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Chapter Text

John had always known it would only be a matter of time before something happened to her. Harry drank far too much and there were only so many times she could get lucky. However, when it happened, he was quite surprised to find out he was listed as one of her emergency contacts. Clara was out of town and couldn't be reached, so John got the phone call. Apparently Harry had tried taking Clara's car while she was drunk and she crashed it, landing herself in a coma in a hospital up north. John had to go up there now and make decisions for her that she couldn't make herself. How was he supposed to know what she wanted? They weren't close enough anymore for John to feel comfortable making any decisions on her behalf. He'd tried calling Clara himself, but he couldn't get a hold of her either. He'd have to go and face this.

He went down to the sitting room with his packed bag and found Sherlock at the computer, most likely browsing for cases. He cleared his throat softly and bit his lip before getting the words out. "I have to go away for a little while. Harry is . . . sick," he said. 

Sherlock glanced up from the computer. "Are you just trying to get away from me?" he asked. "Are you still angry about last night? I said I was sorry even though I wasn't really…"

"No, Sherlock, this isn't a game. Harry is in the hospital and I have to go," he said. "I'm not sure how long I will be gone, I will let you know more when I know more." He moved for his coat, setting his bag down to put it on. 

Sherlock looked up at him. John looked serious. "What should I do?" he asked. "Am I supposed to -- I mean, what should I do?"

"No, nothing," John said, shaking his head. "I just . . ." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I just have to go make sure she's okay. I'll text you, okay?"

Sherlock looked over at John. Though they hadn't known each other for a very long time, they'd become close in a way that Sherlock hadn't ever really been with another person. He didn't like seeing John upset, and he recognised an urge inside himself to help. But he also knew that the compassion needed in a situation like this was something he really didn't have, regardless of his intentions. "All right," he said. "I'll . . . be here," he added though he knew it was an unnecessary thing to say.

John swallowed hard and nodded. What had he expected? Sherlock to go with him? Why would he? That didn't even make any sense. He knew Sherlock well enough now to know that he was incapable of offering support when it came to emotional issues. John realised he was just overwhelmed -- a mix of anger and worry and anxiety about Harry. "Okay," he said. "I'll text you, then. See you."

Sherlock stood up. He grabbed a book of the shelf from behind him and walked to the door. "Here, take this," he said. "Something to read on the train." He stood awkwardly for a moment and then kind of leaned towards John, patting his arm. "Text me, yeah?" he said, just standing there a bit stupidly.

"Um . . . thanks," John murmured. "I will." He shifted the book to hold it better and offered Sherlock a small smile before leaving. He carried his bag down to the pavement and hailed a cab to the train station. He could hardly think at the moment, so he just went through the motions to get his ticket and his seat, his emotion welling into his chest. It felt tight, and he tried taking deep breaths through it. He held the book Sherlock gave him really tightly.

Sherlock went back to his desk and tried to finish the email he'd be writing. It was to a client and at first he felt unsure about whether or not to take the case since John was gone. Then he thought that was rather stupid -- he'd had cases before John's arrival in his life, there's no reason to sit around waiting for John's return. Then he got up and made a cup of tea, and suddenly he was incredibly aware of how empty the flat was without John. He took his tea to his chair and sat down in the silence.

John woke with a start and, for a moment, forgot where he was. Someone across the aisle was giving him a dirty look and glancing at the child sleeping beside them. When he looked down he saw that he must have woken when he dropped the book he had been holding. He picked it up and looked more closely at it. The book was a thick copy of Shakespeare's complete works. He didn't think Sherlock liked that sort of thing, and it made him smile softly. That's when he realised he wished he could have brought Sherlock with him. It was an odd feeling -- he knew Sherlock didn't do very well with sentiment and comforting others, and yet he had grown comfortable having Sherlock around all the time. His mind drifted to his sister, who was alone now. Where had Clara gone without her? Were they fighting again, or was it a work thing? Had Harry drunk herself stupid because she missed Clara? And why would she try to drive? He rubbed his forehead hard and tried not to let his mind run away with ideas until he got there and saw what was going on. He looked down at the book again and decided a small distraction would be okay. He pulled out his phone.

Your book woke half the car, myself included. Could you have found a bigger one? -JW

Sherlock heard his phone and jumped to get it, before realising that was a bit of an over-reaction. He looked at the text.

Perhaps you should come back and take a different one? SH

I'll have to make due for now. -JW

Sherlock stared at the text and thought about the flat's emptiness. He wanted to say something that would help, but he didn't know what would. So he decided to just be honest.

I wish I could help. SH

I know, Sherlock. There's nothing to do, though. -JW

John didn't know what to say to him -- at the moment he hardly knew what to do himself. He still had a couple hours on the train and he was going crazy.

You can text me about cases and things like that. And don't forget to eat, please. -JW

You've barely been gone an hour and already you're nagging me? Outrageous. SH

John smiled properly. 

Someone has to do it. I can't have you ill as well. -JW

His smile faltered a bit but he sent it anyway. He thought of Harry again and squeezed the phone tightly. 

I'll eat if I feel like eating. Why isn't Clara taking care of this? SH

She must be out of town. They can't reach her, and I am listed as the secondary contact. -JW

Hopefully you can get her into rehab and then come home. We have a new client. SH

I'm not sure. I won't know until I get there. -JW

John realized he hadn't mentioned the accident. Sherlock must think that she just got too drunk. He didn't correct him. He really didn't have any information yet and opening that door would only lead to questions he couldn't answer just yet. 

I'm seeing the client tomorrow. Perhaps by then you'll know when you're coming back. SH

Maybe. I hope it's an interesting case for you. -JW

Sherlock didn't like the sound of that. It seemed like John was expecting to be gone a while. He wondered again if John just needed a break from Sherlock. Is that why he was going across the country just because his alcoholic sister had a hangover? He hoped that John wasn't sick of him -- Sherlock knew he was difficult, but hadn't they found a good balance between them?

We'll see. I think I'm going to go lie down for a bit. Have a safe trip and let me know when you arrive. SH

Okay. -JW

John put his phone into his pocket and, needing to pass more time, started flipping through the book. As he did he found small slips of paper falling out, all of them that seemed to be a part of a bigger scheme, directions to find cigarettes hidden in the flat. He shook his head but found himself slipping them back into the pages he had found them. 

