The Loving Detective

Vier

John didn't remember much in the hospital, or at least being brought into the hospital. He kept falling in and out of consciousness and the doctors persisted he got rest. This arm was wrapped in a tight cast and he had small nicks and cuts around his face from the small pieces of glass. His head felt heavy and no matter how many pain medications he requested, his headache continued on throughout the night.

Sherlock on the other hand was anxious and out of his mind. He kept asking about John and constantly telling the doctors to stop touching him. He was forced to lay down to get his foot temporarily in a cast, along with his wrist.

The night continued on, and the two men both laid awake in their separate rooms. The lights were dim and the ceiling was high, making an eerie effect. The slow beeping of their heartbeats was the only sound that echoed inside the rooms. Eventually as timed passed, Johns heavy eyes fell asleep by themselves, though Sherlock stayed awake.

Throughout the night, the only thing Sherlock thought about was how much he wanted to be with John. He wanted to be in the same room as him, he wanted to be directly next to him, he wanted to see him. The presence of John always calmed him, but not necessarily made him feel safe. John was chaotic and never thought before he acted or spoke. He liked to stir up trouble, but never fix anything afterwards. Being beside John, or just being able to see him calmed Sherlock down and let him know that John was safe with him.

The sunlight peaked through the blinds, and one beam of light decided to shine directly onto Sherlocks eyes. He attempted to turn on his side, but his entire body ached and he couldn't help but swear under his breath. Over the night, the pain medication must've worn off without him even realizing. Sherlock called for a nurse, which came and they happily closed the blinds for him.

"How was your rest?" The nurse asked.

"I didn't sleep." Sherlock replied dully. His head laid back onto the top of the pillow, and he stared at the ceiling begging for the nurse to just leave.

"Well why is that? It would've helped with the pain management overnight, I'm sure." The nurse just stared out the window.

"About that," Sherlock glanced over to them, "can I get more medication?"

"I'm sure it's alright, let me go speak with your doctor." The nurse hurried on out, leaving Sherlock happily alone in his room.

John on the other hand had just woken up. His dreamless night felt longer and more painful than normal. He woke up multiple times with pulsing pain in his arm or a pounding headache.

He wanted to be next to Sherlock, or have Sherlock sitting at the end of his bed like before. Before all of this. John couldn't stop thinking about how this is all his fault. Sherlock didn't even want to leave the flat in the first place, and if he didn't insist, they'd be perfectly safe in their cozy home. Though John had to stop his train of thought there. Sherlock cared too much about John to ever blame him for anything, even something as horrible as this. He'd find an excuse like the weather, or the cab driver, or even the sandwich at Marty's shop to blame what had happened. Sherlock would never blame John for a thing.

For a while, John had just sat in the hospital bed in complete silence. There was nothing to do except wait. Wait for him to go home. Wait for him to see Sherlock.

Around 11 in the morning, the nurse had dropped of Johns phone. Marty must've try to get to John to return it him, yet no sane person would let Marty be around sleeping people. He'd just shout and wake everyone.

The phone was surprisingly charged at 100% and John the first thing John did was call Sherlock. He didn't even know if Sherlock had his phone in the room with him, but he figured he'd might as well try and call him.

"John?" The coarse and tired voice of Sherlock picked up the phone.

"Hello, Sherlock." John couldn't think of what to say. It was a confusing feeling, too. He had known Sherlock for a few years and now in their worst moments, he had no idea what to say to him.

"Is something wrong? How'd you get your phone?"

"Marty must've dropped it off earlier. And I'm fine, for a broken arm and a pounding headache. I wouldn't be surprised if I had a concussion. And you?"

"This nurse told me she's getting more pain medication and hasn't come back. My body hurts, but nothing I can do." There was silence for a moment. The only thing that you could hear in the call was the slow and quiet breathing of them both.

"I want to be with you right now." John spoke up.

"I know," Sherlock admitted as tears ran down Johns fragile face on the other end, "I do too."

"I don't understand why this has to happen to us. I wanted a day out, and the universe, or the gods, or whoever wants to punish us." The salty tears had fallen into this mouth while his lips trembled.

Sherlock sighed, "don't blame anyone for this, except the tree."

John laughed, "I know you'd say something like that."

For the next two hours or so, they continued talking. Talking about life, plans, jokes, friends, or anything that flowed from the previous conversation. The time went by must faster than they thought it was, but soon it was time to say goodbye. Their doctors had to talk to them about surgery and future plans and they were told basically the same thing.

"We'd like to perform an MRI and some neurological tests to be sure if you have a concussion or some form of bruising to the brain. Along with that, we'd like to perform an X-ray on your injured limb, and just do an overall checkup on you. We don't think surgery will be necessary, but it'll depend on what we see in the scans."

Their situations didn't seem too bad considering the extent to their injuries. It was just one area with broken bones and maybe the chance of a concussion. They'd be back on their feet in no time, back with one another and living life normally, or so they thought.