Lines and Numbers (Johnlock)

Chapter 13

I'm just gonna start to write this and go to sleep probably. (Update: That's exactly what I did, and I didn't pick it up for a month. I was too depressed and tired lol)
 I hope you guys enjoyed chapter 12. I love you all, stay safe! Triggers in this chapter are self harm, sui, ed, hospitals.

10:50 AM. 

I stood in a bathroom in some hall in the hospital, just staring at myself in the mirror, hoping I'd find the strength to do this. I was trying to mentally prepare myself for talking to Sherlock. I was a doctor, I was used to seeing people in hospitals. I was used to seeing blood, or vomit, or other gross things. I'd seen people who'd gone mad and attacked others, who'd been shot, or shot themselves- I'd seen the works. I had to do a lot of things as an army doctor, and I was used to a lot of things. Yet, when it came to Sherlock, everything seemed so much... scarier, so much more severe. I didn't want to freak out and make him upset, and be asked to leave.

I closed my eyes and took exactly fifteen deep breaths. Reluctantly, I turned off the light, opened the door, and stepped into the hall.

The cold of the hospital was something not too unfamiliar to me, but the cool air on my neck made the hairs on my arms stand up.

I walked through the halls, searching for the right one.

10:55

I was at his hall. The hall. Sherlock's hall. And I couldn't go in. I was just standing there, frozen, like there were chains around me, holding me in place. I didn't know what to do. I just couldn't move.

And then, finally, I did.

My legs moved of their own accord, walking down the hall.

Five doors until I reached his. I walked slowly, steadily, staring straight ahead. It was quiet that day in the hospital- the only sounds were ringing phones and far-off voices and the beeping of monitors. 

Four doors. I felt stiff, and my hands felt cold in the air. I shoved them in my pockets, becoming unsettlingly aware of my body. I felt every move I made through the air. Why was I so scared?

Three doors- no, two doors. I slowed my walk, realizing that I was rushing. I didn't want to be here, honestly. I wanted to go back to the flat. I wanted to lay in bed and read something and be calm and know that Sherlock was safe in his own room.

One door left. I froze. Again. I almost tripped. Hurriedly, I hunkered down to the floor and pretended to be tying my shoelace. In reality, I was fumbling the little string and anxiously preparing myself for what was about to happen. I was going to walk into his room, and see him on his hospital bed, and I would be crushed, and I would not show it, under any circumstances.

I managed to tie my shoe, and I stood up.

Deep breaths, I told myself, wiping my sweaty hands on my vest. Deep breaths.

11:03

I entered the room with my hands stuffed in my pockets and my eyes averted. I couldn't help but look up, though. And it happened. We made eye contact, and I saw him staring into my eyes, my face: examining me, deducing me. The line on his heart monitor jumped, just barely, but I noticed. He was as nervous as I was. There was a nurse there, sitting in the room, doing hospital work on his laptop. Of course there was- he's on suicide watch.

It's just a normal hospital room. It's just a normal patient. Nothing out of the ordinary. Calm down.

"John." He spoke first.

My breath hitched, and I coughed into my elbow several times. The man on the laptop noticed me. He nodded my way, then closed the laptop, and exited the room. It was just me and Sherlock.

"John?" He said again. I looked up at him and opened my mouth to say something- what, I don't know. I immediately reached my hand up to cover my mouth, trying to stifle what I knew was going to be a sob. I turned my head and acted like I was wiping my nose. I cleared my throat, and opened my mouth again.

"Afternoon, Sherlock." 

We just looked at each other for a moment. He blinked several times, and looked away. I walked toward him and took the seat closest to the bed.

"I-" Sherlock began, then cleared his throat. He was nervous, it was obvious. "I'm sorry, John. I wasn't- I wasn't thinking."

I stared at him. He glanced at me, and then fixed his eyes on a spot at the end of his bed. I just stared. I was shocked. I didn't know what to say.

"Wh- You're sorry?" I finally said hoarsely. I didn't even know my voice would be hoarse. He looked at me, and we made eye contact again. His eyes were drowned in guilt. I felt a lump in my throat, and coughed. He looked at the ceiling and began to speak.

"I- I shouldn't have done something like that. I didn't mean to make such a mess, and I- God, I shouldn't have done that at all, I don't know what I was thinking. I can't put you through something like that again, I can't do that to you- I'm so sorry, Joh-"

I put a hand on his shoulder to silence him.

"No." I squeezed his shoulder lightly, and he looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed.

"No?"

"No. This isn't your fault. There is absolutely no reason for you to apologize to me, Sherlock. I- You- It's not your fault. It's going to be okay." I swallowed thickly, and looked upward, away from him, suppressing tears. I felt him take my hand in his cold one, and I looked down at him. He smiled weakly at me, a sad smile.

"Okay, John. It's going to be okay." He pressed my fingers to his lips silently, and then let go of my hand. It seems like a small thing, I guess. It might not really mean much. I don't know, honestly. Him saying that, though, and him doing that- it restored everything in me.

I leaned down and pressed my lips against his cheek. He turned to me and took my face in one hand, and smiled a true smile this time.

"Come on, John. Keep doing things like that and my heart monitor's going to go off the walls.

11:12

I laughed again, and so did he.

I'm glad we still can. I hope to god there's no ice to break when he gets home, too.