Chapter Text

When the train arrived, John hailed a cab and went straight to the hospital. He didn't know where he would be staying and wanted to start there, hoping after he did he would have an idea of how long he would need to stay. He wouldn't be able to afford a hotel for too long, and he really didn't fancy staying in Harry's flat without her there. Adding that to his list of things to think about later, he made his way inside and asked around until he was directed to her room. He gasped softly and, for the first time in a long time, wished he wasn't a doctor. He knew what the numbers on the monitor meant -- low heart rate, slightly low oxygen levels, and low blood pressure -- and he knew what the machines meant as well. The breathing mask and the IV bags and the tube feeding. He swallowed hard. "Damn you, Harry," he whispered, setting his bag on the chair. He needed to find her doctor.

Before Sherlock was able to go into his room, Mrs Hudson came to the door. He opened it and headed back to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Mrs Hudson followed him, tidying up a little as she passed things. "Where's John?" she asked. "It's a mess in here."

"No, it isn't," Sherlock said. "And if it is, it's his mess. He's only been gone a few hours."

"Wait, what? Has John really left?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "A few hours ago."

"What have you done, Sherlock?" she asked. She felt a strange mix of anger and worry. She'd watched how Sherlock had changed since John moved in, but she also knew how difficult he could still be.

"I've not done anything," Sherlock said, a bit confused. He handed her the mug. "What's going on?" he asked when he saw her worried face.

"You tell me -- why has John left you?"

Sherlock felt even more confused. "He's coming back," he explained. "His sister's an alcoholic and he's gone up to get her into rehab."

"Oh, thank god," she said, lifting her mug to her mouth.

"What did you think . . . why did you say John left me -- what did you mean?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "I was just confused." She took another sip. "So when he's coming home?"

"I'm not sure," Sherlock said. "But soon."

"Good," Mrs Hudson said. She set her cup in the sink. "If you need any help . . . I might be able to."

"I was going to take a nap," he said. "So if you really want to help . . . get out."

She swatted at his arm and then smiled before heading downstairs. Sherlock headed into his room to lie down on his bed.

John was trying Clara's cell phone again. They had done what they could to stabilise Harry, but she still needed one more surgery to repair some damage to her leg. John told them to go ahead, but as he wasn't the main contact on her papers they couldn't listen to him. He paced by her bed and willed her to wake up, willed Clara to answer her phone, anything. He felt helpless standing beside her bed and yet he couldn't make himself leave either. After leaving another message for Clara, he opened a text to Sherlock. 

It seems I might be here for a few days, at least. I will get you a specific date as soon as I can. -JW

Sherlock rolled over when he heard his phone. His eyes hurt -- he'd gone properly to sleep and now everything had gone dark and the brightness of the phone seemed extraordinary. He read the message and frowned. He just didn't like the thought of John being gone.

Just come back. You can sort things from here. SH

I'm still trying to get a hold of Clara. I can't leave until she gets here. -JW

Do you want me to help? SH

Did Sherlock mean help to find Clara? John wondered how she would react to having a stranger track her down. Then again, he wondered if she knew about Harry at all and imagined Sherlock breaking the news only knowing half of the story. 

No. She will call back soon and we will get it sorted. -JW

All right. Just tell me if I can do anything so you come home faster. SH

Don't worry, I can still type up the case. I brought my computer, just send me the notes. -JW

Sherlock realised he hadn't really been thinking about the case at all. He just wanted John to come back for some reason. It just didn't seem right without him here in the other room. But he wasn't sure that was the right thing to say.

Where are you staying? SH

John looked around the ICU room with the small pull out bed. That was going to have to do for now. 

With Harry. -JW

Don't destroy her flat like you've done here. Mrs Hudson was complaining about your mess earlier. SH

John couldn't help a small chuckle. 

I'll try and keep the eyes out of Harry's microwave. Oh wait. That was you. -JW

Sherlock stretched a bit. He wasn't quite sure whether to bother getting up at all. He turned on his bedside lamp and opened the drawer to get out a book.

Text me before you go to bed. SH

John put his phone away and set up the little pull out bed, talking with the nurse about Harry's condition when she came in to adjust her bed a bit. She promised to keep trying Clara as well, since the surgery for her leg would be very important to her healing properly. John didn't bother changing his clothes, not wanting to be in pajamas if the doctor came to see them again. The nurses brought him a couple blankets and he lay down, plugging his phone in behind his bed. 

I am lying down now, going to try and get some sleep. Don't be rude to the client tomorrow, okay? -JW

Sherlock had read for a while and then got up to get some tea. He ate a few biscuits, almost to spite John. He was back reading in bed when John's text came through.

I'll try. Good night, John. Come home soon. SH

He sent it and went back to reading until he fell asleep.

John put the phone on the windowsill behind him and shifted to try and get comfortable, looking over at Harry until he fell asleep. Unsurprisingly he had a nightmare, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors sending him back to when he had been shot and in the hospital himself. He woke up feeling exhausted and sore, accepting the awful coffee the nurse had brought him. This continued for the next two days. He slept badly, talked to Harry for a bit, called Clara every couple hours, and texted with Sherlock about the case he was working on. Sherlock kept asking him to come home already and John kept feeling bad as he denied the request, still not having told him what exactly was going on. 

As the second day was coming to a close, a commotion in the hall brought Clara stumbling into the room, pulling John into a tight hug. "I left my phone on the table when I left for my mum's! She had made me so mad --" She saw Harry on the bed. "Oh God!" she cried and then she was sobbing. Eventually she was able to tell John about their most recent fight and how guilty she felt, wishing she had stayed home. John could only offer words on comfort, trying to wait an appropriate amount of time to tell her that she had to find the doctor and approve the surgery. When she hurried from the room, John found his phone again. 

Clara is finally here, it shouldn't be long now. -JW

Sherlock was out when the text arrived. He'd met with the client and had started his investigation. It didn't seem like it'd be difficult and in all honesty, John's expertise was unlikely to be needed anyway. At least it would keep him busy until John's return, which according to the text, would be soon. Sherlock realised his body felt a bit lighter, his mood better.

I'll put the kettle on. SH

He sent the text, smiling to himself as he walked home to the flat.

John felt a swoop of guilt when he read Sherlock's text.

