It took another hour and a half before they were ready to leave the hospital. The nurse had dutifully removed John's IV needle and left him to dress, that alone took the better part of a half hour. Sherlock had to help of course because the rib fractures limited mobility too much to allow John to dress himself. Neither man was a stranger to fractured ribs but both found the limitations of healing frustrating to their independent natures. For John, already dealing with his own worries and fears, it was particularly hard this time. He fought not to snap at Sherlock irrationally because he knew his mate was doing everything he could to help. John wanted him to move faster, to just be done already, but then a sudden pain would remind him of Why Sherlock was being so careful. Eventually they were done, without either man snapping at the other, and waiting not so patiently for the discharge papers. John thought of the days ahead and how many times the same process would have to be repeated trying to mentally prepare himself.

John was on the verge of simply walking out the door when the nurse finally brought his paperwork. John dutifully signed his name and tried to refuse the wheelchair out to the car. But the nurse and Sherlock were quite insistent, not only was it policy but John was weakened by blood loss and unsteady from narcotics. He silently fumed all the way down to the door. John had expected Sherlock to simply hail a taxi as always but found himself strangely relieved when he found one of Mycroft's sleek black sedans waiting for them. He wouldn't say he was afraid of the taxi, he just didn't feel he could ride in one so soon after the accident. He found himself consciously trying to avoid reminders of that whole night, though rationally it was pointless since he was going home to Baker Street.

Sherlock helped him into the back seat making sure he settled comfortably before joining him. He sat close beside John clasping his left hand in his right, "Ready," he asked.

John nodded giving Sherlock's hand a little squeeze before replying, "Let's go home."

The car ride was smooth and quiet and John found himself dozing on Sherlock's shoulder only to be woken by a soft kiss to his head and the tap of a hand on his thigh. "We're here, love."

Once again Sherlock helped him from the car before seeing to their bags. Getting up the stairs was its own challenge for John, the climb caused every bruise and ache in his body to flair to life once more. Sherlock reached out toward John, however the offer of assistance died on his tongue in the face of the glare his mate gave him. John was a very stubborn man and he refused to be pandered to no matter what injury or pain he was in. Sherlock for once took the hint and proceeded John up the stairs to the flat. John took the stairs slowly. He could only take one or two steps without stopping to breathe a moment before continuing. By the time he reached the flat he was sweating, short of breath and in pain again. Quite happily he sank down into his chair and thought he might not leave it all night.

Sherlock had put away their bags and waited anxiously for John to make it up the stairs. Every instinct pushing him to go help John, to pick him up and carry him up the stairs if necessary. However, knowing it was best not to fight John in this matter, he fought his own instincts instead. He got out John's pain meds and a glass of water, placing them on the table beside John's chair, and put the kettle on for tea which he was sure would be as welcome as the medication. He heard John make it to the landing and glanced to the doorway just to make sure John was managing alright. He saw him sink slowly into his chair and then reach for the medicine after a moment. Sherlock made no comment but smiled to himself while he finished the tea, adding milk just the way John liked it. Knowing John needed some food on his stomach as well with the medication, he added a few biscuits to the saucer and carried it out to him.

John was grateful Sherlock had left him to his own means even though he was sure it drove him spare to do it. He sighed when he found the water and pain pills waiting beside his chair and swallowed them gladly. When presented with hot tea and biscuits, John couldn't stop himself from smiling at his mate. A soft "Thank you love," offered as he took his tea.

Sherlock understood he meant more than the tea though and leaned forward to kiss him once more. "You're welcome," he whispered in reply before sitting down with his own tea. They sat in silence each relieved to be back in their home and lost in their own thoughts. The soft clink of china on china roused Sherlock from his contemplation. John had fallen asleep in his chair, the empty cup and saucer slipping from his hands to his lap. Sherlock quietly took the cup and saucer from John, slipped his shoes off his feet, and covered him with a warm throw from the sofa.

