Author's Note:
So, it turns out there is only one chapter after this. I'll give you guys all the details for the next story at the end of this one. Thank you so much to everyone reviewing!
Their nurse walked in and glanced at the two in the bed. "At least he is sleeping." She muttered before freezing. "Um, Sir, the heart monitor is unplu- Oh." She blushed as she plugged it back in, looking at Sherlock. "Right. Um, would you like anything?"
Sherlock smiled when John fell asleep. Good. His fiance needed it. A smirk crossed his lips as the nurse came in. "Do you have a cell phone I can borrow? I need to get in touch with my brother."
"Yes, Sir, of course." The nurse slipped her cell phone out of her pocket without a second though, placing it gently in Sherlock's hand. "Just... not anymore, yeah? He needs to rest." She paused and studied the sleeping Army doctor. "And so do you. You keep that up and you will both be here longer." She turned and walked slowly out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her.
Sherlock couldn't help but smirk as the nurse left. He punched in his older brother's cell phone number from memory without any trouble and sent a text to it.
John wants to get married as soon as we get home. Please make sure the arrangements are ready. Not sure when the release date from the hospital will be. Three to five days I imagine. –SH
I will see what I can do. Will plan for five days out. Good to hear from you. How is John? -MH
Mycroft set his phone down and glanced at Amy in her crib. "Your Dad is safe," he whispered to the sleeping infant, watching her for a long moment. He reached out and picked up his phone again.
I think Amy misses you. She hardly sleeps and is crying more than she has. –MH
Sherlock was about to reply to the first text, when the second one came through. He read it with a frown and typed out a reply.
John is fine. A bit weak physically but he lost a lot of blood so it is to be expected I suppose. He is sleeping right now. Maybe I will call later when he is up. See if talking to Amy will help calm her down some for you. -SH
Sherlock had refrained from mentioning the psychological damage done to John, which would last considerably longer than the physical. He found it strange and fascinating that little Sandi had already formed an attachment to him.
Greg managed to get her to sleep for now. Sang to her and walked around Mum's garden. -MH
But just as he sent the text Amy stirred, slowly opening her eyes and yawning. Mycroft looked at her with wide eyes for a moment and waited for the now-common wail for attention or food or a clean diaper. Instead she just let her eyes wander the room, one hand shakily raising into the air before falling.
John groaned and quickly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly and glancing at Sherlock. "Why did you let me fall asleep?" He asked gruffly, lifting his good arm to rub at his eyes. That was the last thing he wanted.
Sherlock looked over to John. "Because you need your sleep, you stubborn git." He gave a slight smirk. "Texting Mycroft. Says Amy is restless and missing us. I was going to call and see if talking to her would help calm her down. Are you up for it?"
John had been about to reply that sleep was no longer something he found pleasure when when he heard Sherlock mention Amy. He forced a small smile and managed to nod his head. He didn't want to do anything, really. He wanted to forget about everything. Perhaps talking to their daughter would cheer him up a bit, distract him from everything. "Right. Sure. Yeah." He looked away from Sherlock and waited to hear Mycroft's voice from the phone.
Sherlock gave John's hand a slight squeezed and then called Mycroft, despite the last text saying Amy had just been put down to nap. John needed a distraction. He waited for the other line to pick up before speaking. "John just woke up. He would like to talk to our daughter."
Mycroft smiled and nodded. "You're on speaker, then. Go ahead. She's awake," he assured the two on the other end of the phone as he held it out.
John glanced at Sherlock and took a small breath. "Hello there Amy," he said with a bit of a natural smile. "Are you behaving for Uncle Mycroft, little girl?" The silence on the other end of the phone was... hopeful? At least she wasn't crying. "Papa and I will be home soon. Have to finish some things. I will bring you back a present, okay? I love you, Amy." He glanced at Sherlock before sitting up slightly. "Bathroom," he muttered as he ripped the heart monitor pads from his chest and yanked the I-V from the top of his hand. He stumbled out of the bed, frozen for a moment as he balanced himself before moving into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.