It won't be today, Sherlock. We've got more to sort out. I'm sorry. -JW

I know, John. Just sort it soon. I may need you on this case. SH

It was a lie, of course, but Sherlock thought maybe it would motivate John to hurry.

I will try my best. I'll keep you posted. -JW

John knew Sherlock wouldn't be trying to guilt trip him if he knew the severity of everything going on. As he sent the message, the surgical team came in to speak to John. Clara had gone home again, possibly to bring some things back to stay, but she had agreed to move ahead. John knew what the exact procedure was going to be but he pretended that he didn't, letting them explain the procedure and the possible risks, before taking her to surgery. He tried to relax a bit -- soon she'd be on her way to being back to her old self. And then John could go home again.

Chapter Text

John was woken up again by the nurse coming into the room to see him, asking where Clara was. John said that she had gone home for a bit and was wondering about Harry's surgery, but she wouldn't tell him anything until Clara was there as well. He got on his phone and started calling Clara again, and thankfully she answered this time. The nurse took the phone and spoke to Clara out of the room while John paced back and forth and tried to get a bit of the conversation through the door. After a few minutes, she returned and gave the phone back to John before leaving the room. He called Clara back.

"What's happened?" he asked right away.

"There was a problem -- they've had to intubate," she said. John knew that meant there had been complications, that her heart probably stopped while they were working on her leg.

"It's okay -- these things happen sometimes but they know how to handle it," John assured her. She said she was on her way in and hung up. John continued to pace until they brought Harry back to the room, four hours after she was supposed to have been back. She now had a breathing tube in her mouth and was in a coma. John's eyes blurred as he moved to hold her hand, talking to her softly while he waited for Clara to arrive.

In London, Sherlock was wrapping up his case. He took a photo of the cheque and sent it to John with a note saying he had no intention of sharing. He stopped in to see Lestrade and then had tea with Mrs Hudson before heading up the flat. It seemed empty again. He got online but didn't have any new emails. He checked his phone but John hadn't replied to the photo. He made himself a cup of tea but ended up falling asleep on the sofa. When he woke up, the room had gone dark so he got up, changed into his pajamas, and flopped back down on the sofa, flipping through the channels on the television. He was surprised he still hadn't heard from John, and it crossed his mind that perhaps John was heading home, intent on surprising Sherlock. He kept his phone in his hand regardless as he drifted to sleep again in and out of sleep on the sofa.

When Clara arrived, John left the room to give her some time with Harry. He checked his phone. He didn't have the energy to tease Sherlock just then. He didn't really know what precisely to say at the moment, so he didn't bother sending a reply. When it got dark, John started preparing the little bed again. A small part of him was resentful that Clara hadn't offered him the flat, or to at least offer to stay since she knew they wouldn't give John any information, but he knew that both he and Clara were exhausted by all this. He took out his phone again and texted Sherlock. It was time to give him a little bit more information, at least hinting to the possibility that he might be away for a few more days.

Harry isn't doing much better so, for now, I will be staying. How are you? Saw the cheque. Must have been some case. -JW

Sherlock woke when his phone made a noise. He read the text. This was going too far now. Obviously Sherlock had insight into an addict's mind, but at this moment, all he could focus on was how Harry's problem was influencing his own life in a way he did not find acceptable.

Just leave her to Clara. It's not good for you. Or me obviously but she always stresses you out and then you turn abusive. Just come home. SH

I can't, Sherlock. It's just a few more days. I'm sorry. -JW

You keep saying that but you're not here. SH

I know. It's a tricky situation. -JW

John licked his lips and looked over at Harry, the machines all beeping and puffing rhythmically. There was no getting out of it, he was going to have to tell Sherlock how severe it really was. In honesty he didn't know why he hadn't already.

She's in a coma, Sherlock. There was a car accident because she tried to drive while she was drunk and I don't

John stopped and stared at the message. This wasn't something to be sent over a text like that. He deleted it all.

Sherlock frowned. He knew he was pouting and Mrs Hudson had already scolded him for that today -- he wasn't in the mood for a guilt trip from John either, so perhaps he should try to rein it in a little.

Fine. I'll probably still be here when you return. If you do. But I can't guarantee anything. SH

He hoped the teasing would mean John wouldn't nag, but still made clear that Sherlock was actually really missing him. He rolled off the sofa and decided to take a bath.

John sighed and rubbed his temple for a moment. He could just call Sherlock and tell him, but this wasn't really Sherlock's thing. He could imagine giving Sherlock every detail and then Sherlock simply asking when he would be home anyway. No. He would figure it out later. He plugged in his phone and shifted to get comfortable, preparing for another restless night.

After his bath Sherlock went to bed. He seemed to be getting much more sleep since John was gone. He wondered why. The bath had relaxed his body, and it wasn't long until he began to dream.

He awoke with a start a few hours later. He couldn't remember the dream but he knew it had to do with John and it was upsetting. He reached for his phone -- no messages. He started a text but then realised it was three in the morning and John would be asleep. Was his vague dream enough of a reason to wake John up? No, probably not. But he was unsettled. He padded up to John's room and lay down on his bed. That seemed to help for some reason.

John was up early in the morning and, unable to sleep, he went to talk to Harry as if he could rouse her from her sleep. When the sun was up Clara came back and she sat with John on his little pull out, filling him in on everything that had been going on in the last few months.

For a while she had gotten better, even found a job that she was enjoying and showing up to. Clara said she didn't know what happened. Suddenly Harry was drinking again and, in an attempt to shock her back into sobriety, Clara said she was leaving. She admitted that now she realised how stupid that was, that upsetting Harry had pushed her to this.

John secretly agreed, but at the end of the day, Harry was an addict and neither of them could have stopped her if she didn't want to herself. They sat in silence for a while before she left again.

Doctors and nurses came in an out everyday, all of them giving John minimal information. He texted with Sherlock and tried to make him feel better, but it was hard when he himself needed someone to lean on at the moment. He still hadn't told Sherlock what was happening exactly.

Chapter Text

Sherlock was trying to take advantage of being on his own, but with no new case, he wasn't really doing well -- though he refused to admit it and had rolled his eyes when Mrs Hudson had praised him for "being a brave little soldier." It felt like Lestrade was calling him a bit more frequently, apparently "just to chat," and even Mycroft had checked in once. He knew what they all were doing and a part of him resented it. But another part of him realised how accustomed he'd become to John's presence and how much he missed it when John was gone.

