That Ship Has Sailed

John & Sherlock

A monitor beeped steadily across the room and a breathing mechanism sucked in and out gently and steadily, aiding Sherlock's breathing as he lay in bed. Wires hooked up to him, monitoring his vitals and declaring that he was, indeed, alive. Though the proof was right in front of him, John found it hard to accept.

"Two years," he whispered, "Two years I went without you and after a month--this..."

John paced the room for many hours, sat by his side for many more, and spent little time eating or sleeping.

"If I hadn't gotten there in time--"

He always cut himself off, not wanting to think of what would have happened if Mary had not sent him to check on Sherlock that morning. The sight was grueling to behold. blood was leaking from his veins where needles still stuck out and his hair was sweaty and matted. Scratch marks covered the back of his neck and empty bottles of liquid were carelessly dropped all over the floor.

Dry patches were on his forearms where nicotine patches had been. Apparently, they had not been enough to satisfy this time.

"John?" a quiet voice came from the doorway. John looked to see Mary standing in the doorway.

He quietly looked back at Sherlock as he stood and walked to her, rubbing his tired eyes, "Hi," he whispered, closing the door behind him as he entered the hallway, "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm just worried about you. You've hardly been home in weeks."

"I can't leave him all alone, you know that," John tried to stifle a yawn, but it escaped anyway, "No one will visit him," he yawned, "No one cares enough."

Mary put her hand on John's arm, "Don't kill yourself in the process of healing him. If he wakes up and sees you like this--"

"If?" John asked in horror, "What makes you say 'if'? Have you spoken to a doctor?"

"No, John, calm down. I meant 'when'. When he wakes up, he's not going to want to see you like this. At least eat something."

John rubbed his eyes again, his heart rate slowing to it's normal pace again, "I'll get something later. I want to be there when he wakes up, so I don't like leaving."

"I know," Mary said, "That's why I brought you this," she held up a thermos, "It's soup."

John managed a small smile and took it, kissing her forehead, "Thank you," he replied, starting to go back into the room.

"Are you ever going to come home?" Mary asked, pulling her sweater tighter around her.

John looked back, pain in his eyes. He looked through the cracked open door at Sherlock, still breathing peacefully and looking calm for the first time since he'd known him. He then met Mary's gaze, his eyes softening with a glance that he didn't know the meaning of.

"I don't know," he whispered, finally.

Mary nodded slowly and turned to leave, but turned back quickly and said, "You know what, John?  Don't bother coming home. I can see where your loyalties truly lie."

"Mary, please, don't talk like that--we're to be married soon..."

"What if he's not awake by then?" Mary tested.

John closed the door again, shushing her gently, "Then we'll post pone. I can't go through with it if he's not standing up there by my side."

"What about me standing up there by your side? That's what you envisioned when you asked me to marry you. He wasn't around then, was he? What changed?"