Strawberry Daiquiri

Chapter Three

John woke up with a head of dark curls beside him.

"Sher...lock?" he slurred, blinking groggily. He was in a hospital room, IVs in his hands and white blankets over his legs. Sharp pain shot through his shoulder as he shifted in a halfhearted attempt to take in his surroundings.

"John!" Sherlock cried, his head snapping up from its position on John's hand. "John, dear God. I told you not to die, you idiot!"

"Am I dead?" John asked. He coughed weakly, staring into the worried face of the man he loved. "Would explain why I'm looking at an angel." He grinned as widely as he could under the circumstances.

Sherlock didn't laugh. "You great bumbling buffoon. You almost died, and that's the first thing you say to me?"

"Forgive me for not being more eloquent," John replied, smiling. "It's been a while since I've seen you, lovely. And I'm high on painkillers. Morphine?"

"Morphine," Sherlock affirmed. "There are some ice chips here."

"Ta, that's great. Shoulder?" John asked as Sherlock handed him a cup.

"Shot," the detective replied angrily. John felt the emotion was directed more at the bullet than at him.

John hummed thoughtfully around an ice cube. "I think I remember it. I was- I was trying to help Johnson. He- Oh, God."

"John, I told you not to be a hero," Sherlock said angrily, narrowing his eyes. "I told you to be careful."

"That was years ago."

"Eighteen months."

"God, was it?" John mused. He coughed again before continuing, "Seems like longer over there. Nothing really stops." The soldier stared down into his cup, remembering the hot sand, the non-stop work on the injured, the dying, the dead, but there was always one thought to keep him going, to give him the hope of return. "God, I missed you."

"John-"

"I know you're pissed at me, lovely, but please let me kiss you," John pleaded. "I haven't seen you in so long, Sherlock."

John's beautiful detective leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Before he could pull away, John grabbed the back of his neck and kept him close.

"I love you," Sherlock whispered brokenly.

"I love you too," John replied.

Three days later, John was still in hospital, and Sherlock was still at his side. They were discussing Sherlock's new flat - the git had decided to move both his and John's belongings there without asking - when a man with silver hair and a haggard face barged in the room.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing here?" he demanded. "I've been texting you for... ages..." The man's voice drifted off as he noticed John on the bed.

"I don't care what case it is," Sherlock snapped. "I don't care even if it's a ten."

"Is this him, then?" the man asked, gesturing towards John.

"Sorry, who are you?" the blond asked, frowning.

The silver-haired man had the decency to look a little sheepish. "Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade-"

"Ah!" John exclaimed. "The DI! Captain John Watson. Come in." John gave a cheeky grin. "Thanks for keeping my crazy boyfriend out of trouble."

Greg laughed, all tension leaving the room at the sound. "He's a marvel on cases!"

"So I've heard. Thanks for letting him on," John replied, smiling widely. He held out a hand, wincing only slightly as Greg gingerly shook it.

"The Yard wouldn't solve half the cases they do if it weren't for me," Sherlock commented, glaring at Greg's hand.

"That's very true, and I'm very grateful," Greg said. "That being said, I do have a case for you."

"No."

"Sherlock," John started, "love, you can-"

"No, John," Sherlock interjected. "I want to be here with you. If I wanted a case, I would've bothered Lestrade about it already."

John shot a concerned glance at Greg.

"It's fine," the DI assured. "We'll figure it out. Uh, get well soon, then, Mr.-"

"John's a doctor," Sherlock snapped.

"Just call me John," the blond said, rolling his eyes. "Thanks, Lestrade. Best of luck on your case."

Lestrade nodded and left the room, but only after calling out, "Hope to see more of you, John!"

The doctor laughed as the detective inspector left the hospital room.

"Is your brother going to pop by again?" John asked. "I rather liked his last visit."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and John grinned.

"My brother simply wishes to accommodate your needs."

John sighed. "Do you think he remembers when I told him I wouldn't spy on you for money?"

"No, I- I'm sure he wants to make you comfortable here in London," Sherlock said. "He knows how important you are to me."

John felt his face soften. "Oh, my lovely Sherlock."

"You've called me that since the first morning we spent together," mused the detective. "Why?"

"Because it's true," John replied, "and I love you."

The doctor grinned as his boyfriend blushed.

"You're being discharged today, you know," Sherlock pointed out.

"I can't wait to see your flat," John said, beaming.

"Our flat," Sherlock corrected.

~*~

"Sh- Sher- No. No, God- Sh-"

"John?"

"Sher... No, God!"

"John!"

"SHERLOCK!"

"John-"

"Sherlock, God, are you okay? Shit, I'm so sorry-"

"It was just a nightmare, John. I'm okay."

"Did I hurt you? Shit. I'm so sorry, lovely."

"No, I'm okay. You didn't touch me. You're home, John."

"God, Sherlock, I-"

"No, John. It's okay. Everything's okay."

"I love you."

"I love you too, John. Come here."

~*~

Sherlock and John vowed never to let the other wake up alone again.