John POV
Even though I doubt Sherlock would appreciate it, I sat by his bedside and held his hand. I don't know what's happening anymore. How could this have happened? Last week, Sherlock and I were running round, enjoying life and our adventures, and I was happy. Yes, Sherlock's a pain in the arse, but my life was better with him it. Now, everything's coming apart at the seams. In the past week, I had lost everything... I lost Sherlock, or at least the Sherlock I knew. One minute he was pestering me to go on a case with me, and then suddenly he has a dark past, a history of abuse and God knows how many personalities. I wonder what would have happened if I had just gone on that damn case with him. Maybe, we wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be at his bedside for the second time in a week.
Lestrade had offered to drive us both to the hospital when Sherlock fell unconscious, and I certainly hadn't put up a fight. Sherlock was in serious trouble, and I was out of my depth. I didn't know what was happening. He wasn't in a coma, more like an unconscious form of a fit. He just lay there, muttering and groaning, and talking to the other personalities, and they would respond - his voice changing to accommodate their speech patterns. Today, however, he had fallen entirely silent and still.
The doctors had rushed around him, desperately running tests and consulting with psychiatrists and psychologies, and experts in all fields, but they had never heard of anything like it. Of course they hadn't, this was Sherlock; even his mental illness was different to a normal person's. There was one thing I remained adamant of throughout his treatment. I never left his side. Even when they wanted to treat my own injuries, I refused to leave. Eventually, one of the doctors had agreed to wheel another hospital bed into Sherlock's room, and it was there that I continued by vigil. I tried to fight sleep off for as long as possible. I was terrified that I would fall asleep and wake up to find... to find that Sherlock couldn't. It was a horrifying thought. I didn't know how I could hope to carry on without Sherlock in my life.
Something else was worrying me as well. What if he woke up and it wasn't him? What if the Sherlock that woke up wasn't our Sherlock? Our Sherlock was losing his grasp and rapidly deteriorating, and I we were beginning to think that maybe we'd lose him to one of the others. And what would be better? Seeing Sherlock die as himself, or live as someone else?