Songfic for Sherlock (BBC)

Song: Give Me A Sign, by Breaking Benjamin

Warnings: Contains slash

Disclaimer: No, I own nothing.

Dead star shine

Light up the sky

I'm all out of breath

My walls are closing in

Sherlock sat perched on the windowsill in the hospital room. One long leg was pulled up to his chest and the other was dangling off the ledge. Taking in a long, slow breath, Sherlock dared to look over at the only bed in the room. As always, it sent a pang through Sherlock's body which tingled all the way to his fingertips. It was a pang of hurt which sent Sherlock's mind reeling.

Tearing his eyes away from the bed - away from John Watson, who was tucked up under the covers – Sherlock lay his head back against the smooth plaster wall and stared out the window at the city. His eyes wandered to the stars, most of their brightness had been taken away by the city lights but even so, they were there. Like John. John was in a coma but he was still… there.

The moonlight illuminated Sherlock's features; his silver blue eyes, the skin around them smudged with large red blotches, pallid skin, messy curls which hung almost to his cheekbones, the tear stains that ran down his skin while leaving slick straight lines. It was so unlike the detective's usual neat and stoic appearance.

He feels, while looking over again at John, that his chest is tightening – it's becoming harder to breath. He feels as though his world would cave in if John were not there.

Days go by

Give me a sign

Come back to the end

The Sheppard of the damned

Another few days pass by, each with Sherlock becoming more restless, more hopeless. He silently wills John to come back, one pale hand reaching out and entwining itself with his. Sherlock feels useless, guilty, like the accident was his fault. It's not as if he could have made the cab slow down or stop the van colliding with them. Still, Sherlock told himself, what if I had just taken that bit quicker in the shower? What if I had not stopped to put away my violin? What if I had ran back upstairs to get my scarf?

Though he could not entirely shake away the guilt-wracked thoughts that were consuming the little rational thought he had left, Sherlock could do one thing – be there. Giving John's hand one last squeeze, the detective climbed onto the bed to rest beside John. If he thought hard enough, they were back at Baker Street and John was just sleeping after a hard day's work. Yes, that was it… Sherlock was cold too. It felt right to be next to John who, despite the fact that he was in a coma, was a little bit warm.

I can feel you falling away

No longer the lost

No longer the same

As he holds John close, Sherlock could almost feel his best friend, closest ally and first ever love fading away. He reflects back on their relationship and another pang of pain hits his heart.

He remembers the first time he realised his feelings.

Angelo had once again commented on their "date". John was, as usual, annoyed. But Sherlock being Sherlock had just about enough; his bottled up emotions (that he had never felt before) for John were about to pop open. Grabbing not one but two candles from Angelo, he slammed them down on the middle of the table which caused quite a few heads to turn.

"Sherlock what're you-"John was cut off mid-sentence by Sherlock's lips pressed hard and flush against his own. At first, John was merely surprised by it. Before he could pull back, he felt Sherlock's hand settle on the small of his back and lean in closer. The next thing he knew, John was kissing back with just as much force.

"There." Sherlock whispered, inching backwards and giving as side-eye to the other diners and Angelo. "It is a date." With another smile and a roll of John's eyes, they found eachother needing more. It was… intoxicating and new. It was love, something Sherlock thought he would never feel.

And I can see you starting to break

I'll keep you alive

If you show me the way

Forever and ever the scars will remain

If John were to wake up now, Sherlock would keep him alive (both physically and emotionally) in every sense of the word with every bit of effort. John is his heart, his missing half. Slowly, Sherlock found himself turning into the good man; all because he met John Watson.

He knew the scars would remain. On top of the scars attained from war, John had acquired fresh new bodily damages from the accident. But they would heal eventually. What made Sherlock's heart sink and his hold on John tighten, was the scars that could never completely disappear; guilt, pain, depression. There was only one person in the world that could ease them and right now he was a mere fraction of himself in Sherlock's arms.

I'm falling apart

Leave me here forever in the dark

Sherlock breaks down and sobs into John, leaving tear stains on his neck and hospital gown. He pulls John in impossibly closer until both of their bodies were touching and not an inch was spared between them.

