Somebody get me a medic! John Watson is hit, I repeat, John Watson is hit! Enemy fire!"

The voice sounded like it was in water, everything was hazy and the burning sensation in his arm grew as he saw spots. He tried to look around so he knew that he was still alive, that there was still life in him yet. He could hear the grenades going off, he could hear the sounds of men getting shot and falling to the ground, some of them were lucky and got grazed, but others...God has to make room for one more. He could've sworn he knew that voice that was shouting for help. Through his blurred vision he saw brown. Hair, it was certainly hair, it was one of his assistants. He helped him in the infirmary tent when it just got too crowded.

"Get me a medic now! I don't care who, John Watson has been caught in the enemy fire, do you understand?! He is very badly wounded in his left shoulder, he will bleed out and die if he does not get immediate medical attention!"

Good man. His name was...Thomas...or something. To be honest, John never really knew anybody's name save for Sholto. He always called them by their ranks, as it showed more respect to that person.

John tried to hang on for as long as he could, held his own wound, ignored the taste and smell of blood, breathed in and out. But he was slipping...everything was fading into black...
~~~~~~~~~~

Beep...Beep...Beep...

"Patient John Watson is stabilized, blood loss is halted, heart rate is normal..."

John could hear the familiar noise of a hospital while he was resting. When he opened his eyes he only confirmed it. He was in Barts no less. He saw a doctor and his nurse discussing the severity of his wound to the side of him. They didn't notice he was awake then. He was sore, more so on the left side of his body. He shifted his head to see that his shoulder was covered in gauze with the little spot of blood in the middle. He let out a deep sigh as he remembered what happened. He's going to have double the scars now, seeing as he already got shot in the same area years before.

"Is he going to be alright?"

That voice was familiar. It was Greg's voice! He remembered hearing Sherlock say that he was on his way, but he was too far gone to comprehend what he was saying.

"Yes, he'll be fine, he just needs a few days rest when he gets home before he starts going to work or being active."

Greg nodded and turned to look at the injured doctor (the irony in that) and saw that he was staring back at him.

"Oh thank god, you're awake."

This got the doctor's attention and he faced John as well. He had something that resembled a smirked, but it was more of relief than of happiness. If John had to guess, it was because he didn't lose a patient. John can totally agree with him. Seeing as though Greg would want some personal space, the doctor stepped out of the room with the nurse following behind him. Greg looked like a wreck, he had his jacket draped over his arm and his shirt was all disheveled, as was his hair. It was like he was living off of coffee rushes while waiting for John to wake up.

"Greg...what happened? Where's Sherlock?"

Greg smiled.

"Well, you got shot, by Sebastian Moran who you killed shortly before getting hurt. Mycroft phoned me and told me to bring the paramedics because he heard gunshots on your phone. We found you practically dying in Sherlock's arms but we got you here just in the nick of time."

"Right. I know that much, but where's Sherlock?"

"What, you couldn't feel the extra weight in your bed? I would have at least thought you would feel his curls brushing up against your chin."

John's brows furrowed as he turned to the right side and saw Sherlock, no coat or jacket on, curled up in the bed with him, fast asleep.

"He refused to leave you alone after your surgery was done. So doc and I decided it was best for him to stay with you."

John smiled to himself as he brought a kiss to the top of the sleeping man's head. He rested his hand on the curls and started to gently stroke his hair, causing Sherlock to smile and curl up even more.

"Whenever you're ready, you can come talk to me about this whole...ordeal. I stayed to make sure he was okay."

John nodded.

"Sure thing, Greg."

"Get well."

He gave John's leg a slap and then turned to leave the room. John took the opportunity to stare at Sherlock while he slept. He has been sleeping for quite a while to be so deep in slumber, John could see that. He could even hear him slightly snoring, which Sherlock never did unless he was truly tired. He must've been so relieved when he found out that John was going to be okay, John never wants to see that look of fear and pain in Sherlock's eyes ever again. He pressed his lips against the detective's head again and just enjoyed the company. Then Mycroft walked in.

'Jesus. I don't have the strength to yell at him right now.'

He had that smug smirk on his face that John just wanted to punch but couldn't. Upon seeing his brother sleeping the bed, an eyebrow rose, but then his face reverted back to the coldness that Mycroft was known for possessing.

"John, I-"

"Shut up."

Mycroft stopped in his tracks.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Shut up."

"...May I ask why?"

"Don't pl-just don't, okay? You know what you did. You sent another dangerous killer after your brother who couldn't remember a damn thing and then had the gall to act like you were saving the day by calling the paramedics and Scotland Yard, when in reality you only did it because you felt guilty and wanted to find some way to repent. When's the other time you did this? Oh yes, when Moriarty was running rampant and setting your brother up to look like a fraud, because of the information you fed him that you thought would magically make everything okay. It's not, Mycroft, just because you are the British government, or whatever, doesn't mean you can just control people's lives, because chances are, you're only making them worse!"

