This is it folks, the last chapter! Followed by a short Epilogue to wrap things up, as always beta'd by MrsNoggin.
I usually don't respond to reviews in my AN, but two exceptions for great reviews that I can't answer via PM:
maryfreeman32: Thank you! I am happy I could help, and will watch out for your story!
Arana: Wow, danke! Die Idee mit Andrew ist super, kommt aber leider etwas zu spaet fuer die Story. Fuer ein kurzes one-shot allerdings... hmmm mein Hirn arbeitet bereits auf Hochtouren an den Moeglichkeiten!Danke fuer die Inspiration!
The very talented KickingRoses has made an amazing fanvideo that works as a trailer of sorts to this story (although it was created completely independent from my work). Check it out on my tumblr or find it directly on youtube:
youtube (dotcom) /watch?v=07qpW_g_nNQ (thanks ffn for forcing me to totally slaughter this link... remove the brackets and spaces and replace 'dot' with the actual thing!)
Warnings: none!
London, 19 October 2012
Sherlock was pacing the hallway like a maniac. Lestrade had finally given up trying to calm him down. It had been a pitiful attempt anyway as Lestrade was just as distressed, but he somehow managed to keep a cool facade. There were a thousand things that could go wrong, could be wrong with John and they were all rushing through his head. Seeing him lying in the bed with his eyes open, yet not showing any sign of awareness, of recognition, had been tough. He knew that the odds of John coming out of this unscathed were minuscule and yet the sight of his friend in a vegetative state was distressing. He found it impossible to accept that this should be John Watson's fate.
Dr. Lee came out of the room and closed the door behind her. Sherlock was in front of her with two long strides, crowding into her personal space. She completely ignored him and addressed Lestrade instead.
"We were able to perform a brief series of tests on John before he went back to sleep. We tested his level of consciousness based on visual, verbal and motor reaction. The findings are of course only initial and we require more refined tests once he is fully awake –"
"How bad is it?" Sherlock interrupted tersely.
" –But we...What? Sherlock," she addressed the younger man directly now, her voice soft and comforting. "John has a GCS* of 14, and that is expected to turn into a 15 once he is fully awake." She gave him a pointed glance that prompted the detective to interpret the data by himself. Apparently she had picked up that the detective dealt best with raw, un-interpreted facts.
Sherlock took a moment to process what he just heard. "He will be all right." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes, against all odds, he will live, and, with time, he will heal. The results are promising. All major functions and reflexes are within the normal range and there is no indication for any kind of permanent damage. Now, don't expect miracles, he is still very weak and will be mostly sleeping for the next few days, but it's only sleep now, no more coma. When he wakes up he is likely to be disoriented in the beginning, so speak to him, repeat that he is at the hospital, but don't expect coherent answers yet. The sedatives are still in his system and will take some time to fully disperse and the pain medication he is on will make him drowsy. We will slowly reduce the levels over the next days and he should be fully alert in about three to four days. You can go back inside now." Sherlock pushed past her before the last words even left her month and entered John's room.
Lestrade was left alone in the hallway with Dr. Lee, the relief clear on his face. He felt completely drained as all the tension of the last three days left him. Realising that John would be fine for the moment with just Sherlock next to him, he suddenly felt useless.
"Come on, you look like you could use a coffee." She gave him a quick glance. "Or something stronger?" At his nod, she continued: "We can see what we find in the kitchen. I believe the nurses have a secret stash somewhere. With your detective skills we should find it in no time and then I will explain the further proceedings to you; until John is fully conscious you are still his medical proxy."
Grateful for the observant doctor, Lestrade followed her down the hall. The world did look a lot better than it had just a few minutes ago.
London, 24 October 2012
It was another five days until John was lucid enough to have conversations that lasted longer than five minutes. He had awoken a while ago and felt the difference immediately. He was properly awake; the sedatives had completely cleared his system. The pain in his head and leg was no more than a dull throb and definitely manageable as long as he didn't move. Content to be finally fully aware of his surroundings, he started to scan the room for signs of his flat mate. He found him pretty much immediately, reclined in his own bed, laptop on his knees and immersed in God only knew what.
