Second half of today's drabble, immediately follows the previous entry (Blank).
Shuddering, John steps outside to catch his breath. Someone lays a hand on his arm. "Dr. Watson, there's no need to be too concerned yet. He's still waking up, still disoriented." Inside the room, he can hear Sherlock speaking methodically, his voice dry and alien. John runs a hand through his hair, looking expectantly at Mycroft as he exits the room.
"He recognizes me, and his scathing vocabulary is apparently intact. Why don't you go back in there and see if the second time's a charm?"
With a sigh, John steps back into the dimly lit room, his eyes drawn to Sherlock's form, still looking vulnerable, but more alert. He smiles, listening to him lambaste some poor nurse about the state of her shoes, and what it says about her unhappy life at home, or something. She huffs and stomps out of the room, leaving John in there alone with Sherlock.
"Sherlock? How are you?" John feels tentative, hesitant.
"Not too terrible, all things considered. Have you been here all night?"
John feels faint. His knees wobble and he grabs wall to steady himself. "You… you recognize me then?"
"Don't be an idiot, John, of course I do." John is flooded with relief. He should have known it would take more than a wallop to Sherlock's head to break their bond.