A/N:

For those who might not know: A health and welfare lasting power of attorney (LPA) is a legal document that lets the donor (in our case Sherlock) appoint a person (an attorney) to make decisions about medical treatment (such as life-sustaining treatment) if the donor is not capable of making his own decisions. The LPA has to be signed by the donor, the attorney and a witness.

This is set after Sherlock is shot in His last vow, and goes a bit AU from there.

English it not my native tongue, so please bear with me.

Manu: Happy Birthday! Dein Wunsch ist mir Befehl: Wie "bestellt" Sherlock-u-Molly-im-Krankenhaus-Szene ;-)

Disclaimer: Rose is blonde, the TARDIS is blue, I don't own Sherlock so please don't sue.

I know I never had you but I know I need you back. – Seven Letters

They had shown him a room where they could be "on their own", where they would be "not disturbed". And yet he refused to stay in that room. Being a doctor he knew the kind of room they had sent them to and he knew the purpose of it. It was the room where the mourning families were sent to before the doctors would come and tell them they were sorry, and that they had tried everything in their power, but there had been nothing they could have done.

But John Watson refused to be part of the mourning family – to be precise, he was not even a real part of the family, he did not have the same blood running through his veins as the man that was currently in surgery fighting for his life. He was "just" a friend – his best friend, and his best friend had become kind of his family over the last years. And for some time he had been the only family John had felt close to (not that he did not feel close to Harry, but his relationship with Harry was – for the lack of a better word – complicated) until Mary Morstan had stepped into his life.

John sighed deeply, let his head drop and leaned against the white wall in the hospital corridor. It was weird: As a doctor he had never minded being in a hospital, but as a friend of a patient it was horrid. He hated the smell, the colour of the walls, the scrubs the nurses were wearing – in short he hated everything here.
His wife joined him and looked at him concerned.
"He will make it," she reassured him, "he is strong."
He knew that. Sherlock was probably the strongest person he knew – he had jumped off a roof and survived after all. But this was different. This time it was not an elaborate plan that his best friend had worked out together with the British government (read: his brother). This time it was for real: Sherlock Holmes was in imminent danger of dying in an operating theatre after being shot by an assassin. Only thinking about the person who had done it made his blood boil.

Mary touched his arm and glided her hand down to his to entwine their fingers. He looked up from the floor into her eyes that shone with empathy, assurance and could it be... guilt? The army doctor could still not believe how he was so lucky to deserve a woman like her. He squeezed her hand. He did not know how he would bear this waiting without her.

"Where is Mycroft?" Mary asked out of the blue.
"I guess, they've already contacted him, because he is his next of kin. And even if not, I figure he knows by now."
Mary only nodded. If there was one person on the planet who would know where and how Sherlock Holmes was, it was his older brother.

"Have you told Molly?" Mary asked then.
"She already knew."
Mary looked at him quizzically. "How come?"
John shrugged his shoulders and realized in the process how tense his neck felt. "One of the paramedics is a friend of hers and he called her, as soon as he knew it was Sherlock Holmes who had been shot."
Mary chuckled. "Sweet Molly Hooper has a network all of her own, who would have thought...?"
John smiled weakly.
"But if she already knows, where is she? I was sure she would rush to come to see him."
"She was here before you came. She waited for us when we arrived with the ambulance. But she had to leave shortly after Sherlock was wheeled into the OT. She mumbled something about an autopsy she could not postpone, because the police needed the results. But I'm sure she will be back as soon as possible."
Mary sighed. "I bet. Poor Molly, I'm sure she can't concentrate on the post mortem, worrying about her consulting detective all the time."
John "hmmed" in affirmation. Suddenly his face snapped towards Mary and he looked alert. "Speaking of 'her' consulting detective... We should probably call Janine."
Mary could not really place John's tone. "You have not called her yet?"
The former army doctor looked a bit sheepish. "No... the thing is... Sherlock might have done something a bit not good."
Mary drew up an eyebrow. She already had a suspicion, but she wanted to hear it from her husband. "John, what do you mean?"
John cleared his throat and began to explain his wife what he knew about the nature of the relationship between his favourite high functioning sociopath and his supposed fiancée.