"You're awake." Sherlock did not even move his head. "Your heart rate sped up about 40 seconds ago, and levelled out on the new speed 8 seconds ago. Judging from how long it usually takes you to orientate yourself and open your eyes, you are currently looking at me, am I correct?"
"Yes. As usual. If you would turn your head you could confirm it yourself."
"Boring. You just told me that I was right; there is no reason to doubt your word."
"Never mind then. Sorry for disturbing you."
"It is good to see you finally properly awake." Sherlock shot him a quick look. "It was getting a bit boring to watch you sleep."
John couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about Sherlock seemed off. He was detached, yes, but that was rather normal for the detective, and still, something in his voice caught John's attention. He decided to let it slide for now, but kept vigilant for other signs. Maybe it was just the fact that Sherlock was still trapped at the hospital. After all, his own injuries proved to be much less severe than John's. But his resistance to eat regular meals left him still severely undernourished and the doctors refused to discharge him before he gained at least another 3 pounds. Speaking of food...
"Any chance I could get somethin' to eat here?"
"Are you sure? While the food here is much better than in NHS hospitals, it is still rather appalling."
"I was a soldier, Sherlock, I'm used to appalling food, and I am hungry."
Sherlock pressed the button next to his bed to call for the nurse. With one fluid motion he snapped shut his laptop and jumped out of the bed. John pretended to not see him wince as the movement pulled on his stitches. Clad in his signature pyjama and blue robe he strode over to the door.
"I am out for a while. My irritating brother is coming to work on my 'resurrection' and I don't want him to mess this up as well! For that I need to think and your blabbering is not helping. I am sure Nurse Sita will provide sufficient entertainment for you." And with one rather dramatic swoosh of his robe he left.
Something was definitely off with Sherlock. Unfortunately, Sita walked in right after Sherlock left and engaged John in happy chatter. The nurse was bubbly and energetic and John found himself well distracted from his mysterious roommate.
A knock on the door made John look up from his pudding. He found the older Holmes brother standing in the doorway, clad in his usual three piece suit and carrying his umbrella.
"Mycroft. I was wondering when you would show up."
"There was no need for my appearance here before today. I have been kept informed about both of your healing progress, naturally. Congratulations to a rather remarkable recovery."
"Thanks, I guess."
"I am also here to inform you that there will be no charges in the unfortunate demise of Jacob Moriarty, there is no family left who would have any claim and both Hungarian and British authorities will file this incident as self defence. The remaining members of Moriarty's organisation have been detained and are awaiting trial. You and Sherlock will not need to appear, the evidence secured on site is more than conclusive."
"That's... that's good. So it's over?"
"Yes, it is over." He gave John a sad smile and continued, "Send my regards to my brother, would you?"
"Oh, I thought you were on talking terms again?" That remark earned him a heavy sigh from Mycroft.
"We are discussing how much of all of this will be released to the public. Sherlock is against a press release, but we will need to explain his survival and return. The media would have a field day if he just appeared back in Baker Street. For the time being, he is tolerating my presence, but that is as far as it extends I am afraid. He blames me for everything, and he is not entirely wrong to do so. I am sorry, for what it's worth, but I stand by my actions. They were necessary and in the end, the result justified the means."
John did not know what to reply to this not-quite-an-apology and Mycroft turned to leave, stopping briefly at the door. "I watched the tapes from Hungary. All of them. You saved his life, John. Again, I may state. And for that I am in your debt. But he will need you in the months to come. Even my brother can't just walk away from something this... horrific. Take care of him when I can't." And with one last twirl of the umbrella Mycroft was gone.
John let out a breath. They did not have to testify in court. That was a relief. He hadn't expected any serious repercussions from the events in Budapest, assuming that Mycroft would handle that, and he had been right. But facing the men responsible for torturing Sherlock was something he had not looked forward to. However, John didn't fool himself into believing that all their problems had suddenly disappeared. Both of them had gone through significant trauma, and John fully expected his PTSD to do an encore performance. At least he knew what to expect, Sherlock on the other hand was well on the way to suppressing all emotions and pain. From experience John knew that that would not work in the long run.
