlock tried to open his eyes and with some effort was able to part his reluctant lids. There was John, hovering over him, stroking him, talking to him.

"It'll be all right, you just had a bad dream, it's okay. It's me."

His voice is so soothing. He is so soothing. Is this John married? Did he say that he didn't need me?

Sherlock struggled to get back full consciousness, he took deep breath and opened his eyes fully. His body twisted in the effort and a sharp pain from his lower abdomen jolted him back to reality with a whimper. John was still hovering looking extremely agitated.

I got stabbed in the alley.

As full consciousness came back to him Sherlock realized that it had been a dream only. He sighed in relief.

"Better?" John's soft voice drew his attention again.

He swallowed before answering in a husky voice "Yes."

He saw a nurse come in and with an approving nod from John administer a medicine via the IV. He looked back at John who sat beside him on a stool holding his hand in his looking at him intently.

Instead of feeling calm Sherlock suddenly felt extreme agitation and urgency. He pulled at John's hands with all the force he could muster with his still almost limp body which made John get up from the stool and sit beside him on the bed. He felt that nauseating feeling again, his chest became heavy and throat and forehead pained. Two drops of tears fell from his eyes and got lost into his curls leaving a glistening line along their path, he whispered feeling choked

"Sorry."