After a few more days of John's vague "it won't be long" texts, Sherlock had had enough. He packed a bag and went to St Pancras and boarded a train. He didn't know the name of John's hotel, but there was only one hospital in town so he figured he would just find him there. He settled in for the train ride, opening his book to read, but it wasn't long until his head was drooping and he was asleep.

John was by Harry's bedside again, talking to her about the good things from their childhood, hoping that if she could hear him or if she was dreaming, she would at least be seeing something nice that would make her come back. He had a whole new perspective from this side of things. As a doctor he followed charts and numbers -- if the numbers said a patient was gone, they were gone. But now he was taking a new route, letting himself wonder if a person in a coma really could hear or understand, if they knew they were dreaming, if they were trying to wake up. He squeezed her hand. When he looked up, the doctor was back, peeking into the room but not coming inside. He knew the look on their faces. They had news, and it didn't look like good news. He fished out his phone from his pocket and called Clara. He wanted to know right away. This time he was not leaving the room. 

Sherlock's head snapped up. For a moment, he forgot where he was. He looked out the window trying to sort the towns they were passing. He was only about half way there. He looked down at his book and tried to read. When he lifted his head again, they'd arrived. He got a taxi to the hospital and went in to find Harry's room. It seemed unlikely this place had a detox area, so he presumed she was in a ward somewhere.

"Harriet Watson?" the woman behind the counter said. "She's in intensive care. Only family can visit. Are you family?"

"Are you certain?" Sherlock asked. John hadn't said anything about intensive care.

"Are you family?" the woman asked again.

"Yes," he lied.

"Are you really?"

"No," he said. "I'm a friend of the family."

"I'm sorry," she said. "No visitors except immediate family." She slid her chair away, letting Sherlock know this conversation was over.

Sherlock took his bag and got a tea at the canteen. He got out his phone and texted John.

Where are you right now? SH

I'm with Harry. -JW

John was a bit defensive about Sherlock's text. Did Sherlock think that John was lying about where he was? He looked over at Harry and squeezed her hand again. His stomach grumbled softly and he conceded that he was going to need food. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He patted his pocket to make sure that he had money and, after a slight hesitation, left Harry's room. He knew he wasn't doing anything but watching her until Clara arrived, but it was odd to leave her alone. In the lift, he rubbed his darkened eyes and scratched his growing beard. He knew he looked a mess and was glad he didn't know anyone at the hospital. And then, when he walked out, he did know someone.

"Sherlock?"

When Sherlock had received the text, he'd decided to see if he can sneak into intensive care. But here was John. Who didn't really look like John anymore. In fact, he looked dreadful. "Jesus, John," Sherlock said, grabbing his arm. "What's happened to you?"

John started a bit at the contact and the light shaking. "I was going to call you," he said, feeling as guilty as if he'd outright lied. God knew what Sherlock was reading in his appearance. His stomach growled loudly again. 

Sherlock looked again at John and then pulled him into a hug. "John, I'm sorry . . ." he said before stepping back awkwardly. "Are you okay? What can I do to help?"

The hug surprised John, and he forgot to keep himself together for a moment. His eyes welled up. "She tried driving and there was an accident and . . . and now she's on a coma," he said. He pressed his eyes hard and blinked up at him. "I don't --" he started, but then said, "-- there's nothing to do but wait."

"God, I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "You look . . . . have you been eating? Let me get you something to eat at least."

John shook his head.

"Come on," Sherlock said, pulling John's arm. "We can stay here in the building, but you need some food." He dragged him down to the canteen. "Choose something you'll eat," he said, ordering another tea for himself and pulling out his wallet.

John picked out a bagel and a coffee. "I was going to call you and explain," he said.

Sherlock thought about his attitude towards John's absence and felt a twinge of guilt. "It doesn't matter now," he said. "I know." He carried their tray to a table in the corner. "What hotel are you staying at?" he asked.

John broke off a piece of his bagel and shook his head. "I'm not. I've been staying here on a cot," he said.

"John," Sherlock scolded and then softened his voice. "Let me get us a place to stay," he said. "You need a proper sleep."

"I don't want to leave her in case . . . she wakes up," he said with a slight hesitation. He didn't want to think of another option. "I don't want her to wake up alone."

"Let's talk to the doctor," Sherlock said. "Maybe he knows if it's likely she'll wake up overnight and you can at least get a little sleep -- you can't be like this indefinitely. You have to look after yourself as well or you're no good to anyone."

John shook his head. "I know that she won't tonight. Tonight is as much chance as any time, really. I just . . . I don't know. It's hard to go." He rubbed his cheek again and winced at the scratchiness of his growing beard. "They won't tell me anything anyway because Clara is her primary person."

"How is she acting? Is she telling you what's going on?" Sherlock asked.

"She's been fine. I just wish she would add me on the papers, so I could know what was going on without having to call her to come in," he said. 

"We can sort that, I'm sure," Sherlock said. "Is she being horrible?"

John shook his head. "She feels guilty that she left and made Harry upset enough to drink again -- I guess she was doing better -- but she's hardly ever here. I think she just finds it too hard. . ." he said. He finished his bagel and stood to head back, feeling like he was gone too long already. 

Sherlock stood as well, grabbing his bag and the plate and mugs. He set those on the counter and followed John out, but before he let John walk away, he grabbed his arm again. "I'm going to go get us a room, okay? Get some information and then come to the hotel. Promise me, John, or I'll…come back here and get you myself, all right?" he said.

"Come with me," John said. Now that Sherlock was here he didn't want to be alone again. "Come to the room with me and I promise I will go with you."

"Of course," Sherlock said, but then looked around. "But they will only let family up there."

John took his hand and pulled him along. "Then I will say you're my husband," he said. 

"Fine . . .dear," Sherlock said as he walked along with John.

They had held hands a hundred times before, mostly during cases when they were chasing someone or running from someone and Sherlock would rather pull John along than explain instructions. This time, John took the lead and laced their fingers as he walked beside him. At the desk, the nurse gave them a glance and then did a double take, standing up and approaching Sherlock. 

"Family only," she said. 

"He's my husband," John said. "Harry's brother-in-law."

