I am completely astonished. I can't believe that so many people actually like this story. There isn't much that I can say, just that I am thrilled and so very glad for this. I hope you enjoy the chapter and I'd like to thank you all, one by one, for your precious, priceless support. I know that I am very very late, as usual, and I really hope that this a little bit worth the waiting. As usual, criticism and laudations as well as advice and suggestions are truly welcome.

Sarah keeps repeating herself that she should go home. Her shift has ended hours ago, and moreover she doesn't work in the intensive care ward. Sherlock asked her to treat him in the same way she treats any other patient, and she wouldn't spend hours at a patient's bedside, holding his hand and struggling to keep said patient calm and quiet while he shivers violently, his pale limbs surrounded by ice packs to try to control his skyrocketing fever. She would confide in her colleagues' skills and go home, back to her own life and not thinking about the patient again until the next shift. She would behave as a doctor, careful but detached, trying her best to heal him but at the same time being ready to admit defiance when the moment come.

Anyway, he is not a patient like anyone else, and she is not just a doctor to him. She knows him, she respects him, and, even if she finds him somehow odd and unpredictable, she holds him in high esteem. He is a genius, and he has saved the life of the people he cares about by risking his own safety. She can't stop herself from thinking that he did so much for his friends that he should be able to have at least one of them here instead of her.

Something serious must have happened between him and John, Sarah is sure about that. John is a good man, he is honest and loyal and probably the most caring person she has ever met, and he would never, ever leave Sherlock alone while he is so sick in hospital, basically fighting for his life. Maybe it is something that Sherlock did, truth to be told he can be so mean sometimes and she knows that by personal experience, or maybe it is something he said, since it is clear that they are not on speaking terms at the moment, but there is no way she can believe that John is aware of the situation and willingly choosing not to be there to take care of his friend.

There are still things that she can't understand and that don't fit her theory, though. Sherlock has been ill for weeks; he came to her more than a month before, and his conditions were pretty noticeable even back then. How the hell has John missed that? And why has Sherlock decided not to tell him the truth since the very start? Their relationship is so special, so unique, their bond is so strong that she can't imagine them being apart for so long, especially considering the fact that they have already been afar for a very long time. Those two years has almost destroyed John, how could he forget it?

Probably she should try to call him again, go to Baker Street and talk to him, drag him to that room if necessary, but she has promised Sherlock to respect doctor-patient relationship and it feels like a betrayal to act against his wishes.

"You don't want to be helped, it so hard to do so, isn't it?" she whispers while gently cupping his cheeks with her hand, feeling the worrying, unnatural heat coming from his body. She grabs the damp cloth that is lying on the bedside table and wipes his face, eliciting another miserable shudder when she reaches his neck.

He has been tossing and shivering for the last two hours, floating between consciousness and unconsciousness, occasionally moaning quietly and trying to throw the oxygen mask away. He has never been really lucid since his admission, so Sarah is astonished when he opens his eyes and stares directly at her, a questioning look on his furrowed brows. She immediately stops stroking his hair, feeling almost guilty and slightly embarrassed, and hesitantly smiles at him. He must be utterly confused and hurting, and his heart can't afford a panic attack right now.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the monitor next to him, carefully checking his oxygen saturation, she lifts the mask to allow him to try to talk.

"It's nice to have you back here, Sherlock. How are you feeling?"

As soon as he tries to talk a coughing fit hits him, and all the she can do is lift him up, an arm supporting his back and the other one sprawled across his abdomen to protect the surgical wound from this additional stress. She can feel him tensing against her, feeling sad for the embarrassment and humiliation he is experiencing right now, due to the fact that he is actually lying half naked and incapacitated between her arms.

He would deserve someone else to hold him, someone he trusts to see him so vulnerable and helpless, someone he wouldn't be ashamed to death with. She feels her heart aching at the idea that at the moment she is the best he gets.

"Sshh" she soothes "It's okay, you are going to be fine. Breathe for me, deep breaths, you can do it, just relax and breathe."

She keeps drawing firm circles on his back, growing more and more worried at any wheeze and rattle until he collapses back on the pillows, his chest painfully rising and falling, one hand clutching his abdomen.

"What happened?" he croaks.

"Gastric bleeding and gastric perforations. You underwent emergency surgery, they had to perform a partial gastrectomy in order to stop the haemorrhage. The condition of your immune system didn't help, though."

"How bad?"

"It is... quite bad. You're still septic." she tightens her grip on his hand. "But you are going to be fine. I swear you are going to be ok." she whispers.

His eyes are already fluttering again, the effort to talk has drained his poor resources. His eyelids are falling down, his head lolling to his left side.

"Sherlock" Sarah asks softly "Would you like me to take John here? You have been talking about him. You would feel better with someone close to you."

He opens his eyes wide, an almost frightened expression on his face. His heart rate increases even more.

"Don't." he babbles, close to unconsciousness again. "Don't pester John. He doesn't...I don't want him to see this. Promise me..."

Before she can answer, he is still and silent again.

Sarah stares at him a little more, still holding his hand. She feels bad for leaving him alone, but she has a shift to attend the following morning and she can't spend the night there, even though the idea of him waking up in the middle of the night to find an empty chair makes her throat tighten.

She adjusts his blankets, fussing over because there isn't much else she can do, than puts her coat on. When she turns around, a grey haired man is standing beside the door, looking dazed and frankly shocked. His eyes are fixed on the bed.

Sarah recognizes him, and she feels as if a heavy burden has been lifted from her chest. Finally, finally someone is here. Finally someone seems to care.

His eyes move from the sleeping form on the bed to her, standing in the middle of the room without talking. She goes outside the room in the corridor, she doesn't want to wake him up, and he follows.

"What... happened?" he asks. He can't believe to what he has just seen.

"I'm not sure... he asked me not to tell anyone about his conditions. I must respect his wishes."

"Yeah." He stammers. "Yeah. Sure."

"But I am so glad that you are here."

She looks at her questioningly.

"Is it serious? I know he is in the ICU ward and that is not a good point to start with but... is he in danger?"

"He is not stable. And the situation is really serious."

Greg inhales.

"I can't believe that John didn't tell me anything about this. I may have been... well, strict with him sometimes, but... I care about him. I just... I could have helped."

"John is not here. He has never been."

Greg lifts his eyes; he seems not to have fully understood her last words. She can almost see his neurons frantically trying to process the last information, his synapses screaming "do not compute!" out loud.

"What do you mean?"

Sarah is about to explain him anything, and damn the moral professional code, when they are both distracted by a loud noise coming from inside the room. There is a pained, straining voice, the clinking sound of glass breaking down, and then a clamour that sounds alarmingly like a crash.