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Sounds, noises, everything seemed so loud. He tried to place the sounds around him, what they were, but he couldn't. Beeps, crashes, voices, disconnected voices making words he couldn't understand. Sometimes it would get so loud! He could feel nothing but a pounding, throbbing pain coming from…..somewhere. The pain took up all of the physical parts that he could feel. Pain, throbbing, LOUD! LOUD! LOUD NOISES! Make it stop! It made the pain worse! Would it ever stop?! He wanted to say something, but he couldn't manage to….he had a voice, didn't he? Or at least he had had one. But it didn't work now…..disconnected words came to him "Stop" "Go" "Quiet" but he couldn't form them into anything of meaning. A poke, a prod, rough hands, cold hands, STOP! Things touched him, things hurt him but he couldn't see them. He tried to move to make them stop but he couldn't. It seemed that this went on endlessly, touching and pinching and hurting, POUNDING PAIN! People talking, laughing, but he couldn't figure out what was so funny….Glimpses on colours, red, purple, blue, then…..NOTHING. Endless blackness….the colours came sometimes but blackness took over. It hurt, it was so black. Not hurting like the pounding pain he felt, but a different kind of pain, a pain that made him want to die…..maybe he was already dead? No, he didn't think so. You don't feel pain in death right? No, so he must still be alive….PAIN, LOUD NOISES, DARKNESS! If he wasn't dead already he wanted to be dead. This world he was in was horrible. Maybe he was in Hell…..it sure felt like it…..His body shook in a sensation….what was that? Cold? Yes, he was cold. Surely that meant he wasn't in Hell….but the cold added to the noise and the darkness and pain was too much! END IT!

Slowly, something changed. The shaking stopped a little as he felt something come over the parts that he could feel. Thick, warm, comfortable…something….GOOD. He wanted to wrap all of himself in this feeling. It made the cold stop and it felt….and smelled familiar. This was something that he had felt before, but what? He didn't know, but whatever it was, it was GOOD.

A voice….but this one was different. It wasn't loud, it wasn't harsh like the others, but soft…..and he was SURE it was talking TO him. The other voices didn't talk to him, they talked around him. This voice was GOOD too….it talked to him for a long time. When the voice talked….the darkness went away. As long as the voice was talking, he couldn't go back into the dark place. The pounding was still there, it never went away, but when the voice talked it didn't hurt as much. When the voice stopped, things got dark and he felt that other kind of pain. He wanted to reach out to it and make it stay….but he couldn't do that. He tried to understand what the voice was actually SAYING….he knew that words should have meaning, but even with this voice they didn't. But it didn't matter really, if he could understand it….it was still GOOD.

After some time with the voice he could see another colour….this was one he hadn't seen yet. It wasn't dark colour, but rather a bright colour. It kind of hurt his eyes…but it too was GOOD. There was the voice again! And he could hear the voice was making a word he could understand…. "John" it said. This was a word! But what did it mean? He wasn't sure but it was familiar. "John" it called again. Yes, that word definitely meant something! The voice kept saying that word and try as he might he couldn't figure out what it meant! But every time that the voice spoke the bright colour kept getting brighter….

Then the voice stopped again! He reached out in desperation to make the voice keep talking but it was gone! This was not good….he reached out….light getting brighter….brighter….until…

The light burned his eyes. He opened them only to close them again. He opened them again and tried to figure out what was going on, where he was. His head pounded so much he just wanted to close his eyes and crawl under the covers but something wasn't right and he had to figure out what was going on. He opened his eyes but all he could see was bright, floresant lights. He tried to move his head around and see what was going but the movement brought a wave of horrible pain and he called out involuntarily.

"Oh, my!" a female voice called out from somewhere in the room. He tried to find where it was coming from but everything hurt so much he couldn't. " You're awake"

Suddenly he could see the voice that had made the noise. A young nurse stood beside him and looked down at him. John tried to speak to her, ask what was going on, but when he tried to speak his voice just croaked. The nurse rushed away from him quickly and then came back, putting a cup to his lips. He hadn't realized how much his throat was burning until the cool water reached it. He guzzled it down until he had finished what was in it. When the moved back John moved his arms in an attempt to push himself in a sitting position, but his arms just fell back helplessly. "Oh, don't try to strain yourself, sweetie" she said. " You've been through quite an ordeal!" John watched as the nurse used a button on the bed to move it into a sitting position so that John could finally take in his surroundings. He looked around at the white, sterile room; hospital. He looked to the nurse sitting beside him. She was short, tiny, with graying hair and her voice was kind. She was the grandmotherly type that one generally wants when in the hospital. John's head pounded like a sledge hammer was pounding on the inside. "H-How…..d…did….I….?" John croaked out. His voice sounded hoarse and unnatural, not like his voice. It hurt to speak; it hurt to do anything.

