Sherlock- John's World chapter two.
Okay short… but not as short as the first chapter. :P
T. I do not own Sherlock. I think I forgot to mention this on the previous chapter =P whoops. Hehehe any OOC is unintentional.
Italics are flashbacks- I forgot to mention that tooo…. =P
"um excuse me, Mr Watson? I have some good and bad news for you." The nurse approached the slumped doctor, who looked up hopefully, eyes sparkling with tears.
He had been in the hospital for three days now, waiting and worrying. The nurses hadn't permitted him to enter the room and see Sherlock, and he'd worried himself sick about the man.
"Yes, what is it?" he stood and tried not to gasp as his leg locked again. It had locked constantly for the last 3 days due to stress.
"He's alive." The nurse smiled, "But… not getting much better. The knife hit a few of his nerves, and the doctor predicted it will take a few months for him to be able to walk, that is if he survives this month… he has 50/50 chance now. It's better then earlier…"
John couldn't speak. 50/50. 50 per cent chance of his world disappearing. 50 per cent chance of everything that mattered dying, being lost, forever. He wiped away a tear and stood, addressing the nurse.
"Can I see him now?"
She considered, "Alright. But only for a few minutes."
He rushed in, heart pounding loader then anything else. All he could think about was Sherlock. Oh Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock….
It was raining. John left the library and began walking down the street towards home, dialing for Sherlock as he did so. He'd done the research, and found their man, and so was reporting to Sherlock who he should nail, as if the detective hadn't figured it out already.
"Sherlock. It was George."
"I knew that, didn't you?"
"Whatever. I'm coming home."
"oh no don't do that."
"Why not?"
"because I'm in the middle of something."
Beep. "Bastard. Why did he make me do all that research if he knew it was George all along?" he snarled, trying to shield his face from the rain. "and why doesn't he want me around?" he felt hurt, rejected, like a puppy left alone by it's owner.
"Sherlock? I'm home." He called lazily, entering the flat.
A sudden sound came to his ears and he paused, entranced. The sound of the violin made him blush, and almost cry; it was beautiful.
He followed the sound to the living room, where a tremendous sight hit his tired eyes.
Sherlock sat on the sofa in his usual dressing gown, eyes closed and brow frowned in concentration as the bow slid up and down the strings, creating the most beautiful sounds the doctor had ever heard. John entered, silently and took a seat opposite, the detective, watching, listening. Sherlock didn't open his eyes, or hear the doctor come in, and they staid like that for hours, John crying silently with happiness.
That was when Sherlock became John's world.
"Sherlock?" the Sherlock before him looked nothing like then- he was paler, withdrawn and silent, eyes closed, lips in a long straight line of pain. His face was no longer covered in blood, but his neck was bandaged and supported. A doctor leant over him, monitoring his heartbeat, a frown on his handsome face.
"He'll be asleep for a while. I'll just go give the results to Ella, then I'll be back to take his blood pressure. After that you'll have to leave, I'm afraid."
"Alright." John smiled sadly and turned his attention back to Sherlock, who stirred in his sleep.
The doctor left and the room was sentenced to silence.
John tried not to cry. "S-Sherlock. I'm sorry. I didn't know… I wouldn't of…."
"is he gone?"
The detective's lips were so still he might not have spoken.
"W-what?"
"is that bastard of a doctor gone?"
"yes." John smiled. Same old Sherlock.
"Good." The detective's eyes opened. "Now… you were grovelling…"
John thumped his shoulder lightly, "Dam you Sherlock. You had me so worried. The nurse said you have a 50/50 chance, Sherlock!" he was shaking, of anger or fear or relief he wasn't sure.
"you're shaking. Now, carry on with the grovelling… I was quite enjoying that."
"Bastard."
"Thankyou."
"You'll have to leave now Sir. And what are you doing awake?" The doctor didn't look happy. Neither did Sherlock.
"Do you mind? My friend here was just about to grovel."
"mmm… come on now then you. Blood pressure time. You-out."
"Alright. I'll be here tomorrow Sherlock. Promise."
"Sure. Thanks." Sherlock said, turning and frowning at the doctor. "How long will I be here?"
"Mr Holmes I don't think you understand your predicament…"
John couldn't stand to listen any more. He left the hospital, fuming with himself for not saying everything he should of, for telling Sherlock why he was there, why he hadn't left beforehand, and why he always stood by him, no matter what. The facts were simple:
Sherlock was his world.