Sherlock frowned as John locked himself in the bathroom. He didn't know if talking to little Sandi would help, but it had seemed to when Amy was still in the womb so maybe it would work now. "Hey Baby Girl, will you sleep for Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Lestrade? If you sleep for me, someday I'll take you to the sea." He had never actually been to the beach. It would be his first time, when he and John went on their honeymoon.
Mycroft was quiet for a moment and smiled softly. "She is calm," he muttered, smirking. "Ever considered reading stories on an audio book, dear brother?" He laughed and shifted as Lestrade came into the room and took little Amy. "Go comfort him, Sherlock. We will see you soon." He ended the call with a small frown.
John slumped against the door was a shaky breath, already regretting leaving the bed and the machines that had made him fell comfortable. But he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't think about his normal life, about Sherlock and Amy, without feeling guilt so strong that he was choking on the air around him. It was too much. He let out a small cry and buried his hands in his short hair.
Sherlock left the phone on the bed and walked over to the bathroom door. He knocked on the door a few times. "John?" He had a pretty good idea what was bothering his fiance but he thought maybe it would be better if the army doctor brought up first. He leaned his forehead on the door, as he waited for some kind of response.
John took a deep breath and let his head fall back against the door. "What?" He asked, his nose clearly stuffed up now. It was hard to conceal the fact that he had started to break down. He was hesitant to let Sherlock know what was happening because of how he had reacted last time, because of what he had said. "It's nothing, alright? Survivors guilt or whatever you said earlier."
Sherlock sighed. He really wasn't the best person to be trying to talk to John right now. Despite the changes that had come about for him, he still wasn't the most compassionate person in the world. John would need to talk to a professional about this. The consulting detective knew and understood basic psychology but he lacked the ability to be empathetic, even for his fiancé. The solution seemed easy to him and he found it frustrating that the army doctor wouldn't take it. He didn't know what to say now, having said what he already thought needed to be. He sighed again, sliding down the door and mirroring John's position without even realizing it.
"I'm going to make a horrible husband, y'know that?" John stated through the door with a hint of a smirk. "Can't even handle just snuggling with you right now. I feel guilty because they don't get that anymore." He stopped himself and lightly bumped his head against the door. Sherlock didn't need to hear it. His fiancé had problems of his own. "That nurse is going to be pissed off when she finds us."
"If anyone is going to make a horrible husband, it would be me John. I'm not really what most people would consider marriage material." Sherlock fell quiet for a bit after that, as he tried to think of something to say. He finally replied to the bit about the nurse. "You should have seen her face when she walked in right after you fell asleep." He smirked even though his fiancé couldn't see it.
John had been about to say that Sherlock would be the perfect husband when the nurse was brought up. "Shit, I bet the entire bloody hospital heard me," he stated with a soft chuckle. Wonderful. He couldn't help it that his fiancé was so attractive. "I wish I could care but I really missed your touch."
The smirk got bigger. "I missed yours too," Sherlock admitted. He stood up and faced the door once more. "You going to let me in or are we going to talk through a door the rest of the day." While distracting John was helpful for the present moment, it wasn't going to do his fiancé any good later down the road. Except, he didn't know what else to do right now.
"Like the door idea better. Don't have to see your attractive face." John stood slowly despite his words, unlocking the door and opening it. He glanced at Sherlock for a long moment. For a moment he was able to relax and realize that he was lucky, that the man in front of him was his future husband. "I love you." He moved forward one step and gently met his lips.
Sherlock arched a brow and for a moment he didn't think John was going to open the door. He wrapped his fiancé in a light embrace, mindful of the recovering man's wounds. He returned the kiss readily. "Love you too," he murmured. His tongue ran along the army doctor's bottom lip momentarily before seeking refuge inside John's mouth, where he explored eagerly.
John moaned softly into Sherlock's mouth, letting his fiancé take control of the kiss without a second thought. He pulled away slowly with a parting nip to Sherlock's bottom lip. "Love this but lightheaded. Need to sit." He slumped slightly against Sherlock, sighing. "Want to sleep with you."
