Hello, Babies! I'm back with more stuff! I should be studying, but alas...this is more fun. :3 I hope you like this chapter. Lots of feels. Beware.

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John woke to a cramping neck and sore back from sleeping in the hard chair. Quickly looking at the clock, which he regretted for his sudden whiplash, he realized that it was about seven in the morning. And no news of Sherlock.

His heart dropped to the floor and he shot from his chair and ran to the counter with

frightening speed.

"Sherlock Holmes. What is his status?!" He must have looked a sight, eyes wild, hair tousled, baby blue scrubs and a look that could kill. The women behind the counter met his eyes and immediately typed the name in.

"Sir, he's still in surgery." She whispered at last.

John paused, he was still being patched together, almost nine hours of surgery. And they still weren't done. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up; he should have realized how long something of that damage takes to care for. And even after they finished the surgery, and if he survived, there would be much more to come. He nodded his thanks and shuffled back to his little chair, plopping himself down with his head in his hands. The pain of loss, grief and helplessness he was trapped in rushed back to him. How could he never tell Sherlock that he loved him? He was scared of being rejected. Yes. He was a coward. In that case, yes. He was unsure of himself, yes. He hated himself. Yeah.

He was hopelessly in love.

Yes...

Damn Sherlock and his beautiful face. Those eyes that could calculate every detail of John's life with cold scrutiny and then gaze at him in loving adoration when he thought John wasn't looking. His strong, over-powering aura when showing off and his quiet, affectionate loving self when they were alone. Those lips set in a thin line in concentration over a corpse and the same lips, plump and smooth, gently parted as he snored softly in his sleep.

And just as he was feeling another sobbing session overtake him a warm hand rested on his good shoulder. He looked up to meet the warm grey eyes of an exhausted DI.

" 'Ello Lestrade."

" 'Lo John, How's our favorite Detective holdin' up?" Lestrade patted him none to gently on the shoulder before plotting himself in the chair next to him.

"He's still in surgery, hours of surgery and they aren't done yet." John stretched forward tiredly and heaved a loud sigh.

"He's a fighter, he'll make it. I remember pulling that bastard out of an alley when he was out of his mind on heroin, not his choice of drug but all he had access to. He almost died that night but I took him in and helped him get clean. Wasn't easy, but he made it. Has a heart of steel. Believe in 'im, mate." Lestrade murmured and offered a half-smile. He was nervous, that much was obvious in his impatient foot and trembling hands but he was holding it together for both their sakes, John was grateful.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll try." John uttered before yawning hugely. Lestrade followed his example shortly.

"Listen, John, you've been here all night, go home. Get cleaned up, something to eat and rest, I'll keep you posted." John finally noticed that Lestrade was wearing a different outfit and actually looked kempt. He compared it with his disheveled sloppiness and immediately flushed with embarrassment.

"Thanks but I rather stay, I want to be here when he wakes up." John arranged his scrubs a little neater and vainly smoothed the wrinkles before leaning heavily back, no point. He looked awful and he would remain that way until Sherlock pulled through.

"Then I'll stay too. Scotland Yard can manage without me for a few more hours." Lestrade grinned and leant back too. Unable to suppress the relief of not being alone in his grief John released a huge smile and gave a curt nod, any words would lead to tears and right now he needed all the dignity he could muster.

Time passed slowly, drinks were fetched, snacks were eaten, games were played, tears were shared and finally five hours later at noon a tired Doctor shuffled to them.

His name Dr. Graves.

John was less than amused.

They both stood to meet him but he immediately gestured for them to sit, he took his place perched across from them.

"I suspect you are with Holmes?" His voice seemed too deep to match his thin frame, too old.

"Yes, we are. How's he doing?" John asked.

All grogginess dissipated and replaced with anxiety.

Dr. Graves continued. "There was an incredible amount of damage; I have never seen anything quite like it. I did everything I could. He died on the table-"

John collapsed on himself and his tears flowed freely with his sobs as his horrors were confirmed. His world collapsed in on him as the truth stabbed his heart and stole the air from his lungs, all gravity was gone, all color, all light. Nothing was real, just the pain.

"Wait! No- you misunderstand, Take it easy, relax!" Dr. Graves spoke quickly, amending his words, "He died on the table but somehow revived himself. He's alive now, he's alive."

It took a few more tries for his words to penetrate John's misery but when they did he lifted his head and choked back his tears, Lestrade and he spoke as one, "What!?"

"I felt the same. He was dead on the table, for several minutes, and he just came back to life. We were able to stabilize him, plate his leg, and put everything back where it belongs. He lost two feet of intestines but the rest was repairable. The air was drained from his chest cavity and his lung stabilized. More surgeries will definitely be needed as well as physical therapy. I cannot tell whether there has been significant spinal cord damage or if he will ever walk again. I suggest a facility where-"

"No." John took great pride in his strong, solid voice. "He will not be in a hospital or a facility. I'll take care of him when he is ready to go home.

"Now, Mr. Wats-"

"Doctor."

Dr. Graves corrected himself, "Dr. Watson, you of all people should know that spinal cord damage is a severe injury and can cause mental damage as well as paralysis. It would be better-"

"For him to feel safe and comfortable with someone he knows and an environment he is familiar with, I agree." John finished and thus closed any further discussion.

Dr. Graves sighed and nodded, "Very well. He is in recovery right now; you may see him when he awakes." With that the Doctor stood, shook their hands and made his way down the corridor leaving Lestrade and John hopeful, relieved and terrified. This nightmare was just getting started.