Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles - A Johnlock Story

Doctors Office

Sherlocks POV

I grumbled the whole way to the doctor's office, and even in the waiting room. John, who had made the appoint, listened to it patiently. "Sherlock, it's going to be fine." He said reassuringly and placed his hand on top of mine. I looked over to my boyfriend, the anxiety clear on my features. I placed my head on his shoulder as we waited.

I seemed to be stuck in either a constant state of anxiety or bliss. It was an odd combination, and very new. I had grown so used to shutting my emotions out, that letting them all in felt incredibly weird, yet when I was with John, everything melted inside. My train of thought was interrupted by a nurse in dark green scrubs calling out my name.

"It's going to be fine, love," John shot me one last smile before I disappeared with the nurse. She lead me to a room where she took my vitals and explaining that the doctor would be in, in a moment. She handed me a hospital gown to change into and left. I changed quickly, feeling quite exposed and uncomfortable. The examination bench was hard, cold and extremely uncomfortable.

Being the patient in a hospital brought back all sorts of unpleasant memories. I rubbed my arms in the frigid room, remembering everything that had happened in the hospitals.

Mycroft was the only one in the room when I awoke. He had fallen asleep curled up in the chair next to the bed. I felt the pain everywhere and tried to stretch. I quickly realized I couldn't move my legs. Panic ran through my body and cried out in surprise. This woke my brother up, and he quickly came to my side. "I-I can't move my legs," I cried, desperately trying to get movement. I was sitting up, thrashing around. He pushed my back down, trying to calm me down. "Sherlock...." he began once I had calmed down. Tears fell from my eyes, and I looked to my brother for help. "There's been severe damage to your spinal cord, and.." tears sound his eyes too. "You.. you may not walk again." It barely reached a whisper, but I stopped dead. I shook my head, tears falling from both our faces. "I'm so sorry brother dear, I should've done more, I should've spoken up years ago, I-" his words came out in a tumble but I interrupted him. "YOU LIAR," I screamed in terror, agony, and anguish. He hugged me, crying out apologies. I was 16.

Mycroft was sitting in the seat next to my bed, his arms and head resting next to my arm. His head jerked up as he realized I was awake. "You're awake, you're alive," he whispered, his hair sticking up in random places and his glasses were askew. His eyes were red and raw from crying. "Why am I alive?" I whispered, my throat scratchy from disuse, and from the way the noose had crushed it. His face fell, and he looked down. " I found you, Sherlock, hanging from the closet. Why did you do this?" He asked, choking up. One part of me felt guilty, he was only 25 after all. The other part, the larger part, however, was furious. "Why did you save me?!" I asked, angrily. I was 17.

I was snapped out of my memories by a doctor walking in. He was a fair bit older than me, his hair gray, speckled with white. Dark circles were under his eyes, with pressure marks on his wrists. Pressure at work. He shook my hand as I relayed the story of my gunshot and pain surges. He nodded, looking over my chart.

"Well, as you said, there isn't an infection, and internal damage isn't likely, but there are a few tests we need to perform. The wait may take awhile, did anyone come with you? It may be best for them to wait with you, or at least be notified. Seasonal times always mean backed up machines, and this isn't an exception, unfortunately." I nodded to indicate that someone was here with me. I told him Johns name so that he could come wait with me. Just before he whisked out of the room, he turned around.

"The tests will only take 3-4 minutes, but the wait could be an hour or so." I nodded my understanding and he left. I continued to look around the sterile, white room as I waited. The white was blinding, and I shut my eyes to try to stop the flowing memories.