A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I've been busy with midterms!
Sherlock sat. He sat and sat in the little white room with strange paintings on the walls and encouraging words. He sat waiting for John to come out of surgery. To hear from doctors. To hear from anyone. For the first time in his life he regretted knowing the statistics of these kinds of operations and everything that could go wrong. He regretted knowing that the doctor he had talked to earlier was not as confident about John's chances as he told Sherlock he was. He regretted knowing that Harry Watsons' tremble was not just from her concern about her brother but instead from her excess drinking.
The official story played on the Telly on the wall in that tiny room.
Breaking Undercover Officer Takes Out One of Britain's Most Wanted... Detective Inspector Lestrade's Statement in two hours...
Sherlock's official role in the police force was now an undercover cop. He had been searching for Moriarty for months and found him with a hostage, John, who was also an undercover cop. That was the story. Lestrade was working out all the details and would brief Sherlock on it later. After the surgery. After they found out if John would live. The bullet had torn through his body. Sherlock shuddered as the memories of blood and chaos echoed through his mind. He hadn't had time to examine John thoroughly before the police had dragged him off to an ambulance. It only worsened his anxiety. Almost twelve hours later, Sherlock was still here. Here in the hospital.
Waiting, worrying, guilty. He should have told John earlier. Told him Moriarty was actually back, actually roaming around London. That he was looking for Sherlock. Hunting him and looking for a weakness…finding it and then looking for a moment to attack Sherlock's only weakness. The only man…Sherlock stopped the train of thought. He couldn't think about it. It was only confusing and he needed to be sharp right now. He couldn't explain it to himself let alone John. John who might be dying or might be dead already.
Sherlock continued to curse himself for being so stupid. He had seen the plan. He knew Moriarty didn't want to play. He just wanted to kill Sherlock or take away the only things that mattered. When he had expressed the feeling to Mycroft, his brother had been less than helpful.
"It is regrettable that John was hurt, but if Moriarty had not shot him, you might be in more trouble than you are." Sherlock had nearly belted him in the face. Mycroft was right though. Sherlock was being held up as a hero rather than a murderer because of Moriarty's last act, but John might die. Did it matter if Sherlock went to jail if John died? Did anything matter if he died? Could he go back to before?
Sherlock went over the things that had changed since John had entered his life. Dishes were clean. Wash was done. The flat was swept. Sherlock ate. He solves things faster because John helped. He was accepted by more people. John took care of him when he was sick. Mycroft came around less and Mrs. Hudson bothered him less. Sherlock cared... Conclusion - Doubtful. Probably impossible.
Finally the doctors emerged. They spoke to Harry who nodded her head the entire time they were talking. Sherlock was relieved the moment they walked through the door. Their posture and expressions signaled relief, confidence. Success. Safety. He will live.
Harry's posture relaxed as they talked to her. She smiled over at Sherlock once the doctors left her. They had exchanged a few words while they were sitting there waiting, but it was uncomfortable and tense. Since those first few moments, they sat on opposite sides of the room. Now she approached him. She was hesitant.
"It went clear through his abdomen. They said nothing had damaged, but there was a lot of internal bleeding from a few organs being nicked by the bullet so that's what took so long. Lucky it didn't hit bone…"she trailed off.
"…it would have splintered the bone and caused more damage." Sherlock completed the thought. She nodded. In his mind he added more. Especially if it had hit one of the ones that was already broken or cracked. A few inches higher and the bones could have shattered and ripped his lungs and heart to shreds.
"He'll probably be unconscious for a few more hours. They want to keep him out overnight so he doesn't experience the worst pain. I've told them you are to be treated as family."
"Thank you," Sherlock told her. He was shocked by her gesture of goodwill since it was his fault after all that John was even here.
"No Sherlock, thank you." She added. He nodded and they waited some more.
John felt the bullet tear through his side and all his memories from the war tore through his mind. Moriarty's body slumped painfully hard onto his legs and Sherlock started shouting at the door. His vision began to cloud over. He felt Moriarty, the warehouse and Sherlock slip away as he desperately tried to cling to reality.
Then just pain and blackness for a long time
Suddenly there was light pouring in from an unknown source. Bright white light assaulted him even though his eyes were closed. He turned away from the light and slowly, very slowly, opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was Sherlock sleeping in a chair. The clean white room made it obvious he was in a hospital. What happened? Memories slowly came back. The war and the warehouse intertwined.
"Sherlock…Sherlock." John mumbled. His tongue didn't want to work. As he slowly woke up, the pain started to hit him. At first just a dull throb, but then it became sharper and sharper. John became more impatient. "Sherlock!"
"Huh what? …John! You shouldn't be awake yet! They said you should stay unconscious at least over night. It's only five o'clock. At least twelve more hours…." Sherlock's voice was sluggish as well and he was babbling. His curly hair was untidy and his long black coat rumpled from sitting. Obviously he had been in the room a while.
"What happened? How long have you been here?" John managed. He gritted his teeth against the pain.
"You've been in the hospital approximately fifteen hours. I have been here approximately fourteen and a half. What happened was….Moriarty shot before I could. John this is all my doing. I should have explained sooner." Sherlock shook his head as he spoke. He seemed very upset. His face was drawn and tired. John was shocked by how pale he was, but he seemed to be speaking nonsense.
"I…what I mean to say is…" His flatmate took a deep breath and looked straight at him "John."
As he began to speak, a nurse walked in and seemed surprised John was even awake and speaking. She asked him about his pain and gave him a dose of drugs through the IV. As he continued to talk to her, he became less coordinated and aware. She left when his head started to droop while she glared at Sherlock.
"Sherlock….none of this is your fault. You can't predict when he was going to shoot….not your… fault." John slowly drifted back to sleep. The last thing he remembered was Sherlock's mouth turning into a thin line and him shaking his head.
Then the black painless sleep overtook him again.
A/n: Thanks for all the input! It is always appreciated.