"I just want him back. It's so fucking stupid how attached you become of things and how hard it is when you lose them," John sobbed out to the empty hospital bed. A body had lain there earlier in the day, snoozing softly and breathing. Now there was nothing. Only the ever fading warmth in the white sheets remained.
"It's not fucking fair. He was one of my best friends!" John shouted out into the uninhabited room. Hearing his own voice echo off the walls did nothing to stop the pain he was feeling. He knew anyone outside of the room or in the hallway would hear him, but he didn't care. His pant legs under him were soaked with falling tears. His breath came out in rattling gasps and shaky sobs. He placed his hands back onto his face and felt his body shake.
"I want you back," he could barely form the words as his throat would not allow him. John fought to not cry. "I wish I could make it better, I'm a doctor for god's sake. But I can't cure cancer, and I feel so fucking useless," he trembled and stood to leave the room. Walking slowly he stopped in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Mike," he said before walking out of Mike Stamford's room and back into the waiting room down the hall.
One man sat in the room waiting for him, watching his with bright, expectant eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly as John stumbled over to him. One look at John's puffy red eyes and tear stained face told him the answer. "Come here," he ushered John over to him with the wave of an arm.
John collapsed onto him and wrapped his arms around the pale neck. He ground his face into the man's chest and let out more sobs. "Why him, Sherlock?" John whimpered, not even bothering to worry about getting tears and mucus on the expensive shirt beneath him. A spindly hand wound its way through John's short hair. "It's not fucking fair," he repeated with less vigor.
"No, it's not," Sherlock replied with a frown. He understood why John was so broken up. Mike had been one of John's best friends over in Afghanistan and one of the only people John could put up with. He was also the one that introduced him to Sherlock in the first place. "The most unfair thing about life is how it ends," Sherlock supplied, letting John cry on him and hold him.
"I could have done something Sherlock. I'm a doctor," John lamented and pulled his face away to look up at Sherlock. Sherlock felt heartbroken seeing John like this. He knew that John would have to go through the stages to get better, but it hurt him as well. He placed both of his hands on John's face and brought him in for a sweet kiss. It tasted of salt and tears, but he didn't care.
Sherlock then pulled away and stared at John a moment longer before speaking. "The moment you start blaming yourself for people's deaths, there's no coming back," he told John truthfully, repeating a quote from one of the doctor's favorite shows. It was one of the few episodes he had watched with John and had left both he and John a bit down once it was over. They ended up fixing it with a good cup of tea, but Sherlock knew that would not fix things this time.
"I want to go home," John admitted, now only sniffling into Sherlock's chest. His words were muffled by the fabric, but Sherlock understood what he was saying. Patting John's back, Sherlock got him to get up and stand. Sherlock stood and stretched out his legs before grasping John's hand in his own.
"Let's go. I'll draw you a bath and make tea when we get there," Sherlock said with a small smile, leading John out of the room and ultimately, out of the hospital. The small, almost hesitant smiled in return he received from John told him things were going to be okay.