A/N: Hey everyone! It usually doesn't take me this long to update, but I've been a tad busy. Here's chapter 6! Please review!

P.S. I actually had to do quite a bit of research for this chapter, but if any of this information is wrong, feel free to tell me (as long as you're nice about it!).

One Week Later

You'd think being a doctor would make sitting in a quiet hospital less unnerving, but it really isn't. Sitting here, in Sherlock's room, I've never been more overwrought. Seeing my friend-no, best friend lying on the smallish cot with oxygen tubes running through his nostrils is possibly the worst site I've ever seen Well, almost as bad as what I saw when I found him.

"SHERLOCK!"

The greasy man standing beside him jumped and looked at me, before taking off in the opposite direction, but I wasn't worried about him. I'd kill him later. I sprinted over to the mattress on the ground where Sherlock was. I ripped the needle out of his arm.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, can you hear me? Sherlock, wake up, damn you!" I cried. His eyes were glossy and it seemed as if he was looking at me, but I wasn't sure.

I whipped out my phone and called 999. "Hello? I need your help, I think my best friend just overdosed." I gave him the address and hung up the phone. I contemplated calling Mycroft, but I was sure he'd know within the next 20 or so minutes, anyway. Instead, I just held Sherlock in my arms, whispering encouragements in his ear, telling him not to fall asleep; pleading for him not to leave me.

What seemed like hours later, the ambulance arrived. When they tried taking the consulting detective away from me, I hesitated. I only agreed when they said I could ride in the ambulance with him. They lifted him up and in, and I followed. Once inside, I grabbed onto his hand. Who gives a flying fuck if people talk? This is my best friend. Wait, scratch that. This is my only friend.

Finally, we arrived at St. Barts. We all ran inside, and I was set on following him into the ICU, but they wouldn't let me.

"I'm a doctor!" I argued.

"Sir, you're emotional connection to this man is too much, we can't let you inside. Please, we'll inform you when we know more." The doctor said, and turned around to accompany the others.

And then, I waited.

It wasn't until another two hours later that anyone told me anything. A doctor came out and told me they found heroin mixed with other depressants, causing an overdoes. He was in severe danger of going into respiratory arrest, but they had hooked him up to an oxygen tank and he'd be in a coma for a while. Little did they know, he'd be in that same coma a week later...

The door slammed, bringing me back to reality. Standing there was Abbey, with a crestfallen look upon her face.

"John? How are you? How are you holding up? Has Sherlock woken up yet?" She had so much hope in her eyes, but it was masked with a deep sorrow.

"Bad, badly, and no." I replied.

"John," she paused. "It really isn't healthy for you to spend all your time in this room. Have you even had anything but coffee since you got here?"

"I don't need food. My body is only transport." I reply flatly.

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus, now you're starting to talk like him. Look John, he would want you to take care of yourself. He loves you, remem-"

"Don't you say that!" I snapped. "Don't you dare say he loves me! How could he do this to himself if he loves me? If he loves me, then he would take care of himself for me, because he knows how much I love him! He would't destroy himself like this! He wouldn't be such a fucking idiot!"

Both of us just sat there for a moment, before she stood up with watery eyes.

"You stupid idiot! You still don't see why he did this? Because of you, John! Now, I'm not blaming you, because really, it wasn't your fault, but this shows how mentally unstable Sherlock really is!"

"And how is that?" I'm still oozing with anger.

"BECAUSE YOU REJECTED HIM!" She shouted. People outside the room were starting to look in at us through the window, but neither of us cared. "He came onto you, and you made it look as if you weren't interested! All his life, he's been alone! Then, when you show up and he tries to deepen your relationship, you say no and he isn't ready to accept that! And judging by how quickly he got hold of the heroin, this wasn't his first time shooting up! I think he returned to this because he was hurting; hurting because you inadvertently hurt him by making him think you didn't love him as much as he loves you." She sat back down, clearly out of breath because of her outburst. "John, I'm not blaming you, and I know Sherlock won't either, but we need to help him to get better. He needs you."

"B-But what if he doesn't..." I swallowed. "What if he doesn't w-wake up?"

She covered my hand-which was holding Sherlock's-with hers. "He will."

It was another few hours later. I had talked to Abbey and convinced her to go back to 221B, as long as I promised to go back tomorrow, shower, and take a break. It was dark outside now, and even though I knew I shouldn't, I was really starting to give up hope.

What if I never get to tell him? I thought. What if he never knows how much I love him?

His vitals seemed fine, and so did his heart rate, but we wouldn't know anything until-or if-he wakes up.

I hadn't let go of his hand for hours, and I desperately longed for it to squeeze back.

"Sherlock, I..." What was I supposed to say? And it's not like he could hear me anyway. I mean, sure there were stories of previous comatose patients recalling hearing voices while being asleep, but no one knew for sure whether these accounts were valid. I decided to talk to him anyway.

"Sherlock, I love you. And that's just about it, huh? I don't really think that there's anything else I could say to make myself feel any better about our predicament, here. I mean, you're Sherlock Holmes! The great consulting detective! You're not supposed to fall victim to some stupid, idiotic depressant. If ever you were to fall, it would be solving a crime, or saving a life that would do you in. No, this isn't supposed to happen. You should be up and walking around right now, with your long coat billowing behind you. You should be refusing to sleep, refusing to eat, and shooting the walls. You should be blatantly oblivious to Molly's infatuation, and Lestrade's awe at your brilliant mind, and Mycroft's constant attempts to take care of his little brother, and Mrs. Hudson's refusal to being a housekeeper, to me-" It's so hard to speak when there's a lump the size of England in your throat. "You should be here, with me; loving me back. Please, Sherlock. Come back to me. Don't leave me alone. I was so alone, for so long. I don't know if I could do it again, and I know I definitely don't want to. I need you, Sherlock. So fucking much."

I couldn't hold back the waves of tears anymore, and they just came flooding out. I buried my head in the blankets on Sherlock's cot, wishing with all of my heart, that he would just wake up.

But suddenly, a fit of coughing brought me away from my sobbing. I looked up with blurry eyes to see Sherlock, choking on his own breath. Some of the oxygen was returning to his lungs. I was totally utterly speechless.

After his coughing subsided, he looked at me with confused eyes.

"John?"