Deerstalkers and Love Letters - Teenlock

10. Some Sunflowers And A Recovery

Sherlock makes his way down the corridor, fast-paced and the bunch of sunflowers gripped tightly in his hand. He had come here every day, he made sure of it. But it pained Sherlock every time he walked into the room and just saw his boyfriend lying there. Personally, he would describe John as in being like a rag doll. He looked almost lifeless, head propped up against some pillows, machines whirring in the background. Not a pleasant sight. But relentless, he returned every day, and sat there by his side. Every single time just hoping that today would be the day John wakes up.

His room's the last one in the ward. Cautiously, Sherlock pushes open the door and makes his way inside. The room's filled with light, and John's bed is sat in the corner of the room. He's in a fresh set of pyjamas, tucked preciously into the bedsheets. Sherlock's face crumples and he calmly pulls off his coat, placing it on the hook.
"Hi John," he says quietly, knowing fully that his boyfriend won't hear these words.
"I bought you some flowers like I told you I would."
He places the flowers carefully into the vase by John's bed and pushes John's hair back out of his face. Sherlock gives a weak smile before taking a seat next to the bed. Before he had left this morning Mycroft had said that this was pointless.
"It's not like he's going to wake up Sherlock. He's sick," his brother had taunted. But nevertheless Sherlock still taken a taxi up to the hospital.

The confrontation in the warehouse a few days ago felt like a nightmare. He had nearly lost John. But it troubled Sherlock to think that he was a murderer now. He had never liked the idea of killing someone. When he was seven, his father had taken him and Mycroft out on a hunting trip. About half an hour into the trip they had caught a rabbit in a trap they had set. Sherlock's father had handed him the knife and ordered him to kill it. He had cried all of the way home. But he felt the same way now as he had back then. Guilty. In Sherlock's opinion, it was all his fault that John was in this condition. His fault that Jim Moriarty's initials were now engraved on his chest, a permanent reminder. There's a tap on the door and a slim blonde woman enters, dressed in a nurses outfit.
"Sorry," she says brightly.
"But visiting hours are over now."
Sherlock stands up from his seat and gives John a quick kiss on the forehead, before grabbing his possessions and leaving the room. He'd be back tomorrow.

•••••

I awake to bright lights and a collection of muffled voices. I blink a few times before trying to sit up. But to my dismay, it's too hard and I just slump back against the mattress, exhausted. There's a hurried rush of footsteps and I squint up to see a woman leaning over me.
"Mr Watson!" she exclaims.
"You gave me a fright there. Well I'm glad to see that you've woken up."
I frown slightly and reach for my head, feeling, to my surprise, the tip of a bandage.
"I changed your bandages for you this morning," she continues chirpily.
"How do you feel?"
"Strange," I manage to mutter before closing my eyes again. My whole body feels numb. If I'm in a hospital ward then that means they've filled me up on morphine to keep the pain at bay, but in all honesty I'm not complaining. The nurse smiles grimly at my comment.
"I'm sure you do," she says, her face dropping.
"You were in an awful state when they bought you in."

After initial confusion I finally understand what she means. Moriarty. Suddenly I'm overwhelmed with panic, causing the back of my head to burn with pain. The blonde woman watches me with a concerned reaction.
"Hey now don't worry yourself. Whatever happened, well it's over now," she says, trying to reassure me.
"I'm nurse Williams by the way. If you need anything then just give me a shout."
She gives me a smile before turning to leave.
"Oh and there's a young man who comes to visit every day. I'm guessing you know him," she says, her smile returning.
"He gave you those this morning."
She points over to a vase of sunflowers by my bed. And they're beautiful.

••••

I sit, propped up against some pillows in my bed, glancing miserably at the unappealing bowl of porridge before me. I poke at it with my spoon for a while before placing it to one side. I'm
Not hungry. In all fairness I haven't felt hungry since I've been admitted. The doctor's have pestered and pestered relentlessly but I just can't eat. It makes me feel sick. But there's another reason why I feel sick. Today's Christmas Eve. I should be with my family right now. I shouldn't be cramped up in this god-forsaken hospital, with nurses and doctors checking up on you every hour. However, yesterday they visited. Mum and Harry bought me a pack of celebrations which I've left ignored on the bedside table, while my father watched me almost disappointedly. I suppose it could of been worse. Milly and Mary also payed a visit, and we spent the time discussing school and Sherlock Holmes. But there's been no more news of Jim Moriarty.

I hear the door click open and I glance up to see Nurse Williams shuffling in, a smile placed upon her youthful face.
"You haven't eaten your breakfast again," she complains with a slight sigh.
"You need to eat something John."
I glance away.
"I wasn't hungry, sorry."
She eyes me suspiciously before the smile returns on her face.
"Anyway Mr Holmes is here to see you so I'll leave you two alone for a bit."

The second Sherlock strides through the door my face lifts. I was glad to see him here and it must be a reassurance for him to see me awake.
"Morning handsome," he says with a foolish grin.
I beam at him.
"I've just spoken with the doctors."
My smile quickly fades.
"And?"
"They're letting you go home."