"How did you get here?" the nurse offered. " You had an accident, sweetie, do you remember anything?" She looked at him intently as if studying him. Why? Was something seriously wrong with him? He didn't remember coming to the hospital.

John tried to shake his head. Mistake. Needles of pain shot through his head and he closed his eyes. " n-n-no" he croaked "w-what happ-"

"You were out taking a walk and got hit by a cab" the nurse explained. " Hit your head very hard when you fell. Broke some other bones, but mostly your head was what took the impact. Fractured your skull which caused a lot of bleeding on your brain. They did surgery but we weren't sure that you were going to make it. You've been in a coma"

John didn't remember any of this. He tried to think but it was fuzzy. " How…..long….I've….been…g-gone?" it was still hard to talk but it was getting easier. The nurse offered him another cup of water and he took it.

"A little over two weeks" she said, " You don't remember the accident at all?"

John really tried to remember, but he couldn't. " No" his head hurt so much he just wanted to sleep. He touched the side of his head that hurt and felt a scar. He felt around his head and it was smooth….his hair was gone. Why? Oh, right , the surgery.

"Well, honey, can you tell me your name?" the nurse asked gently. "What's your name?"

He thought hard…it shouldn't be this hard should it? The nurse was watching him with a nervous expression. He should have thought of it by now….why couldn't he? He remembered a word….he'd heard it in the darkness….. "John" he said. Yes, that was it.

The nurse smiled at him. " Good. Last name?" she asked

John tried really hard, but this he could think of. He knew that wasn't good. He knew he had a last name, but he couldn't think of it. " I….don't…." he let his head fall back against the bed.

The nurse patted his arm "Its alright, I'm sure that it will come to you" she said. " Can you remember anything else? Age, birthday, address?"

John closed his eyes and looked around his mind, searching and searching but it was nothing but blackness and emptiness. He almost felt like crying. He couldn't remember anything. How could he not even remember his own birthday and age? It was terrifying. He didn't even know who he was.

"That's okay" the nurse said, " You're mind has been through a lot. Give it a little time to adjust" but John could tell by the look on her face that she thought that it wasn't good that he couldn't remember this very basic information.

John pulled the covers up closer to his chin and tried to find some comfort in them. It was warm and comforting and it smelled nice. Only, it wasn't a blanket at all. John looked it; it was a long back coat. John ran his fingers over it and then took in the smell of it. It was familiar….it made him feel like he could remember something. This wasn't his coat, that much he knew….it was….

"Sherlock" John croaked out, laying his head on the coat. "Sherlock"

The nurse's eyes lit up. "John?" she said.

"This coat….its Sherlock's" he said. "Sherlock's coat"

The nurse smiled at him. " Can you tell me something about Sherlock, John?" she asked.

John closed his eyes and thought. "I could write a book on him. He's my friend….we started out just as flatmates. My friend Stamford introduced us when I need a flatmate. What a flatmate he is! I'm surprised I've not killed him yet" John laughed. He wasn't quite sure where it was coming from. It was a long gone feeling but it made him feel good. " He's brilliant….bloody brilliant. Annoying, frustrating, arrogant too….but brilliant. He solves crimes, ones no one else can figure out. It's really amazing how he does it…..I help him with it….." Except that he didn't anymore….right? John stopped and thought for a long time. Something else was at the front of his brain and he tried to figure it out. John looked back down at the coat that was lying across him and he felt his mind jar. A flash of images came to mind; Sherlock standing on top of the hospital roof, then falling to the ground, blood….so much blood….

"Only we don't do that anymore" John said. "At least not me. Sherlock was…..missing for a long time. I thought he was gone….but then he came back. I have been so mad at him, that he abandoned me. It was so hard being without him and he just didn't even care….called me weak…."

The nurse watched John curiously as he spoke, her smile increasing with each thing that John remembered. John's head hurt so bad he just wanted to go back to sleep if only that would make it feel better. But he couldn't…..there was something else to remember. When said that Sherlock called him weak, it sparked a memory. Him and Sherlock arguing about him not caring, about him not talking about what had happened. John felt that this memory was important but he couldn't remember why. John sat and thought until he thought his head was explode…..

"The accident!" John blurted out suddenly.

"Yes?" the nurse asked, "Do you remember something about it?"