Leaving John to sleep peacefully, Sherlock saw to making some preparations for the evening. He knew John and after his days in the hospital he would be wanting a bath, a hot meal, and sleep. Sherlock got out fresh loose pajamas for John, fresh towels for the bath, and set out the dressing materials to redress the surgical site afterwards. Ms. Hudson had already made the bed up with clean sheets and extra pillows and brought up a pot of stew with french bread for their supper. Sherlock had thanked her graciously for once, determined to do better for John. He knew John had a lot on his mind now and hadn't really focused on Sherlock's failing that started this but he would eventually. They would still have to face it and talk about it and Sherlock remained focused on doing everything in his power to make it up to John….to be a proper Alpha for him. He was supposed to take care of John, keep him safe and secure. He hadn't done that and both he and John suffered as a result. He had to make it right. Satisfied with his preparations, checking that the door was locked and John continued to sleep soundly, Sherlock headed for the shower himself. He was quite sure John would appreciate him having a bath as well; two or more days waiting anxiously in the hospital did make one very pungent.

"Dark…..it was too damn dark! WHY was it always dark? He had to find him…..lost. John was searching desperately for something?...someone?….he wasn't even sure. Was Sherlock in trouble again? John was trying to get a sense of where he was to decide which way to go….but there was nothing but darkness...no clues to follow…..no sounds. The panic in John's heart was increasing, the thrum of his own pulse pounding in his ears...fear for something he couldn't even name. Only a dream John tried to tell himself in his head….only a dream…..a dream. Suddenly a shrill, high-pitched cry echoed out into the darkness and continued. Absolute terror shot through John at that cry, fear he had never felt even during his military service. He ran blindly through the dark in the direction he thought the cry came from. The cry continued and John knew it was the cry of a child...perhaps an infant. What was wrong? John had often heard the cries of children hungry or without parents when he would be on patrols and he always hated it. What could he do…...he had to help…had to find him...he Had to. The crying got louder and more insistent and John continued to run towards the sound desperate to find the source feeling as though his own heart would break if he could not find it. Suddenly he stumbled over something in the dark and fell to the ground; the sound stopped abruptly. NO! John shouted in frustration. He listened intently but the sound did not return. Without anything to guide him, John found he was crying...he didn't find it….didn't save it…the poor child lost and alone. A sudden flood of bright light blinded him and a loud siren sounded, deafening him to anything else. John was still crying and screamed his absolute anger into the chaos around him."

John awoke with a cry that quickly turned into a sob, tears already running down his cheeks. Disoriented and still feeling the fear and panic of the dream, John had to look around for a moment to place himself. Home and Safe his mind quickly supplied. He didn't see any sign of Sherlock but the sound of the shower running quickly solved that mystery. John sighed realizing that was probably why Sherlock hadn't woken him from the dream or been there the second he cried out. He slumped back into the chair as he calmed, wiping tears from his face with a shaky palm. He really didn't feel like explaining the dream or the tears to Sherlock now. He wasn't even sure he Could explain it to him…..what it had been about. John glanced down and found his hand spread across his abdomen. "...a child crying….lost in the dark…" With a shuddering breath John drew his hand slowly away from his abdomen and found fresh tears falling, he understood exactly what the dream was about and he didn't want to face the thoughts or emotions it brought up. The sound of the shower cut off and John knew Sherlock would be out shortly. He viciously rubbed the tears away and grabbed a book off of the side table to appear busy.

Sherlock appeared moments later still towelling his hair dry. Happy to see John awake he smiled and questioned, "Did you sleep well?" John just smiled in return, nodding his head and rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

"I just woke up before you came out. And actually, if you can give me a hand up, I need to go to the bathroom."

Sherlock noticed John's eyes were a bit red but he had just been rubbing at them. Probably slept hard then, still getting himself awake. He offered John his forearm, grasping each other elbow to wrist, he helped John ease to his feet once more.