In John's opinion the reaction of his wife to the revelation about the real reason behind Sherlock's relationship with Janine was reluctant. She did not seem angry at his friend at all. Given that Janine had been Mary's maid of honour, John had expected his wife to be at least a little bit furious. But she even seemed to find it a bit amusing. Even Molly had been more shocked when he had told her. John was just about to tell her that he found her reaction peculiar, when a nurse in blue scrubs walked up to them. The married couple turned their attention to her. She wore the typical serious nurse-expression: a face which was supposed to express empathy, but in reality it was just a well-trained mask. John hated her.
"Mr and Mrs Watson, would you want to sit down for a moment?" her voice was all well-practised tranquillity as well and she pointed towards a few seats next to them.
John crossed his arms. "No, thank you. What will it help if I sit down?"
"John!" Mary looked at the nurse apologetically, who nodded in understanding.
John sighed and dropped his hands, "Sorry. Would you please tell us how he is?"
The nurse avoided eye contact and looked down onto the floor. John needn't be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that this did not mean good news.
"Mr Holmes is still in surgery. He has been severely wounded and he's lost a lot of blood. Luckily the bullet has blocked the entrance wound and the ambulance has arrived in time, but… The doctors do their best, but it doesn't look good." Finally she looked John into the eyes. Mary took John's hand again and squeezed it. She could feel that her husband's body language was completely tense. John could not help but snap at the nurse again, "We already know this. What do you really want to say?"
It was clear from her expression that the nurse did not know how to phrase the next part. She shuffled her feet. Finally she asked, "I know you are worried right now, but did Mr Holmes ever talk to you about his LPA?"
John was dumbfounded. "His LPA?" he parroted and could hear Sherlock's voice in his head scolding him, "Yes John, do keep up!" The thought of maybe never hearing his condescending baritone ever again made his heart ache, and he shook his head to chase it away.
The nurse explained, "Yes, there is a health and welfare lasting power of attorney, signed by M.H."
John did not know why he felt a pang of jealousy. It was irrational, it was stupid, but he could not help but feel a little disappointed that Sherlock had put the decision of life and death (literally) into the hands of his cold brother and not into his – his doctor and best friend. But then again it made perfect sense: Mycroft was family – real family and he had known that Sherlock had been alive all along. How weird would it have been if he had been contacted after the fall to decide if a "dead" detective should live or die? And now when Mycroft should have been here he was nowhere to be seen – probably starting a war in some foreign country.
"John?" Mary's gentle voice rang to him through the fog of his muddled thoughts. He turned to look at her. She smiled faintly and he momentarily felt a bit stronger. He turned back to the nurse. He cleared his throat before he spoke. "No, I didn't know about the LPA."
The nurse – John could spot her name tag which identified her as "Abby" – nodded.
"Well, we've already contacted the attorney, but so far we could not reach…"
"Where is he?" The nurse was interrupted when as if on cue the person in question rounded the corner, accompanied by his umbrella and his authoritative attitude. Nurse Abby looked surprised at the man in the suit. John did not know if he was relieved or not when the older Holmes stopped in front of the small group and addressed them, "John, Mrs Watson." Both nodded and then the nurse had the dubious honour to have Mycroft's attention drawn back to her. He gave her the lofty once-over John was so used to seeing from Sherlock, knowing he was deducing her. When he was done (which took about 2 seconds) he snapped at the woman in blue scrubs, "Now, where is he?"
The nurse needed a moment to find her voice, "Sorry, but who are you?"
"I'm Mycroft Holmes. My brother Sherlock Holmes is currently in surgery after being shot. Now could you take me to him?"
I didn't escape John's notice that Mycroft's fingers were nervously drumming on the handle of his umbrella. Never before had John seen Mycroft openly display signs of nervousness. John decided to explain it to the nurse, "This is Mycroft Holmes; M.H. He is the attorney."
Mycroft's head snapped in the direction of the former army doctor. "I'm what?"
John's brows drew together in slight confusion and Mary looked from her husband to Mycroft and back.
"You signed Sherlock's LPA."
Mycroft huffed. "I certainly did not." A bitter chuckle escaped him. "Do you really think Sherlock would…" But Mycroft could not finish his sentence, because the meek voice of nurse Abby interrupted him, "Excuse me, but he is not M.H." She pointed towards Mycroft who sneered at her gesture. He was not used to be pointed at. All looked at the nurse. Finally she cleared up the confusion, "M.H. stands for Molly Hooper. Some Doctor Molly Hooper signed the health and welfare lasting power of attorney of Mr Sherlock Holmes."

A/N: Seven Letters is a song by Coldwater Road – if you don't know it, give it a try! The lyrics are just so true… ;-)