"I think me and Sherlock had a fight that night" John said, " Yes, I remember we really had a row. I left the flat….." John thought " I was walking….thinking about it. I wasn't paying attention and then suddenly something hit me hard…..that's the last thing I remember" John lay back against the bed. He felt exhausted but he was so glad that he was remembering part of his memories. He still couldn't think up some of the basic information that the nurse had asked, but he could remember something and that was good enough for him for right now.

"You're doing really good John" the nurse said, patting his arm "I'll go let the doctor know you are awake. He'll want to do some tests, but until he gets here, try to rest. You'll be very exhausted for a while."

John closed his eyes and felt himself drift off a little, but his eyes popped open just as the nurse was walking out the door. "Excuse me!" he called out

The nurse turned away from the door and faced John, "Yes?" she asked.

"Is there any way that someone can call Sherlock?" he asked. " Tell him I'm awake?"

The nurse smile. " He's here already" she said, "He never leaves" She walked to the side of John's bed and pulled back a privacy curtain that hung around the bed. In the corner of the room was Sherlock fast asleep sitting up in a chair. His clothes were ruffled and looked unkempt and around him lay piles of books. His head hung as if he had been awake one minuet and asleep the next. John didn't want to admit how happy he felt at the sight of him. "I think the two of you will work your differences out" the nurse said.

"Why do you say that?" John asked.

"You obviously care about him a lot and I know he cares for you." the nurse said. " You're right that he seems to be a little….difficult at times, but he has been here by your bed ever since they've brought you in. He's only left twice, for about an hour each time, to come back in clean clothes. But other than that he has been here. He just sits by your bed and reads to you. I think he was uncomfortable, sitting here with nothing to say, so when he left once he came back with the books. He never sleeps; after all this time he finally goes to sleep and it's when you actually wake up."

John looked at Sherlock and the collection of books around him; all of John's favorites. Books Sherlock would consider drivel and yet he had been reading them. There were a lot of books; how long had he been reading to him? John thought back to the dream state that he had just woken from, the voice that had brought back him back to consciousness. It was familiar but he didn't know who's it had been….was it possible….

John tried to fight the wave of extreme fatigue that passed over him but it was impossible. His eyes stung and his eyelids drooped until he didn't see anything more.

….

John woke to the sound of Sherlock's voice. When he opened his eyes Sherlock was sitting next to him and he held a book in his hand, reading it aloud to John. When John stirred, Sherlock looked up from the book. John looked up at Sherlock; John wasn't sure what he read in Sherlock's expression. Sherlock, as usual, was hard to read, but the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile and John felt himself smile back. "Welcome back" Sherlock said, " The nurse told me that you had awoken, but I couldn't be sure until I saw it for myself." John noticed that Sherlock's fingers played with the pages of the book, flipping them back and forth. Was Sherlock Holmes actually fidgeting? " So….um, how do you feel?" he asked uncomfortably. John felt that what he was really asking was what did he remember.

"Well, I've got about the worst headache I've ever had" John said. He put his hand to the injured side of his head. "I suppose that I was out for awhile, huh?"

"Yes, quite some time" Sherlock said. " About two weeks. It was ages" he coughed uncomfortably. " Do you remember anything about what happened? About what happened that night?"

"well, I recall being hit by a car" John said, " And I definitely feel like I was hit by a car." John shifted positions in the bed and the movement caused considerable pain. When he groaned at the pain, Sherlock jumped up from his chair and hovered near him. "Are you okay?" he asked urgently.

John thought that that was strange. He thought that he saw worry and concern in Sherlock's eyes. When he considered what the nurse had told him and the genuine concern he saw in Sherlock's face right now, he considered that it was actually possible that he had been worried about him.

When John didn't immediately answer, Sherlock prodded again, " Are you alright? Do you need something?"

John waved a hand dismissively. " No, I'm just trying to move, but I guess it too much right now. I feel stiff as a rock, but I guess even if my leg wasn't broken it would still be hard to walk if I've really been out for two weeks."

"15 days, 3 hours to be precise" Sherlock said as he sat back down. That sounded a little more like the Sherlock he knew.

"Well, I'd believe it" John said. He rubbed his eyes; despite the fact that he had done nothing but sleep those past two weeks, he still felt uncomfortably sleepy. "Everything feels….off"

Sherlock stared at John and he could tell that he was trying to study him, to deduce exactly how he was doing. "Well, that shouldn't be a surprise. When you were hit by that car it broke your left leg and arm, fracturing several bones on that side of your body as well. And that wasn't the worst of it. You fractured your skull which caused severe bleeding. You were already in surgery by the time I found out what had happened. Prognosis was grim; your brain was still bleeding and swollen. They weren't sure that you would wake; even if you did it was unsure what mental capabilities you would have. Then, you went into that coma and every day that you were asleep it became less likely that you would wake at all…." Sherlock trailed off as he spoke. He got a strange look on his face that John couldn't place and then stood up suddenly. " Um…I've forgotten something….I'll be right back" and he rushed out of the room before John had time to say or do anything.