The nurse looked between them for a long moment, looked at their hands, and reluctantly nodded. 

John led the way to the room. "I'll just need a second," he said as he started gathering his things. When he was ready, he kissed Harry's forehead and promised that he would be back in the morning. "We'll come in the morning, yeah?" he asked Sherlock. 

"Of course," Sherlock said. He looked over at John's weary face. He had to do whatever he could to make him feel better.

Chapter Text

They stopped at reception and Sherlock asked about hotels. There was one just a street over so they walked and Sherlock booked a room.

"Two beds, please," he said to the woman. He looked over at John. "Our marriage is in trouble," he said to him, trying to lighten the mood.

John smiled at Sherlock's joke, following him up to the room number. "Why did you come up here?" he asked as he put his bag down. 

"Because something didn't seem right," Sherlock said, setting his bag down on the end of one bed. He filled the kettle with water and turned it own, sitting down on the bed as it boiled. "And I missed you, you idiot," he added, smiling weakly.

John had opened his mouth to reply before Sherlock spoke again, making John stop in his tracks. Emotion flooded him again and, to his horror, his eyes welled up again. He moved forward and hugged Sherlock, even though his head only came to John's chest while he was sitting. "Sherlock," he tried to say but then he was overwhelmed.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist, but as he felt John start to cry, he pulled on his body, trying to get him onto the bed. "Here, lie down," he said. "You should rest."

John let Sherlock tug his body onto the bed. He covered his face and tried to get himself under control a bit. He wondered what Sherlock thought of him at the moment. Did he think John was weak? Or stupid for caring so much for his sister when others would say this was her fault? The questions eventually led to the biggest question: what if Harry didn't wake up? She was the only family he had left now. 

Sherlock lay himself down next to John. He tried to kind of put his arm around him. "It'll be okay," he said softly. He knew it was such a stupid thing to say -- so clichéd -- but he didn't know what else to do. He knew he wasn't very good at being comforting, but he wished he could he tell John what he really felt -- that he would do anything in the world to make him feel better. Instead he just rubbed John's back.

John didn't care what it looked like or what Sherlock would think of his actions. He moved over and tucked into Sherlock's long form, wrapping his own arm around him so he could bury close. Why had he been doing this alone? Why hadn't he asked for help sooner?

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, holding him close. He hoped this action could say what he couldn't say aloud. He lifted one hand to the back of John's head and stroked his hair softly, putting his mouth against his head in a strange kind of kiss.

John closed his eyes at the soft touch, and Sherlock's warmth combined with this soft bed had John dozing, fast asleep within minutes.

Sherlock stayed lying beside John, just holding him as he slept. He realised now that this was a part of friendship -- of their friendship -- protecting and taking care. He wanted to do that for John. He listened to John breathe softly until his own eyes closed and he drifted in and out of a light sleep.

Surprisingly, John had no nightmares. When he woke up, he felt so warm and comfortable that he dozed off again for another hour. When he woke up the second time, he remembered that he wasn't at the hospital, and he also remembered why he was so warm. Sherlock hadn't moved, falling asleep wrapped around John. He was sweeter than John had ever thought it was possible for him to be.

And the kiss -- John suddenly remembered how Sherlock had kissed him before he fell asleep. He had, hadn't he? His lips had pressed on John's forehead. John looked up into Sherlock's face and touched his cheek very lightly. "Thank you," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Sherlock opened his eyes. He still felt drowsy -- in fact, he felt more comfortable than he had all week. "I missed you," he said sleepily, letting his eyes close again. He turned his head and kissed John's mouth before he opened his eyes. And then he opened his eyes sharply. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know why I . . ."

John shook his head before closing the space and kissing Sherlock's mouth again, a little more insistently now.

Sherlock kissed him back. It didn't make any sense, but it also felt good, nice and safe. John pressed his hand to Sherlock's chest, clutching his shirt tightly as the kiss got a bit more intense.

"John," Sherlock mumbled. His hand slid through John's hair, deepening the kiss.

John couldn't stop himself -- he knew they had to get back to the hospital, knew that he had been feeling vulnerable and that this might not make sense later -- but right now this felt like life. It was exactly what he needed. What he wanted. 

Sherlock pressed himself forward, like he couldn't get close enough. The kissing felt good, but it also felt safe and he wanted John to feel that, he wanted John to feel safe and taken care of, like he always made Sherlock feel.

John let Sherlock move over him, letting himself tuck under Sherlock, letting himself be completely surrounded by him. He wrapped one arm around Sherlock's neck, holding him close, just breathing the air between them for a moment. And then his phone started ringing.

Chapter Text

"Hello?"

"Where've you gone? Come to the hospital."

John sat up quickly, his free hand clutching Sherlock's arm. "What's happened?"

"We have to talk in person."

"Is she--"

"No, she's not yet. Can you get here?"

John nodded before remembering she couldn't see. "Yes."

They hung up and John looked over at Sherlock, a bit of shyness creeping through his worry. "I have to go to the hospital," he said. 

"All right," Sherlock said, pushing himself up off the bed. He stood and adjusted his clothes a little. John's face was covered with worry, and Sherlock knew he needed to be there for him. "Let's go," he said.

John changed his clothes and freshened up in the bathroom before they left. He kept glancing at Sherlock, wanting to say something about what had happened between them. In his head it all sounded stupid, especially as they were rushing to see Harry.

When they arrived at the hospital John led the way to the room, and this time no one stopped Sherlock. When he saw Clara by the bed, petting Harry's hair, he knew something was wrong.

Clara glanced at Sherlock. "Can we talk alone?"

John pulled Sherlock closer. "What's happening?"

Clara hesitated. "She's not responding at all. They . . . they've asked me if I want to stop the machines."

John's brow furrowed. "Obviously not," he said. "Let me look at the charts -- this can't be right."

Clara reached out and touched his arm. "I think maybe we should let her go. She wouldn't want to stay alive like this, and even if she were to recover, she's only going to keep hurting herself and all of us. I can't keep going through this."

"Then leave," John said angrily. "Leave her to me."

She shook her head. "We'll wait a few more days but . . . she's not getting better, John, she's getting worse -- it's not fair to anyone."

John started to protest, but she turned and left the room. Tears spilled like a flood, and he didn't bother stopping them. He had never felt so helpless. "She needs time...it's not her brain," he insisted to Sherlock, looking over at him. 

