Chosen for Fate

John: Hospital

John had been transferred to the hospital at a base nearby for two weeks having surgery after surgery. Stop the bleeding. Heart valve popped. Shattered color bone. Reopening of stitches. An endless cycle of nurses and rooms and that fake reassurance he always hated. "It's going to be okay" he heard from a rather pretty but tired looking nurse as he was wheeled into another operating room. He wanted to say he knew it wasn't but he couldn't because one of his lungs were collapsing and all he could do was sound like a strangled carp gasping for air as his nails dug into the papery sides of his bed.

On a particularly good day where he didn't feel any internal bleeding or collapsing John was lying in bed in a normal room instead of a surgery room. He was thankful for the piece and quiet of not being hovered over by nurses but he couldn't escape the beeping he was hooked up to on his left. As a doctor he knew what everything did of corse so he checked periodically to see how he was doing. Steady heartbeat, well steady enough. As he was taking out his favorite novel the hobbit (his mother had read it to him as a boy and he had always dreamed of adventures) he felt a ping on his chest. He sat up rather too quickly getting searing pain from his shoulder as a response. The soldier regained his posture and took in a shaky breath before checking the monitors to find the source of the cold ping against his chest.

After checking over every monitor twice and finding nothing he lied back down and continued reading. He felt another cold flash run across his bare chest. With his quick reflexes he reached for his chest thinking he must have been bleeding but his fingers were met with the cold metal of his ring. He fingered with it for a moment running his thumb over the familiar letters he traced every time he had gotten out of surgery. He found the small dent in the side and thanked sherlock again and again for saving his life even though he didn't know him, but this time felt different. The ring was cold, too cold, colder than usual. John looked down to see small I've crystals forming around the curves of the S. Army instincts kicking in he just knew, something was seriously wrong with HIS Sherlock.

After the third day of cold pings ranging in temperature he decided to keep a journal of what the ring would do.
November 14: Small pings not to cold for about 15 minutes.
November 17: 20 large pings very cold. Ring took a while to get back to normal temperature.
December 4: The ring gradually got colder and I had to lift the chain up so it wouldn't freeze burn me. When it started to decrease it got colder again and again. I fear Sherlock is being stupid the prik.
John set down his pen with a deep sigh and laid his head back to try and relax.
~Drrreeeaaaammmmm~
He was on the sandy floor again his hair covered in dirt and rocks and blood seeping from his shoulder. His eyes fluttered in and out of focus. "JOHN!" He heard a deep voice call out to him from about 20 feet away as he heard the crunching of sand under feet coming towards him. "JOHN!" The voice said again as a mass of black curls blurrily appeared upside down in front of his vision. "John!" the man said kneeling down hands shaking. "Sherlock" John muttered out breathlessly as a small smile appeared on his face. He knew it was him because it was a dream of corse. He reached up with his good shoulder and spiraled his fingers through the soft blackish curls of his sherlock. HIS Sherlock who was here with him and might not ever be again. He moved his sandy fingers towards the back of his loves hair. He knew he loved him he knew it all the time. He messed his fingers into the back of Sherlock's perfect curls and pulled the angular face towards him to meet the soft lips that were all his. His gruff lips brushed the softness of his partners and soon they wer-"
John awoke with a start and winced as his shoulder punished him for the sudden movement. He was breathing rather heavily as he tried to grasp on to the last remaining pictures of what Sherlock looked like. The way his jawline went flawlessly into those cheekbones that he just wanted to run his fingers over and pull those lips towards his. He knocked his head against the side board of his bed in frustration. Of corse that's not what his sherlock looked like that was just a figment of his imagination ... That he wanted so incredibly bad. He wanted that man to be at his bedside kissing his knuckles telling him everything was going to be all right and snuggle up into his bed at night and stroke his hair and kiss his shoulder and -"ARG" John said between his clenched teeth as he rocked his head back against the headboard of his plastic hospital bed again. He had to stop thinking about sherlock for now. He had to get better and let his shoulder heal. Then he would go on an adventure and find that damn person with the name Sherlock. His ring got colder against his chest and remembered he needed to heal and find sherlock, fast before the idiot did something he would regret.

He didn't know it was too late.

[[AN! TA DA ! So this was kind of a filler but I have a gold idea for next chapter! Please comment your thoughts because it means so much that you guys read what I'm writing! Alright so long!]]