Amnesia

Chapter 1: Condition

Hi! I started writing this story 3 years ago, and after heavy editing I am finally finished and happy with it! Enjoy. 

-Felix

____

"John. Stay with me John." Sherlock rasps. Fire. Johns eyes struggle to look at Sherlock, to focus on him. To stay awake. Stay alive. He wills himself to stay alive.

"Sher....Sherlock..." He manages to swallow another cough.

"John, look at me. Breathe." But John's eyes flutter and close. Sherlock reaches a hand over and checks his pulse. Light. Fast. The cab is flipped over and the driver is dead or unconscious. John has lost a lot of blood and Sherlock is forgetting how to breathe.

Breathe. Stay alive for John. Sherlock thinks. He disappears into his mind palace for a last desperate breath of life.

"Oh Sherlock...what ever will John do when you die? He'll cry. Especially now you both know." Moriarty says in a singsong voice. A cage. Fire burning his feet.

"Dead. Death isn't so scary you know." He whispers through the iron bars.

Sherlock pledges ignorance to his taunts. He stumbles toward a door that leads to a roof. St Bart's. Mycroft stands on the edge, eyeing the ground beneath.

"He's going to die Sherlock."

"Think. How do you stop it?"

"Pressure."

"Right. Then do it." He says. Sherlock is violently snapped back into reality, in the wrecked car. He looks over at John and the glass shard in his stomach. He places a hand on Johns face and pleads.

"John. Please stay alive. I need you. I'm so sorry." He places pressure around the glass shard. He knows it will stop the blood from coming out long enough for the ambulance to get there.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you John." Sherlock finally hears sirens in the distance and he wills them to come and save John.

'Save John.' He thought. He feels a tear flow steadily down his cheek and his eyes struggle to open. The sirens are closer now.

"John." He takes one last breath before his eyes close.

-

"John." Is the first word that comes out of Sherlock Holmes when he awakens. A sharp pain pierces his chest. He opens his eyes and looks at the constantly beeping monitor.

The morphine machine next to him is off. Sherlock groans and turns it on. He pumps as much of it into his body as possible to his veins. He clenches and stretches his hands, breathing hard. He finally turns it down to the lowest setting.

"John!" He rasps. A nurse with brown hair knocks on the door and smiles. She has sharp features and a skinny, small figure.

"You're finally awake, Mr. Holmes! How are we feeling?"

"Wheres John?! Is he...?" He asks her.

"Don't worry. Hes fine. Pain on a scale of one to ten."

"Six." 'Eight.'

"Alright. And can you tell me what+ happened?"

"Car crash. I need to see John."

"Hold on there. You have 4 broken ribs, a sprained wrist, and a nasty concussion. You aren't going anywhere." He takes a deep breath, but stops as soon as he feels it begin to ache. His wrist is wrapped, though he can't feel it. Sherlock feels pain in his head but he doesn't care. John is the only thing that matters.