A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Sherlock.
I have no beta.
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17 December 2015, Thursday:
Sherlock regained consciousness in a very slow manner. He could feel the heaviness in his limbs lightening up and could feel something warm clutching his right hand. Then there was the light nearly blinding him from behind his eyelids. It was light, it was bright, and he wanted it off.
"Sherlock," a soft voice called out. "Sherlock, please tell me that you're deciding to wake up completely this time?"
Sherlock was unable to get his vocal cords to work. With no sound coming from him, he had to subsist to small movements. He was also unable to open his eyes so he simply moved his eyeballs back and forth beneath his eyelids and let the tips of his fingers twitch just a little bit.
"Lift your index finger twice if you're awake," ordered the voice.
The amount of effort it took for him to twitch his index finger twice, was ridiculous. He actually had to go through several mental pep talks in order to get his body to function the way it should have. One thing Sherlock always despised about his biology was the fact that it could not completely submit to his proper brain function. As the superior organ in the body the brain should obviously have control over everything. Voluntary andinvoluntary muscles. It just would have made his life so much easier.
"Oh, thank God you're awake. I've been so worried about you, you git."
That was John's voice. John was holding his hand. If Sherlock wasn't currently trying to fight on consciousness, he would probably say that this was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He always loved it with John initiated touch first. John had always been closed into himself and Sherlock had never had issues with breaching someone else's personal space before.
"I have to tell the nurse that you woke up, okay?"
Before he could protest, John's warmth was gone and Sherlock literally forced himself awake in order to see where his John had gone.
The room was too white for his liking, nearly blinding him with its intensity. He winced minutely, still looking around with blurry vision, for his stout doctor.
John was back with a tall man in toe. The man was speaking, but Sherlock ignored him because he wasn't important. Instead, Sherlock waited impatiently for John to clasp his hand again in order for him to try his hardest at holding it.
"Sherlock, you need to answer his questions. Squeeze my hand if your answer is 'yes', okay?"
Reluctantly, Sherlock squeezed the warm, calloused hand held in his own.
If only to make him leave.
"You were shot, luckily nothing else important was hit," John explained. "I was so scared," he admitted softly. "You're my best friend, Sherlock. The most important person in my life and I can't lose you. I don't even want to think about what could have happened."
His John sounded so lost and broken and Sherlock greatly wished that he had his strength so he could reassure his friend with a hug or even a kiss.
"On a brighter note, the gangs have been eliminated! Mycroft even ran!"
Sherlock didn't even need to squeeze John's hand to get the story behind that.
And it was perfect.
Almost made up for his suffering in a hospital.
Almost.
A/N: Another is done!
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