"Don't leave me John… Don't leave me here alone."

Daylight dies

Blackout the sky

Does anyone care?

Is anybody there?

Doctors and nurses come and go, none of them having the heart to ask Sherlock to move; maybe it was his face or the way he held John like a child would hold a blanket. The only exception was to change the bed sheets. Sherlock doesn't talk to them because they're all too busy to really care.

The sky, Sherlock notices, changes from day to night. The strange thing is it seemed to pass rather quickly like the day hadn't passed at all. The days were little less than a blur to the detective, who still remained huddled up to John's side.

To Sherlock, he and John were alone. They had nobody. Sherlock's parents had probably never heard of John – not that Sherlock kept contact with them these days anyway. There were, in fact, a few visitors but Sherlock never noticed; Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, Angelo and even Sgt. Donovan at one point. They may as well have been invisible, talking to a brick wall – albeit a weary, haggard looking brick wall.

Take this life

Empty inside

I'm already dead

I'll rise to fall again

Sherlock starts to wonder if it's worth living anymore. John is a vegetable and if he died, Sherlock would too (if not physically, then emotionally.) He's empty inside, feels like a hollow cave. On the rare day that he would wake up feeling slightly better, Sherlock knew in his heart that by nightfall he would end up falling apart again, teetering on the edge of insanity.

God help me I've come undone

Out of the light of the sun

God help me I've come undone

Out of the light of the sun

Sherlock even starts to ask God for help. Though he was as far as possible from being a religious person, it felt like the last option he had… It felt right. There's no sun in Sherlock's life now – not until John woke up. Until then, his life would be a bleak rain cloud.

Then hope came.

Give me a sign

There's something buried in the words

Give me a sign

Your tears are adding to the flood

Give me a sign

There's something buried in the words

Give me a sign

Your tears are adding to the flood

Give me a sign

There's something buried in the words

Give me a sign

Your tears are adding to the flood

John's fingers clasped suddenly around Sherlock's hand, causing him to jolt awake. At first Sherlock thought he had finally lost it – John suddenly coming out of a coma like that. But then Sherlock found himself holding back tight.

"John." He managed to choke out, tears of shock spilling over his eyes. John's eyes slowly started to twitch open, forming razor slits and barely visible. But they were still open. That lasted only a few seconds - seconds that proved John was on the path to healing – before they closed again. John's hand still had a vice-like clamp over Sherlock's.

Forever and ever

The scars will remain

More nights of waiting passed. Sherlock whispers things to John, choking back tears and trying to keep his voice from failing him. Every once in a while, when Sherlock whispered something like "I love you, John," or, "I will always be here," he could feel John's little finger twitch or his hand squeeze tight in Sherlock's for a mere moment. It was those little things that kept Sherlock's hopes up. The nurse over the ward declared John well enough to be taken off life support. God had answered Sherlock's prayers (though Sherlock being Sherlock didn't even think about it that much, it still made him happy to believe such things. It still didn't make him a religious man.)

It wasn't too much longer when John's eyes fluttered open once more. Just as the sun broke through the clouds, Sherlock leaned over John, hands cupping the older man's face. John stared up at him, deep blue eyes searching Sherlock's brighter ones. Sherlock smiled, bent down further and pressed his lips against John's. Pulling back, he could see the faintest hint of a smile on John's face.

"I'm back." He whispered in a very hoarse, strained voice. Their hands clasped once more as Sherlock snuggled up against him.

"Good. You'd better stay this time." John chuckled at this and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's curls.

"I love you too." John didn't forget Sherlock's whispered words. "I'm not going anywhere." His eyes shut again and a soft sigh escaped the good doctor's mouth. For the first time in a long time, they could both rest in peace.

Right, this was angsty and I'm not used to writing angst. Anyway, I wrote this on paper thismorning while listening to my ipod [ I have this exam attendant job where I sit for hours on end outside the exam centres and try to entertain myself. ] I had time to write it on my laptop too which usually never happens until the day after; the joys of being bored, eh?

Anyway, reviews are always welcome. If you liked this I could always attempt another [ preferably a non-angsty one ]