John slowly opened his eyes, first noticing the persistent beeping sound next to him. He then became aware of a warm feeling in his hand. And as his vision slowly returned, he saw that the warm feeling was the product of a hand holding his.

He blinked the blurriness away from his vision in order to better see who was connected to the hand, and smiled when he saw those familiar dark, black locks resting on his thigh.

Weakly, he squeezed the detective's hand, hoping that the action wouldn't wake the man, but would only confirm that he was indeed real and not some sort of hallucination. Although he was relieved the latter was true, his first hopes were dashed when Sherlock shot up like a rocket and looked him straight in the eye, surprise, worry, and relief all etched into one expression.

"Hey," John whispered hoarsely with a smile on his face.

"John..." Sherlock said, the name barely escaping his lips.

The man looked unsure of what to do, noticeably debating between a hug or a 'How do you do?'.

John laughed.

"I promise I won't tell anyone."

It was with this promise that Sherlock let himself embrace his best friend, tightly holding him for what seemed like hours to them both.

And God did it feel good.

"Doctor Watson, you really did surprise us," the doctor said, placing her stethoscope back around her neck after checking John's heart. "Things certainly weren't looking good for you, and our hopes of you waking up at all weren't very high, let alone within three and a half weeks."

"He has always been a fighter," Lestrade said from his corner of the room with a smirk.

The doctor laughed a bit.

"I suppose, yes. Of course, you'll need to stay here to rest and heal up, Doctor Watson, but you're on the path to complete recovery."

"Can we stay with him for a while?" Molly said from beside Lestrade.

"Of course," the doctor said with a smile. "Visiting hours aren't over until eight o'clock this evening. You've got a while."

John nodded a thanks at the doctor and watched as she left the room and shut the door behind her.

John smiled at everyone in the room, noticing how dumbstruck they all still looked, despite his waking moments occurring over an hour ago.

"Nice to see you all," John said. "So, um... coma, huh?"

Lestrade finally spoke again.

"Yeah, it was a rather bad car crash, mate. We were all sure you weren't gonna pull through. Sherlock being the exception."

John looked over at his flat-mate who was currently still seated beside him, his hand resting on the bed.

He looked back at Lestrade and smirked.

"Well, I'm glad I exceeded everyone's expectations."

Molly blushed.

"Oh no, it was nothing like that! We never doubted you John, it was just that..."

John laughed.

"It's alright. It's okay, Molly. I never thought you did doubt me. From what I was told, it sounds like I was in pretty bad shape."

"And still are, dear," Mrs. Hudson said with a grim look on her face.

"If you look past the crap hooked up to me, I'm as right as rain."

The landlady shook her head and clucked her tongue.

"Always with the jokes, John. Not even a coma changes you, does it?"

"You'd be surprised."

Molly cleared her throat and hesitantly stepped closer to John, placing a tentative hand on his foot.

"I, erm... glad you're better. Really. I was actually quite scared."

"We all were," Lestrade said. "And I can't say that enough." The inspector sighed. "You just can't keep yourself out of trouble, can you?"

"Trouble is my middle name." John knitted his brow. "Or it would be if it weren't... oh hell, you know what I mean."

All of them exchanged a good laugh, excluding Sherlock, which seemed to relax them significantly.

John still had a grin plastered on his face when he looked back at Sherlock, but he immediately lost it when he saw his friend's features looked troubled.

"Hey, not to be rude- I mean, I know I just woke up from a coma- but can you guys actually leave me and Sherlock alone for a bit? I would like to talk to him."

The three others exchanged glances and shrugged, all nodding and saying they wouldn't mind at all, quickly hurrying out of the room to wait in the lobby for a while.

When all was quiet, John turned to face Sherlock again.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

Sherlock's eyes went from the floor to John's eyes, and the doctor didn't miss the exhaustion and fear that laid in that gaze.

"When was the last time you slept?" John asked, his doctorly instinct kicking in.

Sherlock still seemed lost for words.

"Sherlock," John said, grabbing his friend's hand and squeezing it tightly. "It's okay now. I'm right here."

Sherlock tightly gripped John's hand in return, feeling the familiar roughness of his callused hands.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he said, almost whispering.

John sighed.

"I think you nearly did."

Sherlock's expression hardened slightly.

"That's not very comforting."

"Because you're such an expert," John teased.

Sherlock laid his head back down on John's thigh and just focused on breathing, eating up every second that John so much as shifted in bed.

"So," John said, snuggling into his pillow and the warmth of Sherlock, "What have you been up to this whole time?"

"Waiting for you to wake up," Sherlock said, sounding like a helpless child.

John swallowed a lump that had begun to form in his throat.

"Huh."

"What?"

"I just... it's a pleasant thing to hear is all. You know, that you actually care."

"I've never been particularly adept at expressing my particular emotions, John," Sherlock mumbled. "But don't think that that means I don't care for you."

John smirked.

"Would you go as far as to say that you love me?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"I've never considered the thought. But I suppose, in a platonic, less emotional way, I do... love you."

"Ditto."

Sherlock hummed in response, causing John to bite his lip.

"Sorry. Do you want me to stop talking?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I haven't heard you speak in the longest time, John. Please talk as much as you feel you must. I enjoy the sound of your voice."

John smiled and cleared his throat.

"Well, I'm out of conversation starters, but I have a good alternative. How about a fairytale?"

"Stories for children? No, I'm fine."

"Don't let the name deceive you. They can actually be quite lovely for both children and adults. Especially if you just want to fall asleep to the sound of someone's voice."

Sherlock paused before speaking.

"Very well. What story do you propose?"

"Ever heard of Jack and the Beanstalk?"

"I believe at one point in my life, yes."

"Well I'm about to tell it to you again. If that's alright with you."

Sherlock nodded.

"Please continue."

John smiled and closed his eyes.

"Well, let's see... I think 'Once Upon a Time' is a good place to start."

And for the next hour, John told his best friend his favourite tale about a young hero who went from a poor, sad young lad to the happiest, richest boy alive.

"...and they lived happily ever after," he said upon reaching the end of the story, relishing that open-ended sentence.

John smiled and look down at his flat-mate, now calm and asleep. And maybe it was the story, or the trials he had faced inside the maze in his head, but somehow John realised as soon as he looked back at his sleeping friend that he had truly reached his happily ever after. Sure, it was a bit dark and twisted and maybe even a little bit insane.

But it was his.

THE END