To the Ends of this Earth

Chapter Eleven

Fluorescent lights flashed overhead in a blur, people's voices and shouts came to Sherlock's ears but they were muffled and distorted. He stirred, vaguely aware of the speed of the hospital walls rushing by and the doctors hovering over him. His mind was sluggish and he couldn't put anything together but suddenly everything surged into clarity. John. Panic flashed over every inch of his skin as he tried to move, the doctors shouting over him became louder and he could tell that he was flailing all over the bed but he couldn't stop himself. It was like Sherlock was only watching his arms and legs kick, there was only one thing on his mind and it was burning a hole through him. John, John, John! He felt himself screaming but it was if his body had a mind of his own. Without warning there was a sharp pain in his bicep and everything faded to black, his mind still rushing as consciousness faded.

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For the second time that night Sherlock found himself waking up. He was in a small hospital room. The air was cool, the sheets were clean, and soft touches of twilight filtered in through the curtains. Still half-asleep he smiled to himself, happy that he was the only occupant. His eyes were closed as he nestled into the beige pillow, his soft curls falling over his face. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright in bed. John, the panic flooded back into him, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Sherlock kicked his feet out of bed and ripped his IV out, not feeling the pain. Something started beeping on the equipment next to his bed but he ignored it. Where was John?! He hurried across the small room, hospital gown swirling about him as his bare feet slapped against the cool floor. What if he was dead? His chest constricted and he almost fell, he couldn't be, John had to be alive. A nurse rushed into the room.
"What the hell are you doing out of bed?!" the lady shouted. She was small but it was clear that she didn't take shit from anyone.
"John," Sherlock choked, surprised at the weakness of his own voice.
Her face instantly softened, "Oh honey," she soothed, looking sympathetic.
"WHERE IS HE?!" Sherlock shrieked suddenly, shocked at his own outburst.
"Shush shush," the lady said, moving her hands up and down in a 'calm down' motion as she tried not to look scared of Sherlock. She failed.
Dizziness overtook Sherlock along with a wave of nausea, he couldn't take it anymore. He had to see John, even if he was dead he just had to see him one more time. He stumbled and fell to the ground. The nurse rushed to him.
"Sweetheart, it's okay, it's okay," she said rubbing his back.
"Is he- is he-" Sherlock tried to ask, but he couldn't bring himself to say it, not sure if he wanted to know the truth.
"No, he's not," hushed the small nurse.
Sherlock breathed in a huge gasp of air, feeling as if he could finally breathe again, tears of relief flowed freely down his cheeks. The cold hands that had been gripping his neck released and Sherlock felt like he-himself had just been saved from death. He clutched the nurse, "Thank you, thank you, oh thank you."
The lady only rubbed his back a little more in reply. "Your friends are here, but it looks like you need a little time to get yourself together before I tell them you're awake."
Sherlock nodded, his gut still twisted with worry, "Please, can I see him?"
"I'm sorry love," she said quietly. "He's in critical care."
This time Sherlock couldn't stop himself. He leaned over and dry heaved heavily towards the floor. Empty stomach curling and uncurling violently.
"It's okay! It's okayyy," she tried to soothe Sherlock as he cried into the floor. "The doctors say he's gonna pull through!"
This made him feel a but better but he still couldn't catch his breath. He was shaking now, he loved John with every fibre of his body and now there he was, bruised and bloodied all because of Sherlock. It was Sherlock's fault that John almost died, he still could die.
"It's all my fault," he whisper/screamed into the floor, squeezing fresh tears from his eyes.
"It's not, don't think that, please."
"He deserves so much better," Sherlock felt like there was a knife in his heart.
"You love him," the nurse concluded with a soft sigh.
Sherlock nodded as a strangled whisper escaped his lips. "Now he might never know."
"You'll get to tell him," the nurse said, trying to console the inconsolable.
"No I won't," Sherlock said, the tears stopping.
The nurse pulled Sherlock up so he was sitting upright, she looked him in the eye. "He's going to live Sherlock."
Sherlock shook his head "That's not why I won't." He paused, the nurse looked at him confused. He took a shaky breath, "He doesn't feel the same way, if I tell him then I'll loose him forever."
The nurse looked at him for a moment, unsure what to say. She smiled kindly, something knowing behind her eyes. "You'll loose him forever if you don't tell him."
Sherlock didn't say anything as the nurse guided him back to bed, exhaustion and soreness pulsing through his muscles.
"You're very weak," the lady said, reconnecting his IV. "You can visit him in the morning, try to get some sleep." She smoothed the sweaty hair on his forehead before leaving the room quietly.
Sherlock didn't sleep at all, his mind switching between frantic states of anxiety and hopeless fatigue. He tried to soothe himself to sleep by playing images of John back to himself: John laughing, John with wet hair, just woken up John, John in awe of his deductions, blogging John, smiling John, unshaven John, but none of them worked like they usually did. He got more and more worried as he tossed and turned and sorted through John's room in his mind palace. Morning couldn't come quick enough.

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Sorry for the slow updates, I know this chapter was short. The next one will come much quicker, I promise. Thanks to everyone reading this <3 you make me happy!

xx
-Johnlox