John was confused and he was sure that it wasn't just part of the coma. Sherlock was being totally….weird. One second he was rattling on scholastically like he often did and then the next minuet he ran out of the room like he was going to be sick or something. John laid his head back and closed his head. Whatever it was, John was quite sure that he didn't have the metal capabilities yet to figure it out. He didn't know how long Sherlock was gone, but he wasn't awake when Sherlock returned.

…

He was going to cry….bloody cry. What was wrong with him? He had to pull it together.

Sherlock leaned against the wall in the hallway and breathed in and out. He watched other people in the hallway; he wasn't the only one in the hallway that was falling to pieces. Sure the other people were much more open about their emotions; one elderly woman was wailing from the room next to him, a middle aged man was arguing vehemently with a doctor down the hall, a couple was crying quietly in chairs that sat in the hallway. Maybe this was the normal human response to grief and upset; to cry. It sure seemed that way with all the time that he had spent in the hospital these past weeks. But he was not normal and therefore he did not have to give into these weak responses. John was fine now, what reason on earth did he have for shedding tears. None whatsoever.

He'd already lost control of himself once. The night of the accident Sherlock had lost control of his emotions at John's bedside falling into tears. It was messy and unpleasant and made him feel very much out of control. Sherlock hated that feeling; he was always in control and he liked it that way. He was always five steps ahead of everyone else, always fixing problems that no one else could. To be out of control had been extremely unpleasant.

The past 15 days had been a blur and yet they felt like that had lasted forever. Sherlock knew statistically that every day that John was asleep that it was less likely that he would wake up. It also increased the likeyhood that he would be mentally impaired. Sherlock hadn't known what to do. He couldn't go to the flat; it was too quiet and boring without John. When he went to the flat all he did was think about how John was doing. Lestrade had even called him twice but Sherlock hadn't replied to his calls. It was like ever since John's accident all he could think about was John. It was really quite annoying and he didn't understand what his mind was doing. Thinking about John and how he was doing wasn't going to solve any problems or make him any better so it was really annoying that he couldn't get it out of his head. So, since he couldn't be productive, he hadn't bothered to call Lestrade.

He hadn't been able to sleep, not that this was much of a problem. Hospitals were unpleasant places, not conductive to sleep. He had felt the need to be by John's bedside; it had after all, been proven that people who had once been in comas often reported hearing voices while they were asleep. Sherlock figured that it couldn't hurt John's chances of waking up for him to talk to him. Only it was really awkward talking to a person who didn't talk back. So, instead Sherlock decided that the best thing to do was to read to John. When he went back to the flat to change clothes he had picked up several of John's favorite books. They were rather boring pieces, but Sherlock knew that John liked them so he read them. He hadn't even been aware that he had fallen asleep finally until he had awoken.

That was when the nurse had told him that John had woken up when he was asleep. She said that he was doing well and seemed to remember a lot. She seemed overly optimistic but Sherlock wasn't going to believe it until he actually saw John wake for himself. And then he did….

The sick, churning feeling that he had felt went away immediately when he saw John wake up. He wasn't sure why this should be, but his emotions seemed to be affecting him physically a lot lately and though he didn't like this fact, it was entirely unexpected. John was awake and he was well. Until now Sherlock hadn't realized how fast his mind had been going until now when it seemed to stop. When the tears tried to come.

Sherlock shook his head and rubbed at his sore eyes, gaining composure. This was no time at all to be someone he wasn't; John needed him to be strong. He needed stability and the one in control that he'd always been.

When Sherlock's eyes felt normal again and his mind had stilled he went back into the room, thinking about what excuse he was going to give John. Luckily, though, John was already fast asleep again and he didn't have to think of an excuse. Sherlock sat back down in the chair that he had been occupying before he rushed out. Now that John was sleeping normally he discarded the dull book that he'd been reading. Despite the fact that he'd slept for a short time that night, he felt drained again. He was glad that John was well again; maybe once he began to heal Sherlock could begin to fell normal again.

Since John was not awake anymore and he had no case to think about Sherlock didn't see any reason to fight the fatigue that was coming over him. He let his head drop forward to the bed and fell asleep to the sound of John's slight snoring.