Mycroft was right, the break down was inevitable and all John could hope for was that he was well enough by then to catch Sherlock. It somehow seemed unlikely that the detective would seek professional help, even though he definitely would benefit from it. John just hoped they could get through this and settle back into their old life at Baker Street.
The loud noise of the door slamming shut and a chair being dragged rather unceremoniously over the floor woke John up from his afternoon slumber. He blinked a few times, trying to rouse properly from the unwelcome wakeup call when his view landed on Sherlock, sitting in a chair beside his bed. John shuffled around a little, until he had a clear view of his friend. He did not like what he saw. The younger man was tense, and his face had a slightly absent expression, as if he was putting on a mask. But besides him there was no one in the room, and Sherlock never hid from John, or at least he hadn't in a long time.
"I have found a nice one bedroom apartment near the clinic for you, the landlady is a friend of Mrs Hudson and the rent should be affordable for you." He suddenly blurted out.
"What?" John asked, perplexed. "What the hell are you on about?"
"Donovan was right all this time, she has been telling you since the day we met, but you would not listen. I am not good for you. Dangerous even. I hurt everyone that gets close to me. Just look at yourself. If you stay you will get killed."
"Sherlock, I..."
"I would leave again, but you came after me the first time, chances are you will do so again. So it has to be you."
John was furious. How dare he push him away? After everything they had been through? But then, this was Sherlock Holmes, amazing genius, but completely helpless with real human emotions.
"You are a bloody idiot, aren't you? All that brilliance in your brain, and yet you still don't get it." His tone was sharp.
Sherlock frowned in genuine confusion.
"I was a soldier. I risked my life for the good of others every day, and it was my choice to do so. And that was before I even met you. It's who I am. You said it yourself in that godforsaken basement. So what is the bloody difference if I risk my life in a far away country or by helping you catch criminals?"
Sherlock's large frame seemed to shrink under John's harsh words, his shoulder sacked and his head dropped. His voice was barely audible when he whispered: "When you die in the war it is not my fault."
Now John felt like an idiot. Of course, famous Holmes self-blame, he should have seen that one coming. He wished Sherlock would look at him so he could convey better just how much he meant every word he was about to say. "Sherlock – it will never be your fault! This is my choice and mine alone. If I can save your life by giving mine, then I will gladly do it. Not because of some misguided sense of loyalty, but because you truly deserve it. You are brilliant and amazing and you are my best friend. And I will never leave you."
Sherlock's body language did not show any sign that he had even heard John. He remained still, frozen for several minutes. Then, after the lengthy minutes of silence, Sherlock let out a long breath and started to straighten himself again. Closing the gap between them, he bent down close to John's face. His eyes were piercing as he gave John a scrutinizing look, trying to gauge if John spoke the truth. John held this intense gaze, neither blinking nor wavering. Finally, Sherlock spoke, his voice raw and edgy, and his gaze still fixed on John.
"That was – No one ever spoke to me like that. Thank you." He stopped and suddenly frowned. "But the not leaving part, you – you are not going to propose to me, are you?"
John gasped sharply and broke the eye contact. He was flustered and stuttered quickly. "Wha-? No! No, I am- I'm not–"
"Gay. I know. And I am not interested. But I do want my blogger back."
Sherlock gave him a hint of a smile and finally seemed to allow himself to relax. John felt sudden warmth spread through his chest. They would be all right. Their friendship would continue to elude any kind of classification. They would continue to fight over body parts in the fridge and questionable girlfriends, but all of that did not really matter as long as they both accepted the simple truth: They were miserable without the other. John finally realised that they belonged together, because true, unconditional friendship is so rare that once you have, you must never let it go.
*GCS – Glasgow Coma Scale (Scale from 3-15, 15 being fully awake and aware)
AN: See? No more cliffies and I even managed a happy ending! On with the epilogue...