Everything seemed to be silenced as Mycroft absorbed John's rant. John was breathing in and out because he ran out while he was talking and his shoulder was getting sore. All Mycroft had to say was, "...I understand that I have not...handled my little brother's situations...the greatest...but I only want him to be safe, since he doesn't seem to know what the word means."

"I get that, I do. But you need to learn how to let him do what he wants and only jump in when he asks you."

"He's never going to ask me to help him."

"I don't know what to tell you then Mycroft. This relationship you guys have is only going to get worse, believe me, I have the same issue with my sister."

"So I think you're hardly the one to talk."

John didn't want to continue this any longer, if Mycroft was too stubborn to listen, then what was the point of wasting his breath? Mycroft sighed.

"But I digress, John I came here because I wanted to thank you for helping my brother get his memory back, I'm just sorry that it almost cost you your life."

"Yeah well I wasn't doing it for you, I did it for him."

"Oh I'm sure."

Mycroft stalked over to Sherlock and ran a hand through his thick curls. John saw that his face saddened and there seemed to be a sort of nostalgic look in his eyes and John couldn't help but feel bad for him. There is something very wrong with the way this family showed affection and it showed very clearly on Sherlock how badly it affected him. Without saying a word, Mycroft left the room, umbrella twirling in his hand like usual. John was alone with Sherlock alone again.

"You're okay..."

John looked to see that Sherlock was awake now, though his eyes still read fatigue.

John nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, Sherlock. I'm alright."

Sherlock propped himself on his elbow.

"I remembered you, your blood, you grabbing my wrist, Sebastian getting shot in the head...I remember..."

"I know, Sherlock. Don't try to talk about it."

"Moriarty. He wanted to kill you, all of my friends, He told me that the only way to save you was..."

"Yes, Sherlock."

"I was so...scared...when Sebastian shot you, John. You were so close to dying and I didn't want you to die. Not my John."

John's hand rose and he placed it on Sherlock's cheek. His smile was warmer and he ignored any pain that he was feeling at the moment because Sherlock was still worried about John's health. It was especially heart warming because he knew that Sherlock didn't show this much affection for just anybody. He only saved that for John. His John.

"Sherlock you're an idiot, you know that right?"

Sherlock's brow rose.

"How so?"

"I told you that I would never abandon you, no matter what."

Sherlock laughed. Good, the tension was breaking. But the laughter was short-lived and pretty soon there was just a lot of staring. Sherlock's eyes staring right into John's soul and John's eyes enthralling Sherlock. John's hand slowly made its way from Sherlock's cheek, to his smooth and perfect lips. Sherlock's eyes were half-lidded as John's fingers traced the outline of his mouth, it tickled a bit. John found himself biting his lips as his fingers traveled the beauty that is Sherlock's mouth. He found himself wanting them. He didn't want to touch them any longer, he wanted the feel of them against his, he wanted to feel the heat of Sherlock's breath in his. He wanted their tongues to dance around until they separated for oxygen. From Sherlock's face, it was clear he wanted the same thing. But what caused this? Surely these feelings didn't pop out of the blue, did they develop during this whole ordeal with Sherlock's memory loss? His hand cups Sherlock's chin and he brings his mouth closer to his. It isn't until their lips connect that John pieces this together.

Those feelings were always there. It just took for all of this to happen for John to finally recognize it.

He loved Sherlock Holmes.

And since Sherlock wasn't exactly his usual self, he showed more emotion. And everybody else picked up on it before he did, because he was a stubborn jackass who denied every emotion he felt about Sherlock.

Their breaths were uneven and ragged as they savored the taste of each other. John felt his wound throbbing and the burning sensation came back. He could ignore it for a while, but he would need painkillers soon. His hand let go of Sherlock's chin and moved the mass of curls resting on top of his and ran his hand through them, finally grabbing a handful and softly pulling them as he pressed down on Sherlock's lips. It felt euphoric, he never would have expected this, not in a million years. He never would have pictured falling in love with the most brilliant mind he has ever had the good fortune of knowing. It seemed like an eternity before they pulled apart, both hopelessly out of breath.

"I'm so glad you remember me again. It killed me inside to see how much you struggled."

"I struggled to remember you, John. Because even though I didn't know who you were, I felt that you were the only thing worth remembering."

John felt his eyes glossing over. That's practically Sherlock saying that he loved John. And John's heart was practically swelling.

"I love you." Came out of John's mouth so quickly that he didn't even know that it was his voice that said it. They were both surprised, but then Sherlock's face softened and a smile crept on his face.

"Some war hero you are. You're just a walking teddy bear."

John couldn't help but laugh, there was every reason to. Sure he was in the hospital, but he was alive, and he got his Sherlock back. Now that Sherlock had his memories back, their job was to give him new ones. Everlasting. And as their fingers intertwined with each other the only words that came out of their mouths was,

"My John."

"My Sherlock."

And it will always remain that way.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the favs, follows and reviews! I hope to make you happy in the future! Thank you for reading!