Aftermath

15~John's POV

"So when's the wedding?" Anderson asks. I straighten up and chuckle.

"Oh, Anderson. You're still here. Lovely. Ahhhhhhhh...." Sherlock moans and closes his eyes. We all just stare at him, speechless.

Sherlock grabs my hand. "Never... never... doing...morph...nggggghhh...." Sherlock groans so loud it sounds as if he's screaming.

He opens his eyes, just barely, looks at me, and says, "I love you..."

Then his eyes close.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?" I'm scared now. He's not responding. He's not dying or seizing though, so I don't know what's wrong.

Doctors come in. "Dr.Watson you need to leave the room."

I look up and notice everyone else has left already. I shake my head. 

"Alright," Dr. McGhee says.

I grab Sherlock's hand, not caring that I'm probably in the way. they lay him flat on his back, and open his mouth. One of the doctors - a resident judging by the lighter blue scrubs - puts a scope in his mouth. Then she sticks a tube down his throat, intubating him. 

"Doctor Watson?" I look up. "We think Mr. Holmes maybe in a coma."

"A coma? As in he might not wake up?" I think of all the things I didn't get to do with him, to say to him.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Why? How? He was fine and then he was..." I notice one of his IV bags, the one the nurse hooked up.

"You gave him morphine!" I yell.

"What?" Dr. McGhee walks over to Sherlock's IV. "Dear God... Dr. Watson I swear I did not order morphine! I hadn't ordered anything yet!" I can't tell if Dr. McGhee is lying or not. 

"Well thanks to you, my... my uh..." I can't think of what to call Sherlock. "Sherlock might night wake up!"

"Dr. Watson, I swear, I will find out who did this." He gives me a pleading looks, as if to say, don't sue me, please don't sue me. 

"Just leave," I spit. He nods and walks away. I lean down, close to Sherlock's face. "Sherlock Holmes, I love you. I had to watch you die, and live with that for three years. Then, yesterday, I made you overdose." This is my fault. The thought threatens to choke me, but I continue. "You've coded three times in the past twenty-four hours, and had a seizure. Now you're in a coma. I know you can beat this. Wake up, Sherlock. Wake up, for me." I let the tears fall. I let myself cry. I'm angry. At the nurse, Dr. McGhee, and, most of all, myself. I begin to cry louder, so loud I think I'm moaning. I hear footsteps, and hope they keep walking, walk away from the crying man in the room of a coma patient. 

"John?" I hear someone say. I shift in my seat to look at who spoke. I see Mycroft standing at the foot Sherlock's bed, as if he belongs there.

Which he doesn't.

"Mycroft? What are you doing here?" 

"I wanted to check on my brother."

"Well, he's in a coma." And you couldn't be bothered to visit at all today while he was awake. 

"Because of the morphine?" Mycroft asks it as if he already knows the answer.

"Not his morphine."

"What do you mean?" Mycroft's face is full of shock, and confusion.

"Well, he had a seizure, and the doctor said he was going to hook him up to some painkillers for the headache it left. The nurse walked in, hooked him up to something, then walked out. A few minutes later, he started slurring his speech, the he passed out. Turns out he's in a coma because the nirse gave him morphine."

"So the hospital is responsible?"

"Yes, at least for the coma, because I didn't do it, and neither did he."

"I'll find out who did this." Mycroft turns to leave, but I stop him.

"Mycroft, wait. I have something to tell you, although when Sherlock wakes up he'll probably want to tell you himself." I can't believe I'm telling him, but I feel everyone should know, just in case he dies.

"What is it?" Mycroft is confused, as if what I say is not all that important.

"Mycroft, your brother is... well, he's..." I take a deep breath. "He's gay." A look of shock and surprise crosses his face. I take his lack of a response as my cue to continue. "And so am I." I had reservations about actually saying it, but I know now that it's 100% true. "And we're in a relationship. I think." I don't really know what we are.

Mycroft just stands there, staring.

All of a sudden, I feel a twitching on my hand. I look down, and watch as it happens again.

Sherlock's moving his thumb.

Sherlock's moving his thumb!

"Sherlock can you hear me?" No response. 

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asks cautiously.

There's no response.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, I'm still watching Sherlock's hand hoping it will move.

"That was a good sign, Dr.Watson. Unfortunately, he's still not awake."

I sigh. "Thank you, Dr.McGhee." He nods and leaves.

"That's the doctor?" Mycroft asks. "He's from America. No wonder he put my brother in a coma," he scoffs. 

I don't respond.

Sherlock, wake up! I know your in there! Wake up, damn it!

As I continue to scream obscenities at Sherlock in my head, I become painfully aware of the pressure on my hand. It's like someone is squeezing my hand.

Someone's squeezing my hand.

The only person I'm touching is Sherlock.

I'm about to say something when Mycroft's phone rings. "Excuse me," he says, and walks out into the hall.

I decide instead of calling Dr. McGhee again, and getting excited again, to respond to Sherlock squeezing my hand calmly.

"Sherlock? I think you can hear me. I hope you can. You squeezing my hand. And frankly, kind of hard." The pressure loosens. "So you can hear me. Sherlock, wake up. Please, wake up. Please. I lived without you for three years, don't make live alone for another minute. Please." I rest my head on the rail of his bed, when I hear it. It's weak, and faint, but I hear it.

"Nnh..."

"Sherlock?Sherlock!" Slowly, so painstakingly slow, his eyes open. He reaches a weak hand up to his mouth, and tries to pull the tubes out. There's obviously something he wants to say. I stand up and lean over him. I move his hand way. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, leave those tubes alone or so help me I will make you wear one of my jumpers." His facial muscles move, but I can't tell if he's smiling of frowning. Either way, he's awake. 

I push the nurse button on the wall. After what seems like an eternity a pleasant voice answers. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, this Dr. John Watson in room 805. Can you send Dr. McGhee down here when he has moment?"

"Of course. Anything else?"

"Um, yes actually. Can someone come take the tube out of my..." I hesitate a moment before taking a deep breath. "Can someone please come take the tube out of my boyfriend's throat?" I said it loud enough Sherlock can hear, and I really hope it doesn't make him angry.

"But sir, it says here that Mr. Holmes is in a coma."

"Well, he's not anymore."

"Oh my!" I hear footsteps running towards the room, obviously wanting to help Sherlock. 

A few seconds before they arrive, I notice Sherlock has taken to pulling at the tubing again. As a nurse, a resident and Dr. McGhee run in, I lean over him and whisper "Jumper." He lets his hand fall.