Sherlock supported John's weight easily, his arms still wrapped around the other man. After a moment of the close embrace, he shifted a bit. "Come on. Let's get you back to the bed, my dear doctor." He continued to bear his fiancé's body, as he moved back toward the bed slowly and carefully.
John walked the best he could, pressed against Sherlock with a sheepish smile. "I want to be back in London," he muttered as they reached the bed. His eyes traveled to the I-V and he grabbed it, pushing it back into his hand with a small grimace. "When can we go back?" He looked at Sherlock hopefully. If he had to spend another day in this hospital he might shoot himself.
Sherlock shrugged and then snuggled into the bed next to John. "I actually have no idea. No one has spoken to me about when either of us will be released. We have already been here almost a day. So, another day or two maybe longer?" He shrugged again, nestling his head into his fiancé's good shoulder. "Shouldn't you have an idea? You are a doctor after all." He tilted his head up slightly to smirk at John.
"Most of the patients I treat are in a field hospital. The time of recovery is a bit shorter," John shot back with a grin. "Besides, with my last shoulder I had to fight infection. Almost died." He shrugged with his left shoulder and let his eyes close slowly. "What you said earlier... you are going to make a great husband. I know it. You've been perfect so far."
Sherlock gave a slight smile. "You might change your mind after we are married." He had meant it only as joke but after thinking about it, it made him frown. What if John did change his mind? No. Nope. Just don't think about that. He sighed at his thoughts and he snuggled closer to his fiancé for reassurance.
John looked down at Sherlock as he felt the man snuggle closer. "I would never change my mind," he said seriously. Sure, they had gotten into fights and had moments where they wanted to kill each other but every couple had moments like that. Sherlock had brought something back into his life, made him feel complete again. "I love you." He placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's head.
"I love you too." Sherlock was quiet and still for a moment before he reached over to push the button to call a nurse. "Hungry," he muttered in explanation. He was. A week of only a half granola bar was too little even for him. He had been aware of it earlier, but at the time he was fighting off the withdrawal of drugs so it hadn't been first and foremost in his mind at the time. It wasn't until now that he had become aware of the pang in his stomach.
The next word out of Sherlock's mouth made John gape at him in surprise. Hungry? "You're... hungry? I never thought I would hear you say that." He turned his head toward the nurse as she entered, blushing as she smirked at him. This was certainly awkward. But the more he thought it about it the more he realized that he was starving.
"Yes?" She looked at Sherlock with a warm smile, tilting her head to the side slightly to meet his gaze.
"We are both just a bit hungry," John muttered as he turned his gaze away. "So... whatever was for lunch would be wonderful."
Sherlock gave the nurse a smile. "Food would be lovely. Doesn't matter to me what. I will pretty much eat just about anything." With a smirk, he glanced up to John. "Yes well, after going a week or maybe even longer without eating one tends to get hungry. Even me, believe it or not." The smirk widened a bit.
John lifted his hand and ran it through Sherlock's hair with a small chuckle. "Learn something new every day," he muttered as the nurse came back into the room with two blue trays. She set one down on John's lap and the other lower on his legs for Sherlock to grab.
"Turkey sandwiches, a cup of peaches, a granola bar, a little cup of jell-o and some orange juice. Enjoy." She smiled and turned around.
John glanced at his food with a small grimace. "Think I lost my appetite," he muttered softly. "Never really liked hospital food."
Sherlock was about to take a bite when he threw down his sandwich with an exasperated sigh. "For someone who wants to get out of a hospital as soon as possible, you sure as hell aren't doing anything to help move the process along. You won't sleep and now you won't eat. Would you quit feeling sorry for yourself and just do something that's good for you? I can't sit here and watch you do this to yourself, John. This isn't you. Now eat your damn food." He was getting frustrated with how despondent his fiancé was being.