Sherlock pulled John towards him, wrapping his arms around him. He pressed his chin against John's head. "She's overwhelmed," he whispered. "This is all overwhelming . . . we'll sort it . . . we'll figure something out, something, somewhere she can stay until she's better . . ." He rubbed his hands on John's back.

"Clara shouldn't be making the decision," John mumbled into Sherlock's chest. "We can't let Harry go just because she can't stop drinking, Sherlock."

"We'll sort it, John," Sherlock said. "We can get the papers changed -- she's just overwhelmed by all the responsibility. If we need to find her a private hospital or rehab or whatever -- John, we'll sort it." It was all overwhelming, but this wouldn't be how things ended for John's sister. It was so clear that Clara simply didn't know what the right thing to do was.

"Why won't she just give the responsibility over to me?"

Sherlock stepped back and looked down at John. "She will -- we can get the paper changed. She'll understand if we talk to her sensibly and if she doesn't, Mycroft can sort it." He put his face close to John's. "We can take care of this together. We can get help to take care of Harry until she can take care of herself."

John blinked at Sherlock, stunned by the conviction in his voice, by the unspoken promise that, when she's awake, they will keep helping. . "Thank you," he murmured, pulling back to look at him. "Okay."

"Do you want me to get in contact with Mycroft? He can speak to her first and then . . . work around her if he needs to," Sherlock said.

John nodded.

"Give me her phone number and I'll go downstairs and ring him, while you stay here with Harry," Sherlock said, handing John his phone.

John found Clara's number on his phone and typed it into Sherlock's. "Here you go."

Sherlock touched John's shoulder. "I'll be back," he said, smiling softly.

He headed down to the canteen and got himself a tea. He rang Mycroft and explained the situation. All that was needed was for John to get his name on the papers. He tried to give Mycroft some context -- he didn't want Clara to be seen as the enemy, but at the same time, turning off life support was not an option. Of course, Sherlock didn't know the ins and outs of Harry's injuries or health, but none of that had to be sorted at the moment. John wasn't just her brother, he was also a doctor and he needed to have all the information to be able to make any decision. Mycroft assured him he would do his best to get it taken care of.

John stood beside Harry and held her hand again. He willed her to wake up, promising her that nothing bad would ever happen again.

Sherlock returned to Harry's room. "It'll get sorted," he said softly. "He understands how important this is." He touched John's arm lightly.

John leaned over on Sherlock and sighed softly. "Thank you, Sherlock . . . I'm sorry you've just been thrown into this -- I'm sorry I didn't call sooner."

Sherlock felt a bit of guilt -- he knew he'd been pouting childishly the whole time anyway. "It's okay," he said. "I'm here now -- that's what matters."

John used his free hand to hold Sherlock's while the other one held Harry's. "Clara said she had been doing well before the big fight. Maybe . . . maybe now, after all this, she really will stop for good," he said.

"You know what they say about hitting rock bottom . . . " Sherlock said. He wasn't sure what to say -- he knew words couldn't fix anything even though all he really wanted was to just make things right.

The next couple days passed too quickly for John, his mind constantly worried that Clara would sneak into the hospital and make the decision without his knowing about it. He was putting all of his faith in Mycroft now. John allowed Sherlock to take him to the hotel at night. He had been sleeping in Sherlock's bed, like the first night, but there had been no more kissing. All the worry was so exhausting, but Sherlock, despite claiming to not be good at these things, was doing a good job of being there for him. On Thursday night John refused to leave the hospital and Sherlock, refusing to leave John alone, slept in the little pull out bed with him. 

But there was no actual sleep. John watched Harry and her machines, watching the door, waiting for the moment that Clara would come in. If he didn't hear from Mycroft by then, John would resort to begging. When the sun started coming up John slipped out of the bed and held Harry's hand too tightly, begging her softly to wake up. An hour later, Clara was there. 

"You got a lawyer?" she demanded when she came in. 

John shook his head. "I spoke to who I had to speak to. I am not letting you kill my sister."

"She's killing herself," Clara said. "And her behaviour was killing both you and me as well, you know." She took a deep breath. "I have signed what I had to in order to make you the primary. I hope you know what you're doing. I'm sorry, John . . . I just can't do it anymore," she added more gently.

Sherlock had gone down to the canteen for teas. As he approached Harry's room, he saw Clara and John speaking at her bedside so he stayed back, listening from the door. He was grateful that Clara had done the right thing. It was clear she just couldn't take the pain Harry had caused. It flashed in his mind that one day John might feel the same way about him -- perhaps John would eventually just get fed up with Sherlock's insensitivity and impulsiveness and just wash his hands of him altogether. He hoped that would never happen.

He tried to give Clara an understanding look as she passed and then walked to the bed. "So it's sorted?" he asked gently, handing John his tea.

John nodded. "I owe Mycroft," he said softly, sipping on his tea. "What if . . . what if she doesn't wake up, Sherlock?"

"We'll see," Sherlock said. "Can you talk to a doctor now -- get the whole picture so you know exactly what's going on?"

John nodded. "I can. He's not in yet. As soon as he gets here I will."

Sherlock put his hand on John's back and rubbed for a few moments. "Do you want me to give you some time on your own?"

"No. If you don't mind, I'd like you to stay," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said. "Whatever you need." He smiled softly.

Chapter Text

Now that John had decided that they were not stopping treatment, he regularly saw nurses and the doctor coming to her room to check on her. The doctor confirmed there was nothing wrong with her brain, but comas were still unpredictable. John knew that meant they had given up and he made a mental note to never behave like that with his own patients again. He went to the hotel with Sherlock at night and spent the days with Harry, willing her to wake up.

Sherlock did some work at the hotel during some of the days -- updating his website and responding to emails to keep clients coming in. He wasn't sure how long they were staying -- and in all honesty, he was ready to go home -- but he wouldn't leave John to deal with this on his own.

On Sunday night, John was sitting close to Harry and talking to her about their childhood again, a small part of him worried that he had made a mistake in keeping her like this. He turned to look at Sherlock working on the little sofa, but his eye caught movement. He fixed his gaze on her hand, hardly breathing as he watched. Her fingers twitched again. John stood up quickly and looked up at her face. "Harry? You're okay . . . wake up . . ."

