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I don't understand the titles of the chapters.. I don't know why I choose these titles it just happens.          -------------------------

Sherlock was loaded into an ambulance and John numbly followed. It was one of the most awful things he had ever experienced. It was almost sickening to watch as such a bright and beautiful person just faded away. The paramedics checked Sherlock’s vitals and went through their routine and then John heard them say,

“Patient: Status 1, GCS 3.” John knew they used these codes to keep people calm, but John happened to be a med student meaning he understood what they were saying. Sherlock was in critical condition, the threat on his life was immediate and possibly the worst of all, he was in a coma. If they managed to get the poison out of Sherlock’s system before it killed him he would still be in a coma for who knows how long. John made a choking noise in attempt to hold back his tears.

 

When they arrived at the hospital Sherlock was whisked away to the ER right away. The poison needed to be flushed out of his system right away. John knew he couldn’t follow Sherlock into the ER but he tried anyways. A nurse held him back saying, “I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there.” John stood there numbly until he felt his throat constricting. His vision blurred and John started gasping for breath, taking in short shallow lung fulls. With a hand fisted in his shirt, he slumped against the nearest wall now too dizzy to stand. His head was swimming and his hand hurt from clenching it so hard. It had been like this when his dad died. When he had heard the nurse say, “I’m sorry he’s gone,” his whole world had closed in on him and it had felt like the oxygen had been stolen from his lungs. The nurse had handed him water before anything had gotten as bad as it was now. Sipping it had stopped his throat from feeling so tight so he didn’t feel the need to inhale rapidly.

 

John sat in the waiting room after he had calmed down. He felt exhausted, but hyperventilating did that to you. He couldn’t fall asleep though, so his hands were clutched around a cup of coffee. Minutes turned into an hour and it all went by so slowly. Tick tock tick tock tick tock. He stared at a spot on the ground. It was a red, blood red, spot that danced around the floor every time John blinked. It maybe had been red as blood once upon a time. But what did he know? There was a man was sitting next to him. Looking at his phone with legs crossed. He reminded John of Sherlock. His hair was red instead of black but somewhat curly liked Sherlock’s. He was wearing a posh 3-piece suit and shiny shoes. John couldn’t help but stare at the man and felt the same brilliance exuding from him as Sherlock had. 

”You know, it’s rude to stare” the man said. He had that deep rumbling voice that Sherlock had. He had to be related to Sherlock.

Before John could even ask, the man smiled and said, 

”I’m Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft, and you must be John.” John didn’t have time to wonder how Mycroft knew him before a nurse came. Her blonde hair was up in a ponytail. 

”Mr. Holmes, I need you to sign some papers,” she said. Mycroft gave her a smile and she giggled softly, which seemed both completely unprofessional and out of place in a hospital. Mycroft took the pen she gave him still smiling, but it faded when she had turned away. 

”So do you come here often?” John asked gesturing towards the nurse who obviously facie Mycroft. The older man rolled his eyes in a Sherlockesque manner. 

“Yes my brother happens to spend a lot of time at the hospital,” Mycroft sighed. 

“I guess that means you get see that nurse-is she your girlfriend- a lot.” John said while quietly panicking over Mycroft’s statement about Sherlock’s frequent visits to the hospital. He only realized when it was to late what his statement implied, but John hadn’t been trying to hit on Mycroft. Mycroft laughed softly.

“Girlfriends aren’t really… my division.” Mycroft said smiling to himself as though he’d said something funny. Probably an inside joke or something John thought. 

“Mmm yeah, not mine either,” John said without thinking and immediately wanted to punch himself in the face. Obviously, it was the same thing as saying, “I fancy you Mycroft,” and he hoped Mycroft didn’t take it that way because he hadn’t meant it that way, Oh God. Mycroft was what, around 25? That was six years older then him, but that wasn’t even the issue! Luckily one of the doctors came to talk to them just then stopping John from making more of a fool of himself. 

”Sherlock is stable for now, but we can’t tell yet how long he will be in a coma”. The “or if he’ll ever come out of it,” went unsaid but it was blaringly loud in John’s mind. He looked over to Mycroft for comfort but saw nothing more than a steady face. 

”Could I talk to you doctor while someone else takes John here to go and see him?” Mycroft asked in a way that made it clear it wasn’t really a question.

 

Sherlock looked so vulnerable in the hospital bed. There was tubes going in and out of him and looping all around. He was incredibly pale and his usually pink cupid bow lips were blue. John thought if he looked close enough he would be able to see through him now. John wanted to hold him tight and close. “Please don’t go Sherlock,” he whispered.

”Don’t you dare slip away from me now when we just have met.” It was unhealthy that John was so dependent on Sherlock already. Maybe this was his chance to get out, but John couldn’t do that. Just as he now needed Sherlock, he also craved the excitement that came with being near him. John sat down in the chair next to the bed. He took hold of one of Sherlock’s cold hands in both of his. John didn’t want to cry. He couldn’t cry not again, not this close to Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes could never know how weak he truly was.

--------------------------                                                                                                                                                                Isn't angst just the diddly darn grandest?