John jumped slightly as Sherlock spoke, looking down at him for a long moment before shoving his tray away. "Christ, Sherlock, I don't need you nagging me about everything!" He shifted on the bed to pull away from his fiancé slightly, taking several deep breaths. "I don't care what isn't me, alright? I care about..." He shook his head and swallowed hard. What did he care about? At this point he wanted Sherlock to leave him alone and he was fairly sure he wasn't going to be any help to Amy once they were back in London. "On a separate note, Sherlock, I was fucking kidding. I was going to eat, you git." He pushed the tray farther away and locked his gaze on the door. Now he had really lost his appetite.
Sherlock growled. "That's the problem John! You don't care about anything or anyone but yourself right now! Oh just fucking forget it. If you want to stay here indefinitely, fine but I can't do it John…I just can't…" He got out of the bed, walked to the door, yanked it open and then slammed it shut when he crossed the threshold. He ignored all the looks he was getting and the nurses trying to talk to him. He brushed everyone off and followed the signs to the exit.
"Fine! Leave!" John shouted as Sherlock left, shoving his tray of food to the ground with a small shout. He fell against his bed and slammed his eyes shut, trying not to think about anything.
He isn't doing this on purpose, you know. -MH
He glanced at the laptop in front of him, connected to the cameras of the hospital, watching his brother intently.
Sherlock was startled when the phone went off. He hadn't realized he still had it with him. It wasn't his phone but he checked it anyway. It was from Mycroft. His eyes narrowed and he opened the message. He rolled his eyes. Of course his older brother was watching right now. Probably to make sure another kidnapping at a hospital didn't happen. He thought about ignoring the text but ended up sending a reply. He slumped against the nearest wall, to a sitting position on the floor.
The solution to his problem is obvious. He is being impossible. –SH
Mycroft couldn't help but roll his eyes at Sherlock's reply. His younger brother was the one who was being impossible. It was difficult for Sherlock to understand everything.
None of this is obvious for him, Sherlock. He can't just stop and forget everything. He is reacting a lot better than most people would be in this situation. As much as it's annoying you, you just need to be there for him. –MH
Sherlock frowned a bit as he read his older brother's text. He started typing out an angry reply but deleted. He sat for a moment, just thinking and then finally settled for a different response.
Empathy isn't really my strong suit. I'm not sure I know /how/ to be there for him. –SH
Understandable. Just... lay there. Be close to him. But don't yell or push. Let him do what he needs. You can't force him to her better, Sherlock. –MH
What astounded Mycroft was the fact that he knew the information, that he was helping his brother through this. But he figured he'd learned it with Lestrade.
Sherlock wanted to argue that was what he had been doing, that he couldn't just lay there and wait around forever. Eh. What did Mycroft know? His older brother was about as inept as he was when it came to relationships. He sighed and put the phone away as he stood up. He didn't want to go back and face John, but he supposed he would have to eventually. He made his way back to the room, entered it quietly and sank down in the chair next to the bed.
John watched him for a long moment before gently lifting up his empty tray. "I ate," he muttered softly before setting it back down on his lap. It was the closest he could get to trying to fix what had just happened. Even though he couldn't exactly control the plans that his mind already had he figured that Sherlock had a point. Sitting around and doing what he had been wouldn't get him anywhere. Eating was the least he could do. Especially if he planned on avoiding sleep for the next few hours.
"Good. That's good." Sherlock managed a weak smile. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He didn't know what else to or say. He didn't really feel like cuddling, so remained seated. He supposed he should take his own advice and eat but he was far from hungry right now, despite not having eaten in several days.
"That means you should eat, too." John held Sherlock's tray out with a small smile. It was forced and barely reached his eyes. They had done nothing but fight for the past few times they were together and it was slowly getting to him. He hated it. Did he step up right now and apologize to Sherlock? What in the world would he even say? He brought up the only thing that would possible lift Sherlock's spirits. "Mycroft... his men, they, uh..." He held his left hand up, wiggling his fingers so the light glinted off his wedding band. "Found it. The nurse brought it in while you were out."