For a minute nothing happened. No movement or anything. And then her hand moved properly and her face scrunched up a bit. He pushed the call button and told them she was waking up. The nurse came in and ushered them out of the room, making them wait in the hall. He knew what they were doing -- checking her pupils, taking her vitals manually, and slowly taking the tube out of her mouth so she wouldn't choke. He reached out and gripped Sherlock's hand, waiting until they said it was okay to go back inside. When they did, Harry's bed was slightly elevated, she looked weak and her voice was very croaky, but she was awake and talking.

"John?" she asked softly, looking a bit confused.

"Hi," he smiled, holding her hand again.

"What's happened?" she asked, closing her eyes again.

Sherlock could sense John's relief, it filled the room. He stayed back a bit by the door. This wasn't a moment for him -- it was only about John and Harry.

John talked with Harry for a long time after she woke up. He didn't mention what had happened with Clara, only that she wasn't here. He introduced Sherlock to her and she seemed to like him, which John admitted to himself was important to him.

The day after, John having gone back to the hotel for a proper night sleep, Harry surprised him by saying she had signed up for the programme through the hospital to get better, promising that she really would this time. John found it difficult to believe her, but he didn't let on. He promised his support.

When she was well enough to leave the ICU, they transferred her to a rehab facility and, again to John's surprise, she didn't protest. After long assurances that she would be fine and that she would keep in touch, John agreed to leave and go back home. On the train, he looked over at Sherlock who had stayed the whole time.

"I don't . . . I don't know how to thank you," he said.

"You don't have to thank me, John," Sherlock said.

"I do. You helped save her," he said.

"No, John," Sherlock said. "I only did what was right --- I helped my best friend." He glanced down awkwardly.

John felt his face warm. Best friend. It was true but what about what happened between them? He glanced over at Sherlock -- he looked different somehow. John reached over and took his hand, lacing their fingers together.

"I hope she'll be okay," Sherlock said as he squeezed John's hand. Then he pulled it away and turned to look out the window. "Now we can back to our lives . . . are you going to work tomorrow?"

"No. I'll wait until the new week starts properly. I need a proper rest," John said. He looked at Sherlock's hand again and wished he hadn't pulled it away.

"I've got some leads on cases," Sherlock said. He stared out the window. He wanted to say something, to ask John -- would things go back to normal once they got to London? He didn't want that. He wanted it to be like it had been -- he wanted them to sleep together, he wanted them to touch. He wanted them to kiss again.

But he knew those things weren't really what John wanted. Not from Sherlock. He wanted those things from women, and Sherlock knew that -- what had happened up north was because John had needed comfort. Sherlock had given him because that was what friends do. But now, when things got back to normal, Sherlock knew he'd have to respect what John wanted and didn't want. Because that was what friends do.

Chapter Text

When they got back to Baker Street, John led the way inside. Even the flat looked different now. As he hung his coat he imagined going up to his room and he didn't like that. He wanted to go to Sherlock's. He didn't want to be alone. After Sherlock had hung his own coat, pulling John out of his thoughts as he got out of the way, he turned and faced Sherlock properly. "I feel like we should . . ." he started, but suddenly he was crowding Sherlock against the door, reaching up to touch his cheeks. "Sherlock," he said and then he was kissing him.

"John," Sherlock mumbled into the kiss, but he didn't step away. His arms wrapped around John lightly. "John," he said again, pulling him tight this time.

John licked into his mouth and deepened the kiss, moaning as he pressed into Sherlock, holding him tighter. Fingers slid into his hair as he tilted his head, his body warming very quickly.

This was what Sherlock wanted, but was John just trying to 'thank' him or did John want this as well? He pulled his head back a few inches, but didn't move his body away. "I want this . . . but only if it's what you really want," he said softly.

John nodded quickly and tried to kiss him again, but only did on the corner of his mouth as he realised Sherlock's worry. "I do want this -- with you. Not just when we're away or when I'm sad. Always," he said.

"Let's lie down," Sherlock said. "We're home. . . " He pulled John towards the steps. When they got into John's room, he pulled on John so they were lying together on the bed, close, like that first night at the hotel.

"You made everything better, Sherlock, I just can't thank you enough," John whispered before kissing his mouth. Then he touched Sherlock's chest again, gazing up at him. 

Sherlock stopped again. "Don't do this to thank me, John," he said. "If you . . . don't do this just for me."

John shook his head. "I'm sorry I keep saying these things together. They are independent." He moved a little bit away. "I do want you, Sherlock, because . . . I love you."

Sherlock squeezed John close. "I feel the same about you," he said. "I've felt it for a while, but only just realised . . ."

John nodded. "I know," he murmured. "Will you kiss me again?" he asked. 

Sherlock looked at John and slowly lifted his hand to the back of John's head. He smiled and then leaned in and kissed his mouth softly. "You're so good . . ." Sherlock mumbled as he moved from his mouth to his cheek then ear and neck.

John tilted his head before shifting to half cover Sherlock's body with his own. "You are," he said. 

"I'm not," Sherlock said. "You brought the goodness into this flat."

John shook his head. "Shut up and kiss me," he smiled. He kissed Sherlock a bit harder, climbing properly on top of him. 

"John Watson," Sherlock said, smiling as he looked up at him. "What on earth are you doing to me?"

John smirked cheekily. "Depends what kind of supplies you have," he answered. 

Sherlock looked genuinely surprised. "You pervert!" he laughed, pulling him down for a kiss.

John was still grinning so the kiss was a bit out of control. He got a hold of himself and kissed back, now rolling his hips lightly.

"John," Sherlock said. He placed his hands on John's hips, rolling his own against John's. "God, this all feels good."

"I want more," he murmured. "Please?"

Sherlock nodded as he moved his hands to John's lower back, pressing this bodies together. "Please . . ." he exhaled.

John rolled harder before he started removing clothes, starting with Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock lifted himself off the bed as his shirt was pulled off. He lifted John's over his head and then pulled him close, pressing their bare chests together. It felt better than anything -- warm and exciting but also comforting and safe.

John kissed him properly again, rolling his now hard cock against Sherlock's groin, moaning softly as his hands explored bare skin.