After a moment to be sure of his balance John spoke, "After I'm done I'll see about some supper for us, yeah?"

Sherlock instantly challenged this notion, "No...sorry...You, need to rest! Besides Ms. Hudson left us a stew, so you can relax and enjoy it." Kissing John on the nose he continued, "I know you will want a bath. Do you want to eat before or after?"

John thought for a moment. It hadn't been long enough for more pain pills and he was feeling as good as he was likely to physically for the moment. Decision made he replied, "Best do it now before the pain meds wear off. Then I can eat a good meal before it's time for more meds and bed."

Sherlock nodded in agreement, "I have everything ready for you. Come on then."

John stopped him quickly with a hand on his arm. "Do you mind giving me a few? I do still need to use the bathroom and then you can come help me, yeah?"

Sherlock tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Just call me when you're ready."

John made his way into the bathroom. Getting his pants down was easy enough and he held the towel bar to help ease himself down onto the toilet. He quickly removed and disposed of the sanitary pads after checking the amount of bleeding present and determining it to be normal enough. He honestly didn't know how to deal with this part of his healing. This wasn't a normal injury from some criminal. This was a painful reminder of his Omega nature and his failure as the same. John had built his life around the image of a strong man, which he was, but he still struggled to cope with this very feminine part of his nature. He didn't want Sherlock to see this, to see him as less than a man or even as a failure as his Omega. What if he wouldn't want him after this? Sherlock could have had anyone he wanted ever. And John? He was just John, a man fortunate enough to gain Sherlock's affections and he just couldn't shake these insecurities, especially now. After he finished John stood at the sink and washed himself gently, removing the worst of the blood for now then rinsing out the cloth and burying it in the dirty towels. Since the water was on he went ahead and quickly brushed his teeth before calling in Sherlock.

Sherlock couldn't help his raised eyebrows when he found John naked from the waist down and his shirt unbuttoned, waiting for his help. John merely cocked his head and gave him an eye roll, "I'm not exactly helpless you know?!"

Sherlock smirked and moved to help John with his shirt and removing his dressing before starting the water and stripping out of his pajamas to get in with John. John wanted to protest but knew he wouldn't even be able to lift his arms enough to wash his own hair.

The warm water felt so good on John's aching body that he just stood for long moments underneath the spray. Seeing John fully naked for the first time since the accident Sherlock took in the breadth and depth of the bruising to John's body. Random lacerations among the vicious purples and blues spread across his back, trailed over shoulders and down his chest to his abdomen. Brought face to face with injuries severe enough to cost them their child, Sherlock could only be thankful they did not also cost him John. Sherlock managed to hold back and let him relax for several minutes but finally wrapped his arms around John. Pressing close to his mate's back, nuzzling into his hair, and kissing the nape of his neck, Sherlock realized he wasn't sure who needed this comfort more, him or John. John relaxed back into Sherlock as well, leaning his head back onto the shoulder there and resting his arms on top of those around his waist. They were silent taking in the peace each mate offered the other. Finally John sighed, turning in Sherlock's arms and placing a kiss to the middle of the pale chest in front of him, he said, "We should really get done before we turn into prunes or freeze when this water turns cold on us."

Sherlock gave John a chaste kiss and reached for the shampoo. He quickly washed and rinsed John's hair for him then soaped up a cloth and gently washed over John's torso, arms, and back. Sherlock was aware of John tensing as he moved down his body with the cloth so he paused. After a moment John sighed heavily and spread his legs for Sherlock to continue. Sherlock was not surprised to see fresh blood on the cloth but quickly deduced what had John so tense. He made no comment just continued to gently wash John until they were done and then made sure the soap rinsed clean. Sherlock stepped out, dried quickly, and redressed in his pajamas so he could have a towel waiting for John when he stepped out of the shower. He dried John off quickly and helped him with pants and pajama bottoms. Once again conscious of John's tension, Sherlock nodded his head toward the toilet, "I'll give you a few minutes? Come in the kitchen when you're done and we'll see about your dressing."

