Keeping the Strength to Fight

Chapter 22- John

An incessant murmur permeated the air, seeping in from down the corridor of the HDU ward. John stared at the ceiling, trying to block it out before his anger got the better of him.

But it was just so annoying.

His turbulent mind buzzed with thoughts and sounds. He couldn't grasp a single one without it being dragged away into the overwhelming tornado of emotion that ground into the base of his skull. A headache was forming.

He sighed again; the fifth time since he got out of theatre almost two hours ago. His third operation since he arrived yesterday, or so he had been told. He conked out on the way over in the ambulance, the past days exertions finally catching up to him. And luckily before the full extent of the pain did.

He ached. Everywhere. His head, his chest, his back, his legs - even down to ends of his fingers. He guessed it was an after effect of the paralyzing drug.

Well, that and the injuries he had sustained.

Broken ribs, punctured lung, fractured humerus and scapula, along with the cuts, bruises and sores that coated his now-fragile body. He hadn't yet seen his reflection, but he didnt need to. He knew he looked like crap.

Another sigh.

"That Bastard."

That infuriating, impossible, stubborn, cruel, childish, selfish, rude, heartless Bastard

"He let me believe that he was dead for three years.
THREE YEARS

What kind of friend does that?"

He simmered for a moment before a more rational part of his mind took over.

"...Maybe a good one?"

The thought was confusing, but at the same time, it made perfect sense.

So far, he had let anger drive his thoughts. But maybe, he thought, he should find out what Sherlock has to say.

He could still be furious at him, as he deserved, but at least then he would know why.

Why his best, and only, friend had deceived him; had left him believing that he had plummeted to his death. Had allowed him to mourn; to BURY him.

He took a breath, ragged with fury, trying to push the image of Sherlocks crumpled body out of his mind.

He knew there was an explaination. He had already thought of one, before all of this happened; blackmail.

Though he couldn't explain how anyone would begin to blackmail Sherlock, even Moriarty.

But that was when he was dead. Alive, he must have had a whole other motive entirely.

Why lie? What could possibly stop him from just saying he was alive?

Maybe he just didnt think it was important.

Maybe he just didn't care.

John didn't like how likely that possibility was.

He was distracted by a crash outside, tearing him away as he began to grow solemn.

He thought he heard shouting and rapid apologizing from someone in the corridor, he assumed something had been knocked over. He laughed lightly, glad for the distraction. He needed to stop wallowing and relax; behaving like a teenage girl wasn't helping anyone.

He closed his eyes and rested his head back. He could almost feel the morphine numbing his senses, as it had been all day.

"Sherlock would've loved this." He mused.

...

Would.

He would love it.

Present tense.

Not dead.

He opened his eyes and realised that the one thing he had been hoping for since the fall had actually happened.

Not. dead.

He smiled.

"Not dead."

The spoken words tumbled into the air. They paused, floating there for a moment like they couldn't quite believe they had been spoken at all. But then they shot like bullets, jolting John as they embedded in his chest; the soft sound a whisper in his ear.

He caught his breath back.

"You actually managed it, Sherlock;" He whispered like a prayer, "One last miracle."

The arrogant sod actually came back from the dead.

He chuckled again, but it was a humourless chuckle. One laced with annoyance and fatigue.

He just got his life back on track again... what the hell was he supposed to do now?

And more to the point, what was Sherlock supposed to? He was dead to the world, literally, and no one trusts him anyway. How was he supposed to get work? And will the police come for him again? Him and his stupid hair.

John rubbed his temples, feeling another headache forming. He frowned.

"What is with the hair!?"