Sorry this took so long, I haven't had all that much time to write. Hopefully you're not mad! Also, big question I would like your help with at the end, so please answer!

(John's POV)

Nobody is in the position to lie to me. I deserve more than that.

I've waited six months for this moment, for him to turn up. I've imagined it a hundred times over, the scenes playing back behind closed eyes. Every possibility examined. Dead, alive. Sick, healthy. Over and over and over in an endless cycle.

But now he's found. Alive, but not well. Dying, maybe.

But I don't know. He looks bad, but I don't know anything else.

I don't know if it's all superficial.

It could be. It could all be bruises and cuts and highly treatable infections.

But then again, it might not be.

It might be too late to do anything.

But I don't know. They won't tell me anything.

They know I need to know the truth.

They should know sugar coating his condition won't do me any good.

They should know that I'll see right through them if they even attempt to lie to me, try to make me feel better.

I saw him, his broken body and all the machines that tied it down. I'm a doctor. I know what death looks like.

Trust me, I do.

But they don't tell me anyway.

I sat in that waiting room for hours, hand glued to my phone waiting for someone to call me. Mycroft. Lestrade. Anyone.

Anyone that might know and treat me properly.

But nobody ever came.

No Lestrade, face lined with worry and dressed in a rumpled, days-old suit.

No Mycroft, cold as ever, refusing to let his mask slip even as his brother lays dying.

I know the both of them would've treated me properly. Told me everything.

But no. I didn't get either of them.

All I got was an admittedly kind nurse suggesting I head home, that waiting here wasn't going to do any good.

"There's nothing you can do."

That's what she told me. There's nothing you can do.

And I almost fought here right then, told her to go away and leave me alone. I almost told her that I was staying, no matter what. That I would sit here for however long it took. I would sit here until I could see him again.

But then I realized that she was right.

There wasn't anything that I could do.

Nothing.

I couldn't help him, just by sitting here, waiting and waiting.

The nurse was right.

There's nothing I can do for him anymore.

He's in the doctor's hands now. They might be able to save him, but they might not.

Right now, I'm not one of those doctors, and I would never want to be.

I can't be there for him. I can't fix him.

Everything I've done in the past six months has been futile. I can't, and could never, help him.

I was never there for him when he needed me.

I left him alone, even when I promised he would still be a part of my life.

All because I was so apparently busy with my new, mundane life.

I wasn't around to see the changes in his behavior, see his decline.

I never found him when he was on the streets. All my searching had left me with nothing. My determination had driven Mary away.

Futile. Pointless.

I could never save him.

And I couldn't save him now.

I had to let go.

It kills me to do so, but I have to.

If I ever want to move on, I have to let go and let fate step in.

He'll live or die. There's nothing I can do now.

If he lives, I'll have a purpose. I might be able to help him recover.

But I can't do anything now.

There is nothing I can do.

Nothing.

I can't search for him anymore, because he's already been found.

I can't save him anymore, because there are other people more qualified to do that.

All I can do now is wait. And doing that at the hospital makes no difference.

It's not as if the nurse will come up to me and tell me anything significant. It's not as if I'll get to see him again for a long time.

I've done all I can possibly do. I've seen him, spoken to him, pleaded on deaf ears and tried to break through the unconscious haze that surrounded his locked mind.

All that's left to do now is wait.

I might as well do it at home, where I can be alone with my thoughts.

And perhaps, where I can sleep.

Hopefully I'm tired enough that I'll sleep dreamlessly.

Because if I'm not, I know that Sherlock's body will haunt my dreams. Fragile, broken, bruised. Unrecognizable, not the incredible genius that had saved me all those years ago.

The nightmares will be bad tonight, if the manifest. I'm sure of it.

The body lying in the hospital room isn't even all that different from the one my nightmare had created, the one I always found collapsed in a dingy gutter or curled up on a stained mattress.

And I know there's no reasonable way to stop them. Just utter exhaustion and alcohol.

I don't want to drink now. It seems like an exceedingly bad decision, when news could come at any moment.

Key word being now.

Because I've done just that many times over the past few months, drowned my sorrows in drink. I'd tried to restrict myself, tried not to turn into Harry.

I reserved for it rare occasions, never bought too much at once.

I saved it for nights when I needed sleep.

I saved it for nights when the waking nightmares refused to end.

And I saved it for the night Mary finally left.

But I can't drink now, even if it would bring me sleep.

Lestrade or Mycroft could call me at any moment. With news to report. Asking me to come back to the hospital.

But I don't want the nightmares either.

So I drop into the usual chair instead, hoping that I can stay awake to the point where a dreamless sleep is a possibility.

I click on the TV, hoping to find some sort of distraction.

But that, like everything else, is utterly futile.

There's nothing that can distract me.

All I can think about is him.

My hands travel to my pocket, clasping around my phone.

I pull it out, and slowly scroll through the contacts.

My shaking finger hovers of one particular contact.

Mary.

I need to talk to her, just this once.

I need to tell her about Sherlock.

I need to tell her that I'm sorry.

I need her.

HUGE QUESTION THAT I NEED OPINIONS ON!

SHERLOLLY? YES? NO? MAYBE?

I've never done it before...and I'd want to experiment with it here if you like the idea. I think it could work interestingly. I kinda want a ship, and I do not want it to be Johnlock because I do that way too fucking much. Let me know in a review if you like the idea.

Hope you enjoyed, and please leave a review letting me know what you think!