Sherlock rolled their bodies so he was now over John. He kissed him and then reached down to unbutton John's trousers slowly, undoing the zip and slipping his hand inside. He palmed John through his pants and dropped down to kiss his mouth again as he wrapped his fingers around to hold him. John arched into his touch, moaning into the kiss as his body flushed even hotter.

"You're so gorgeous," Sherlock purred. "Take off the rest of your clothes. . ."

John shifted and pushed his trousers down to his thighs, then his pants and wormed out of them together. "You too," he said breathlessly.

Sherlock slid out of his own trousers and then leaned down to kiss John again as his hand moved between John's legs and he started a slow stroke. "God," Sherlock said. "Why didn't we ever do this before . . . all that time, we could have had this. . ."

"We were stupid . . .I was," John said, moving into Sherlock's hand.

"You were," Sherlock said, smiling. "But I guess I'll forgive you." He dropped down and put kisses on John's chest, flicking his tongue across his nipples. He glanced down and watched his hand moving, and instinctively his hips starting moving a bit more. "Will you touch me?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, yes," John moaned, shifting down a bit. Their height difference made it a little harder, but they moved together and John was able to wrap his fingers around Sherlock as well, moving his hand in time with him.

"God . . . that feels good . . .," Sherlock exhaled. He closed his eyes for a moment, dropping his head to the side of John's. He turned it and pressed a kiss against John's ear. "John . . . so good."

John nodded, turning his head to kiss Sherlock's mouth. "What do you want to do?" he asked.

"John," Sherlock smiled as he lifted his head. "I can't really take much more . . . please just -- don't stop now . . ."

John shook his head. He moved his hand and his hips more, needing more. 

"John," Sherlock gasped. "God. . . I'm sorry . . ." He called softly and then he was coming against John's hand and belly. He did his best to keep a steady stroke on John, though his orgasm felt like it was taking over his whole body.

John gasped as he watched Sherlock let go, watching him get lost in the pleasure of being together. He came as well, moaning Sherlock's name and arching into his hand. 

Sherlock stayed frozen over John's body as he tried to catch his breath. He lifted his head and kissed John's mouth. "You okay?" he asked softly.

"Perfect," John nodded, smiling up at Sherlock as he panted softly. 

Sherlock shifted slightly to lie next to John. "I'm glad we're home," he said.

"Me too," John said, closing his eyes. He hated to think anything good came out of what happened to Harry, but now that she was okay, John could admit it brought them to this new place. "I love you," he said softly.

Sherlock reached up and stroked John's hair. "Me too," Sherlock said, smiling.

John turned to face him. "Tell me. Please?" he murmured, smiling softly.

Sherlock looked closely at John. "I love you," he said quietly. He smiled. "You know I do," he added, leaning close and giving him a little kiss.

John closed his eyes and smiled softly. He shifted a bit and settled comfortably to rest. Everything was going be okay.

Chapter Text

John finished knotting his tie, looking over at Sherlock before putting on his jumper. "You look very handsome," he told Sherlock. "She's going to be here soon, I am going to go down and make sure everything is ready." He kissed Sherlock's mouth quickly before heading down, smiling at the 'Congratulations Harry' banner over the fireplace. She was celebrating six months sober today, having stayed in the rehab center by her own choice until this day came. John had offered to go up and see her but on their weekly phone call she said she was coming down to London, and then she would be getting her own place outside of the city. Clara still wasn't speaking to her, but Harry said she could understand why. She'd forgiven Clara, admitting she herself had done a lot worse. 

John had snacks to hold them over while the dinner was finishing up -- Mrs Hudson had helped a lot in getting everything ready. They had sparkling juice to celebrate with, and for the first time in a long time, John felt very proud of her. When he heard the doorbell, he called to Sherlock again before going to get the door. He let Harry in and they hugged before she followed him up to the flat. 

Sherlock had watched John getting ready. He was so good. And handsome. And Sherlock liked kissing him and doing other things with him. He hadn't even minded Mrs Hudson's teasing that she'd known this would happen all along. He glanced over at himself in the mirror as he waited for John and Harry to come up. When they walked through the door, Sherlock smiled at John. Harry looked almost like a different person. He smiled at her as well. He handed them both a glass and said, "Congratulations."

"This is too much, really," Harry said, slightly embarrassed. "You didn't invite a bunch of people, did you?"

John shook his head. "No, it'll just be the three of us. And this is not near enough to celebrate your accomplishment. It's a good thing, Harry," he smiled. He offered her snacks as he checked on the food. 

Sherlock watched John move to the kitchen. He sat down, not quite sure what to say. Harry sat down as well. "Thank you," she said.

"It was all him. He planned everything," Sherlock said, glancing towards John.

"I mean -- for all of it," she clarified. "At the hospital and all . . ."

"That was John," he said.

Harry smiled softly. He clearly did not like compliments. "Well," she said. "Thanks for taking care of him."

"You're welcome," Sherlock said, lifting his glass for a drink.

"It's almost done," John announced, sitting next to Harry. They talked about her treatment, different techniques they used and tricks for using now that she was out. She had a sponsor to call whenever she needed.

Harry knew John's news from their calls so he focused on her, until she focused on Sherlock, pretending to be the concerned big sister about their dating. John laughed happily as he went to get the food out of the oven.

Sherlock didn't say too much really -- like it'd been at the hospital, this felt like it was about John and Harry, not him. He stood up and said, "Let me help you." He stepped over to the table which was already set, so he just moved a plate or two about to do something.

Harry stood up and moved into the kitchen as well. "It smells good, John," she said. "Thank you both once again -- for everything. I mean . . . you saved my life." She held up her glass as a toast to both of them.

John raised his own glass. "And here's to you and your success. I'm proud of you," he said.

"And welcome to the family, Sherlock," she said. "You've seen us at our worst -- you sure you want in?"

Sherlock stepped closer to John, slipping his arm around John's back. "Yeah," he said. He turned to help John bring the food to the table. When they all sat down, he leaned over and quickly whispered in John's ear, "I love you," before turning to begin eating.

John flushed lightly, not because of the touch or the words but because Harry was making silly sounds and faces at the show of affection. But he supposed it was a good reason to be teased so he let her do it while he served food and they started eating. As he did he looked between the both of them and smiled, unable to help marvelling at how much things had changed in the last six months. He really could have never imagined a moment like this happening, but he was so grateful and happy it was now his life.