My wonderful beta GoSherlocked has reminded me of the fact that a fic that is tagged "hurt and comfort" does not only need hurt, but also comford. Good point! So, here is some.
I keep drifting in and out of sleep, unable to stay awake.
Images of my mind palace melting away, replaced by padded reality. Artificial noises I cannot catalogue. Someone calling my name, then rolling onto my (right?) side and onto my back again. John's voice coming from far away. Try to open my eyes but fail. Fall asleep again.
More voices, unknown. Soft pressure on my (left?) hand. John? Hear his voice (sure it is him now), cannot make out words. Want to tell him I am awake. Try to squeeze his hand, but cannot move. Too tired. Eyes won't open. Asleep again.
Hands on my body. Hear my name. Strange feeling in my throat. Not painful, just unpleasant. Restricted. Breathing against resistance. Dim light. A hand on my cheek, soft words murmured. John. His face close to mine. Oh, my eyes are open now. But unable to deduce anything. Want to touch him, but arms feel like lead. Tired. Fall asleep to the soothing sound of his voice.
A stranger's voice mixing with John's. Light too bright. Blanket removed from my body. Cold. Something even colder and hard pressed against my belly, against my chest. Belly feels tense. Too cold. Want it to be warm again. Feel my legs stir, but am unable to control movement. Leave me alone! Finally the blanket is replaced. Warm. Sleep.
An angry bleeping next to my ear. Breathing is hard. Nearly impossible. Panic. But again, John's voice. Speaking so slowly that I can finally make out words. "Easy, Sherlock. It's all right. You are fighting the respirator. That's good. Take slow, deep breaths." He repeats it over and over again, until I feel safe again. For the first time I really want to stay awake, but sleep blows my consciousness away again.
The next time I wake up, reality is less padded. I can open my eyes, take a closer look at where I am. Familiar cracks on the wall: the room I sneaked away from. Window: sun near the horizon, about six p.m. John: sleeping in a chair next to my bed, head supported by his right hand. Stubble on his face: not shaved for six days. Dark circles around his eyes: high level of stress for more than ten days. Body posture: back tensed up, legs too.
Looks like my condition was even more serious than last time.
I try to say something (egotistically wanting John to be awake, even though he looks like he needs all the sleep he can get.), but no sound comes out. Lips feel strangely numb, tongue is pressed down by something that does not belong there. Memory of John, mentioning respiration. I want to move my hand to my face and touch the tube to verify. But I am too clumsy, or my arm is too long. My hand ends not even close to my mouth, but somewhere next to my head. The movement wakes John. (So I get what I wanted after all.)
He wakes with a start, looks at me and relaxes a little. "Hey, sleeping beauty" he says, aiming for light-heartedness, but sounding tired and exhausted instead. "Don't try to speak, you are still intubated. See?" He takes my hand and places my fingers on the tube, right where it enters my mouth. "Does it feel like you have to fight a resistance?"
I nod, carefully, and he reaches for something out of my visual field. "The doctors want to remove the tube today. I have just rang for a nurse to tell her you are ready." I look at him and try to communicate with my glance only. How do you say "I am so glad you are here" with just your eyes?
"Look, while we are waiting for the doctor … There is something I need to tell you as long as you can't talk back. You know I am not good with this kind of stuff, but … When you were dead, I regretted all the things I've never told you. And then you nearly died again, and I still hadn't told you. And now again, and … Well, you got the point, I suppose. It's time to finally … "
For a moment he stops talking (with words, but continues to talk with his face: stiffens his upper lip, looks into my eyes, looks away again, shakes his head, purses his lips, stiffens his upper lip once more. Whatever he is going to say now, it is important to him.) (I could watch him for hours and hours.)
"I spent the last days trying to make up something half as romantic as your best man's speech, but I can't, so we'll keep it simple."
Does he notice my increasing heartbeat on the monitor? If he does, he does not show any reaction. He takes a deep breath (once more) and says, "Sherlock, I love you. With all my heart. I want you, and I need you in my life. And I know how my life would be without you. Been there, and don't want to go there ever again. I want all the big emotions you can give, you drama queen, and I want all the little things. I want to wake up with you and take care for you when you catch a cold and be annoyed with you when the kitchen is a mess. I love you so much I even dare to be somehow related to Mycroft from now on."
He tries to let it end on a joke, and I would like to play it cool. But how do you do that when there is a tube stuck in your mouth and tears floating down your cheek? He gives me a sheepish little grin, and then wipes my cheeks dry with a cloth. Kisses me gently on my forehead and nods, upper lip stiff again, but a gleam in his eyes that has not been there before.
John barely leaves my side during the next weeks. He is there when I try to stand up for the first time after the surgery (and fail miserably. No one else would be allowed to see me fail like this.)
He is there whenever yet another tube is pulled out some other part of my body.
He is there whenever someone comes to visit, helps me being nice to them, watches me sharply and hushed them out when he sees that I am getting exhausted. (He is especially alert when Mycroft pays a visit, and at first he is quite taken aback about how close we allow ourselves to be when there is no super villain threaten to watch us, but John gets used to it quickly and stops feeling uneasy in his presence soon.)
He is there when I cry because despite medication there is pain in my chest when I get up and pain when I lay down again and pain when I walk and pain when I sit and the nurses tell me to endure the pain and leave the bed anyway because pain today means it will be better tomorrow but the pain just goes on and on and on.
He is always there, but in some unspoken agreement, we never talk about his declaration of love again.
The only times he is not there is when we agree that he needs to see Mary to pretend that there is a chance for reunion. He goes to the gynaecologist with her twice, because there is a prenatal test for chromosomal abnormalities recommended for couples of their age, and the outcome could be rather tragic, but the baby turns out to be all right.
She is allowed to see me once, and John leaves us alone while I (falsely) assure her that I will talk him around this time. When she leaves and he comes back, he is strangely quiet. "Mycroft has met me at the cafe," he explains, unaware that he is playing with my fingers while he speaks. (I let him, never able to resist his touch, no matter how casual.) "Looks like the prenatal test was not altogether our doctor's idea."
Leave it to my brother to use the cell material collected during that test to confirm that the child is really John's.
He is also there when I am finally allowed to take a shower and wear my own clothes afterwards. It is amazing how you feel different with trousers and a proper shirt. I feel like myself for the first time in ages. I feel finally brave enough to talk about the most important issue.
"About what you said, when I was still intubated ... " I start. Should have planned what to say, I realize too late. "I ..."
I what?
I love you so much that I cannot stop composing music about you in my head whenever I miss you but cannot bring myself to write down the notes because nothing I compose can ever match your smile?
I love you more than I can tell you because the words I need for it do not exist yet, but I will invent them if you want me to?
I love you so much that I have already ordered a crib and made a plan about how to turn your old room into a nursery?
I love you?
"I ... concur." I hear myself say. (Oh no. Worst possible choice.) My cheeks flush. I wait for the ground to swallow me. Must be any second now.
But John grins (!). (Happily.) Nods. Steps closer and embraces me. "You concur" he giggles. Presses me closer against him. "You old romantic." Can feel his body shaking with (honest) silent laughter. He ruffles my hair (needs to tiptoe to do that) and finally, finally kisses me.
It is a rather chaste kiss, but it takes away my breath and makes my entire body prickle and I am no longer sure how I manage to stand on my own, and it goes on and on and I cannot help but silently thank Mary for shooting me to keep John by her side and thereby driving him to mine.