when it began (johnlock)

Chapter 3

Hey everyone :) Already 50 reads! I'm feeling the love haha. This will be sort of a filler chapter, but don't worry! It's just creating suspense to lead up to following chapters. Hopefully this chapter will be a little longer than my latest ones, I've been working nonstop and rewatching Sherlock to make sure I'm not missing anything in my chapters. Also, my grandparents are moving, and I have a broken foot; so it's been tiring. Let's hope that this chapter gets up by the end of the week :).

Apologies for any mistakes, and thanks for reading!

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John woke up to the beating of a heart monitor which sounded like it was far off in the distance. His eyes slowly fluttered and struggled trying to open, but his strength had escaped his body. As soon as he woke up, people flooded in his room that were all dressed in smocks, and that was the last thing he remembered seeing. Faint noises clogged his ears, but that was it; it was almost like being dead.

"Dr. Watson, haven't seen you around in a while."

The doctor's eyes fully opened, finding that his whereabouts were in a hospital room. The medicine he was under still made him groggy, but he was able to acknowledge one of his friend's from the army leaning in the doorway.

"Thomas, pleasure to see you." John greeted him as he would any other person, except for the fact that he was heavily drugged and not in the mood to see anyone.

Thomas didn't seem to notice his mood, "I came as soon as I heard. You were on the news: The Attempt of Suicide from Holmes' colleague. I didn't know you knew the great Mr. Sherlock Holmes! I hoped to talk with you about--"

"I'm tired. Not in the mood." John snapped, his eyes lazily rolling.

There was a few moments of silence. "You know they have you on suicide watch; your doctor was planning on having you transferred to a local institution to help with your habits."

"What?" John now had his full attention on Thomas. "Since when? I'm fine; I don't need anyone's help."

"Well, according to your doctors, you do. They'll probably have you ready to leave by this coming Thursday--"

"Wasn't yesterday Thursday?"

"John, you've been in a medically induced coma for about 10 days. Today is Monday." Thomas had the same tone everyone had nowadays; they talked to John like he was child about to have a tantrum.

"Oh." Maybe this was an appropriate time to use that tone of voice, because John felt like he couldn't take another second strapped into that hospital bed, and all he wanted was one drink; one shot of vodka or whiskey or rum or anything at this moment, even a simple beer could keep him from snapping.

John used to love hospitals. When he worked at St. Bart's, he would meet the kindest people and loved to fix people. It was his safe place. Also like another home for him. But the last time he'd been in a hospital was for his boss to fire him, and the time before that, it was to see Sherlock's mangled body and wish him goodbye. He never did say his goodbyes, for he thought Sherlock was still alive; somewhere in his soul he knew that he was out there. Even still, it was too painful for John to be in a hospital. And what takes away pain? Alcohol.

Several moments of silence passed, and Thomas decided it was finally time to leave, and they said their farewells. John stayed up alone in his room for several more hours, until finally he fell asleep.

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John and Sherlock walked into the back alley of a street and Sherlock was adjusting his scarf. He unbuttoned the top of his coat and ruffled his hair slightly.