John was so surprised by Sherlock's unspoken understanding that he could only nod. Left alone, he saw to clean pads and pulled his pants and pajamas back up. Feeling a bit relieved by Sherlock's lack of comment, John squared his shoulders, grabbed his shirt, and walked into the kitchen. Their med kit and all the dressing supplies were already waiting. Sherlock had the chair pulled out for John and waited while he sat down slowly, then made swift work of the new dressing considering he had nearly as much practice as John now. Helping John with his loose cotton shirt, he questioned, "Do you want to eat here or in the sitting room? I put the stew on to warm already."

John indicated the sitting room and moved that way while Sherlock put away the supplies again. John chose to sit on the sofa this time so he and Sherlock could sit together and eat….maybe watch some telly. John absently flipped it on but left the volume down and didn't bother to pick a show. Even though the shower had felt great it had sapped all of his energy again and he felt exhausted. No surprise then when Sherlock brought a tray in with the stew, bread, and tea, he found John dozing with his elbow on the armrest and his chin in his palm. John roused quickly to Sherlock's cleared throat and happily took his tray breathing in the succulent stew. Sherlock returned in a moment with his own tray and sat beside John. The telly played on mindlessly as background noise while they both ate heartily. John raised his eyebrows when Sherlock actually emptied his own bowl, granted his serving had been smaller than John's but it was still a rare occurrence. Sherlock merely shrugged and said, "It was quite good! We really should get the recipe from Ms. Hudson."

John chuckled while Sherlock cleared away the trays and returned with another tall glass of water and John's pills. John swallowed them down and handed back the glass of water. Sherlock put the glass away and quickly returned to pull John into his arms. They sat peacefully John resting his head against Sherlock's shoulder while he flipped through a few channels. Now full and tired, with his meds starting to kick in, John found himself fighting to stay awake as he wondered if he would have the same dream again. After jerking awake for the third time Sherlock turned off the telly and encouraged John to go to bed.

"Why don't you go on John? I really need to look at my emails after three days away and you need rest. I promise I will be quick about it and come in as soon as I am done."

John nodded and leaned over to kiss Sherlock sweetly. "Good-night love," he breathed against Sherlock's lips before applying another kiss to them.

Sherlock rose to help John up from the low sofa. Hugging John to him as tightly as he dared he returned the kiss, "Good-night love. I'll be in soon. Rest well."

John nodded and headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then to the bedroom closing the door softly behind him.

Alone.

He actually had a few moments alone. It probably wasn't the best thing now but John was feeling desperate for some time alone. Sherlock had not left his side for a moment and John did understand. Truly, after the scare of the accident it was instinctual as much as from love, Sherlock needed to see John to know he was okay, needed to be there for him to provide comfort and care. John understood….he always understood. But since he woke from the dream this evening John had fought with himself and his memories. Being here only brought back the last night he was home, all it was supposed to be and all that had happened. Yes, Sherlock had apologized and yes he was sincere. John only had to look into those eyes to see the depth of Sherlock's own sorrow over the night. And John knew without even discussing it that Sherlock was busy thinking of any and everything he could do to make up for that night. John just wasn't sure it was something that could be made up. Forgetting the anniversary perhaps….given time. The child? The child he couldn't even come to terms with himself so far, truthfully didn't even know if Sherlock had wanted it, so how could Sherlock be expected to make up for that? For an accident? He didn't cause it, he couldn't have stopped it. 'Yes he could," the voice in John's head not so helpfully supplied, "He Could have done what he promised and remembered your bonding anniversary then you would have been out with him instead of joy-riding in a cab." STOP IT! John shook himself trying to stop that train of thought. It wasn't Sherlock's fault, the accident could have happened anytime! Bloody Hell it could have happened when we were together in the cab and then where would we be?! Neither of us could survive if the other died!

