Chapter Text
Day 1
I didn’t tell him, John thought as his body shattered through the glass window.
On the other side, mangled on the pavement with shards piercing his skin and a limb or two out of place, that thought evaporated. Someone was yelling, but John’s eyes slowly slipped closed before he could comprehend the shouts. For an unconceivable amount of time, John was in darkness, catching a few murmurs of incoherent sounds, presumably words, and the occasional tingles along his hands and arms. When he awoke, it was to dim sunlight streaming through the blinds and a choking aroma of flowers, and it only lasted for a second.
The second time John woke up, he was surrounded by darkness still, but that was easily explained when he flickered his eyes to the window, the blinds now closed. In front of the window, sitting in a chair with his head lolling over his shoulder, was Sherlock. He was fast asleep, and as John fell back into…whatever, he produced a thought, the act itself feeling as if he hadn’t done so in ages.
Well, at least he’s sleeping.
The third time John woke up, it was to the sound of someone moving beside him. He flickered his eyes open, but his vision remained blurry. The figure beside him moved closer, and then there was noise. John blinked and focused his vision, and parted his mouth to speak up, but he couldn’t form a word. As he listened closely, the person was speaking to him, but he couldn’t understand exactly what they were saying.
The person fell quiet, and then squeezed his shoulder gently as she went around his bed and headed out the door. As the door closed, John’s vision slowly started to come into focus. He was lying nearly flat on his back in a bed, and he could see glimpses of wires, tubes, and metal railings around him.
Oh, hospital, John sluggishly realized. He looked to his left, where there was a window with its curtains partially opened. He could see a glimpse of the outside, and noticed it was bright outside. He turned his head to the direction of the door, and noticed a window revealing the hallway. That was when John saw him.
Sherlock walked down the hall towards John’s door, but then paused and leaned against the window, his back to John. John furrowed his eyebrows and tried to sit up, however a tingle of pain shot through his body, and he immediately stopped the effort. Growing frustrated and even more confused, John tried to raise his hand in order to catch Sherlock’s attention, but he only managed to twitch his hand, and then it remained still.
John sighed, and looked back at Sherlock. His friend’s head was hanging and it looked like he was focused on the floor. After a few moments of uncertainty, Sherlock turned around and entered John’s room. John slowly raised his eyes and met Sherlock’s, who was hesitant in his steps but looking directly at him.
Sherlock came up to the edge of the bed and ran his gaze over John’s body, likely deducing. Finally, he looked back at John and grinned, his face relaxing with relief.
“Finally,” Sherlock sighed.
John heard him, but it took him a few seconds to understand. He continued to furrow his eyebrows, in which Sherlock took as a sign to continue to speak.
“You’ve been in a coma, John,” he explained softly. John could feel himself getting more frustrated, and he couldn’t fathom why. He was still confused, and the information he was getting was too slow. He nodded his understanding, and twitched his hand in order to signal Sherlock to continue. Sherlock’s eyes flickered to John’s hand, and then slowly sat down with a sigh.
“You’ve been like this for...” He paused and looked at John. John looked up at him steadily, urging him to continue.
“For three months,” Sherlock said. John inhaled automatically, and his vision blurred. Three months?!
His medical knowledge flooded his brain sluggishly, yet he managed to understand what his body had gone through, and what would need to be done in order to recover. A single day in a coma could require several weeks of recovery. John’s eyes widened as he understood, and then he blinked rapidly, focusing his vision back onto Sherlock. Sherlock continued to stare at him with a soft expression, and was remaining unusually quiet.
John parted his mouth and formed a word, but couldn’t seem to voice it. Instead, he managed a raspy sigh. His cheeks burning, he shut his mouth closed and looked away.
“How?” Sherlock asked.
John looked at him and slowly nodded as he swallowed against a lump in his throat. His eyes started to prickle, but he managed to hold his emotions in.
“You fell through a window,” Sherlock provided.
John’s eyes widened again, and he raised his eyebrows, looking at Sherlock expectantly.
Sherlock straightened up and continued. “You fell on your side; your left arm was broken in several places and your left thigh was fractured. You fractured a few ribs, had a punctured lung, and a ruptured spleen. And, there were some glass shards piercing your body; most needed stitches and some have scared, like on your arms. You also sustained trauma to your head, and needed brain surgery.”
Sherlock finished, and John processed this. That would explain the sore chest. He figured his ribs were the last ones healing. He looked down at his arms and noticed the scars for the first time. Most were thin and only half an inch, although some were a couple inches long, and many of them looked deep. Sherlock was right; they would be, for the most part, permanent.
John inhaled slowly and nodded, as he comprehended what Sherlock said. He offered him a small smile, but it was strained. If Sherlock noticed—he probably did—he didn’t pry.
John cleared his throat and opened his mouth, but he couldn’t form a word. His face reddened and looked away again. Sherlock remained quiet. John bit his lip and thought how to ask what he wanted to know when he couldn’t speak.
But then Sherlock cleared his throat, getting John’s attention.
“I…” Sherlock suddenly withdrew his hands, and seemed shyer. “I wish I had been here. When you woke up,” he clarified. “I was with Victor.”
John was suddenly grateful Sherlock could deduce. But as he tried processing what Sherlock told him, he couldn’t, and clearly expressed his confusion on his face, in which only caused Sherlock to match his expression.
“You do remember him, don’t you?”
John shook his head immediately. Sherlock tensed slightly, and seemed even more reluctant as he explained.
“We, er, um…” Sherlock stuttered. John decided to relax and nod, somewhat understanding. He tried to make a noise, something sounding like “together”, but he ended up only pronouncing and elongating the o and the r. He blushed, and looked away, but Sherlock seemed to understand, and nodded.
“Partners, however you want to call it. Dating is dull, but we had years ago—.”
John’s eyes widened again.
Sherlock swallowed tightly. “We met in university, and parted on good terms. Then we ran into each other several months ago, and…” Sherlock trailed off, seemingly hesitant to continue. John squeezed his hand weakly, hoping to convey that he wanted Sherlock to continue. Sherlock nodded firmly.
“You and I had a fight about him, that night,” Sherlock explained. “You headed back to the flat and I stayed with him, when you were attacked. The burglars were in our flat.”
Sherlock’s voice hitched and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “I found them,” he said firmly. John weakly squeezed Sherlock’s hand, urging to give some comfort. He had so many questions, but knew he was going to be asleep very soon. He parted his mouth, urging himself to speak.
“Alrigh—?” John knew it was more of a sigh, and definitely slurred, and not pronounced completely, but he could also tell the sigh managed to sound like a question. Sherlock nodded in understanding.
John grinned softly, and then closed his eyes, falling asleep a few moments later.