A.N: Just a short chapter for now! The next chapter will be extra long to make up for it! Thanks for being so patient!
Chapter 8
The sound of high pitched beeping was the first thing Sherlock heard when he awoke. It took a great deal of effort to open his eyes, and when he did, the bright overhead light nearly blinded him. It didn't take much deducing for him to realise he was in a hospital bed. A loud groan escaped his mouth as he tried to sit up. Pain flared up and he dropped back down to the bed.
It wasn't the first time Sherlock had been in hospital. He'd been a few times for broken bones as a child, and been admitted after his first overdose. A passing nurse heard the cry and walked into the room.
"Mister Holmes is everything alright?" she said sweetly. Sherlock could just make out the woman's dark face.
"Mhhhn, John…" he tried to ask about John. If he said he wasn't seriously concerned about John, he would be lying through his teeth. The nurse checked his chart and wrote down some readings off the bulky equipment he was hooked up to.
"Doctor Watson is in the bed beside you. He's just come out of surgery. He'll be going back tomorrow, there's still some more they need to finish," The nurse replied, sounding rather serious.
Sherlock became a little more concerned. "He's okay?" He questioned, "John's okay?".
The nurse put the chart down. She looked at Sherlock. "Doctor Watson's been through a pretty tough ordeal. He's not completely okay. He's alive and stable, but there's still some damage that is concerning the doctors. They may have to remove one of his legs from above the knee".
Sherlock's breath hitched, and his heart rate went up. He couldn't imagine the mental torment John would go through if he ended up becoming an amputee. John lived for danger.
The nurse seemed to remember something, and she looked at Sherlock, her face turning from reassuring to grateful. Sherlock wondered for a moment what she was thinking.
"Mister Holmes, I know this might be an appropriate time, but I wanted to thank you. I don't know if you remember, but last year you caught the man who killed my husband and son. If it means anything now, I'll personally make sure that you and Doctor Watson are cared for as top priority. If you need anything, call for me, okay?" The nurse was about to turn when Sherlock reached out a weak hand.
"Can you help me into a chair beside John?" he asked. The nurse looked apologetic and shook her head.
"I'm sorry, but the surgeons have strictly instructed that you stay in bed until you're strong enough. I'll make you a deal though, if you're feeling better tomorrow, I'll help you," the woman smiled, her dark brown braids shifted off her shoulder, and the carved wooden beads clicked together loudly. Sherlock nodded. He wouldn't have admitted it, but he felt terrible.
Greg Lestrade swept into the room just as the nurse was leaving, almost knocking the attractive woman over. Apologising, the D.I. walked over to Sherlock's bed. He slumped down into the cushiony chair beside the bed and just shook his head.
"Jesus Christ Sherlock, you bloody did it. I don't know how, but you did," Lestrade let out a chuckle of disbelief. "And to think I almost doubted you for a moment".
Sherlock looked up, "You doubted me? Oh, don't ever do that you know I'm always right".
Lestrade laughed a bit. "Right, yeah, a right git sometimes," he joked. His smile dropped when he looked over at John, who was lying unconscious in his bed. Sherlock looked away.
"So you've heard?" Lestrade asked quietly. Sherlock nodded. Greg looked reassuring. "It's only a possibility, Sherlock. In all my years, I've seen men with worse that recover without having anything removed. It'll be all right," He tried to be as reassuring as he could.
Sherlock scoffed. Deep down he knew that what Greg was saying was true. That it was only a possibility. But there was a part of him that was overly worried.
"Well, I best be going. Only stopped in to make sure you're both okay. I think your brother wants to see you, but I've told him to leave you be for a few days. Y'know, recovering in peace and whatnot. It's good to see you both," Greg stood and made his way to the door. Sherlock gave a small wave.
It was already quite late, and he decided that he may as well sleep. Normal humans heal faster during sleep, he thought. Even though his body was just transport for his mind, Sherlock knew that he needed to show the doctors he was stronger if he wanted to talk to John. Reluctantly, he shuffled a bit to be more comfortable. The inability to curl into a tight ball was irritating and uncomfortable, and after a few attempts, he finally gave up. Spread out on the small and confining hospital bed, Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. It was hard, his concern for John and the pain of his injuries stopping him from sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw that the nurses had given him a morphine button in case the pain got too bad. Reaching out, he pressed it twice, feeling the double dose flow into his arm. It didn't take long before the effects kicked in, and Sherlock was sound asleep.