For a moment Sherlock thought about lying and saying he had gone to the cafeteria to eat but he ended up taking the tray instead. He set it on his lap and stared at the food. His gaze shifted up when John spoke again and showed the ring. A genuine smile reached lips. It made him look down at the one still hanging around his neck. His eyes closed in thought for a moment and when he opened them again he spoke. "John, I can't pretend to know or understand how you are feeling right now. It's hard…it hurts to see you look so…defeated. I don't know how to deal with it." He sighed, that sounded better in his head. Now his fiancé was going to think he was trying to make it all about him when all he was trying to do was connect with the only person in the world he thought was worth doing it for.
After Sherlock spoke John kept his eyes locked on his left hand. That was what he had needed to hear, certainly, about how his fiancé was having to deal with everything he was doing. That didn't mean he had wanted to hear it. "I..." He swallowed hard and glanced up at Sherlock. "I know you don't know what to do. You have never had to deal with this. It's... everything you've been doing since we got engaged has been tough for you, I know." He took a deep breath turned his gaze away again. "I'm sorry I am putting you through this because I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I know you think I just need to eat and sleep and focus on being happy but... sleeping is just nightmares now and food makes me want to vomit. You are a genius and amazing at putting things together and I understand that in your head it's simple enough for you to think that me just returning to normal will be good enough but..." John closed his eyes. "It's just not simple like that. I can't just ignore this. I'm not as strong as you."
Sherlock listened quietly and forced himself to eat the cup of Jell-O on the tray. He didn't really know what to say to that. After a long silence he finally replied. "Perhaps you should talk to someone. A professional. I'm sure the hospital has someone who isn't a total idiot who may be able to help you." Would John get upset at the suggestion? The army doctor had seen a therapist before, so why not again? As much as he hated to admit it himself, he was nowhere qualified to help his fiancé right now. He couldn't be that person and maybe he never would be. Not for the first time, he felt overwhelming inexperienced to be with John.
Another therapist. Joy. John shrugged with his good shoulder and watched Sherlock eat with a weak smile. "They aren't going to tell me anything I haven't heard before. That it isn't my fault. That I need to move on. That I have trust issues. That I need to let everything out and write about it and not keep it all inside because that's unhealthy." He slammed his fist against the bed with a shout. It was too much to even think about. "But they don't know anything! They weren't there! They didn't watch men die, didn't get splattered with their blood, did they?" His voice was steadily rising and the heart monitor was increasing. "No! Because I did it all! That was all my fault!" He slammed his head back against the pillow and took several deep breaths as his heart beat calmed.
That was about the reaction Sherlock expected. He frowned at the heart monitor. How did he make John see, understand that nothing was his fiancé's fault? He didn't understand the rationalization of the army doctor. The only person responsible was the person who held the gun and pulled the trigger. It all seemed so simple. Black and white. No area of grey. He wasn't sure what to say next, so he picked up the orange juice, shook it automatically, before opening and drinking the sticky liquid.
The silence from Sherlock's area of the room was almost comforting. John liked the fact that he hadn't spoken up, that his fiancé had just listened to him. He knew that Sherlock was thinking but the fact that he didn't voice them was nice. "I know... I didn't pull the trigger. If that's any step forward." He cleared his throat but kept his gaze forward. "That I didn't actually kill them. But... y'know, if I hadn't opened my mouth." He shook his head and closed his eyes. No tears. Don't cry.
This was excruciatingly and maddeningly frustrating for Sherlock. He wanted to throw his tray of food on the ground and yell at his fiancé, to shake the other man by the shoulders until he understood. However, once more there was silence on his end and he remained in the chair. There would be no point in arguing, on trying to make John see that none of it was his fault. Was it wrong that he didn't care the other men had died? The only thing that mattered to him, was that his dear doctor was safe. He had been willingly to sacrifice his own father to keep John safe. And now that he thought about it, he would have done it all over again even knowing the outcome. Purely selfish. He didn't care. His fiancé was here with him and…mostly okay. He continued to eat, as he picked up half the sandwich, took a big bite, and chewed angrily.