John truly was tired but he needed these moments alone. Placing both hands on top of the bureau he leaned forward closing his eyes as he tried to calm and gather his thoughts. When he opened his eyes once more he found himself staring at the papers confirming his pregnancy from Doctor Johnson's office. The papers felt like another glaring accusation of failure to John, a reminder that he was broken and he felt an instant spark of rage at the situation. "No point in keeping these around anymore," he grumbled out loud as he crumpled all of them together and threw them in the small bin by the bed as hard as he could manage. "No anniversary….no anniversary present." he ground out bitterly as he crossed over to the window. John knew his temper was a personal shortcoming and he always worked to control it. Usually he succeeded very well. Right now he wasn't even sure what he was so angry at; himself, his body for betraying him, Sherlock, the drunk driver who caused the wreck, or the world in general. He stared out the window into the night breathing as deeply as he could manage trying to sort his thoughts and emotions. He finally decided he was angry about the papers simply because they made him face reality. However he wasn't pregnant anymore and that was that, he tried to tell himself. The papers didn't matter without the outcome they promised, the joy they had represented. They meant nothing but failure….failure….failure, the Omega decided to add to the party in John's mind and heart.

John continued to stand at the window, seeing nothing as his thoughts turned inward. He hadn't failed he told himself. His child, Their child had been taken from them in a cruel twist of fate. It should have been easy enough to let go, John had never planned on children, had never even discussed it with Sherlock...it just happened. He should be able to let it go, forget about it he thought. But he couldn't. He remembered his earlier dream and what it implied. Their child was real and John had wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted, short of Sherlock himself, and now it was no more. John realized he was crying again at the same moment he found himself rubbing his now empty abdomen, no life to be found, no child of theirs.

With a sudden sob, John rushed to the bin and retrieved the papers. Unfolding the wad he had made, smoothing out the pages until they were relatively flat again, John pressed them to his chest, crawled into bed, and wept. "You were real," he said softly to the empty room. "This is my proof. You were real and you were here, you shared my body and my life for a time. I am so sorry it wasn't longer...so sorry I will never know you, never get to show you the world. I will miss you for the rest of my life and beyond." John wept, muffling his sobs in his pillow, until exhaustion and medication caught up with him and he fell deeply asleep.

When Sherlock came to bed an hour later he found John sound asleep. However the red, puffy eyes were apparent and John still clutched the papers to his chest. "Oh my John," he sighed, sadly brushing his fingertips through the coarse, sandy hair and brushing his thumb across the trail of dried salty tears on one cheek before he bent to kiss it. Sherlock started to take the papers and lay them back on the bureau but decided to leave them with John. Crawling into bed behind John, Sherlock pulled him close to his front and wrapped an arm around his waist. Mycroft was right he thought. They would have to talk about this to be able to move forward. Sherlock knew he was often no good with emotions, but now he was convinced John was keeping things to himself because he felt he couldn't talk to him. And he was hurting, much more deeply than physical pain. Sherlock vowed to himself that he would be there for John. He would listen and he would talk about his own thoughts and feelings…..anything he could do to help John.

Nuzzling close to John again, he whispered, "I love you John Watson. And we will make it through this together. I am not going to promise and fail you, I am simply going to do. We will make things right love. You will see." Kissing John's cheek once more Sherlock settled to sleep still keeping John snug in his embrace.

John slept soundly that night with no dreams to trouble his rest.

Author's Note: I can not let another chapter pass without a Huge Thanks to Domino62 (AO3) for her Very Gracious assistance reading and advising me regarding John's physical and emotional state. :-D It has been Tremendously helpful! I am always SO appreciative of Laurie Whitlock for her tireless efforts reading and assisting editing. Thanks also to Ravenwolf28 for laying an extra set of eyes on this chapter when I was too tired and hormonal to judge it anymore! :) Much appreciated my dear!

Sadly the BBC and the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle retain all rights and I own nothing except the angst in which I seem to excel and play! HAHAHAHA!