Be My Starlight

Healing Slowly

They hold me in the hospital for another two weeks until my arm is mostly healed. My days are a whirlwind of treatments, withdrawal, police inquiries, and family/friend visits. John stops by every day, bringing me small things mostly. We mostly sit and talk about everything that happened, he dosent push me for answers about anything though. Today is my last day in the hospital, I can leave tomorrow morning. John is napping again, lying next to me on the bed. My arm is out of the cast now, though it is stiff. I run my fingers through his hair, waking him accidentally.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"How are you feeling Sherlock?"

"Excited to get out of this bloody place."

"I can tell your medications are wearing off."

"What?"

"You're getting irritable again."

He sits up, pulling me into a hug. I am still avoidant of contact, especially with John. I make an effort to accept everything, but the week I was gone was hell.

"What're you thinking about?"

"Everything."

"Have you gotten any sleep in the past two days?"

"No."

They knocked me out after I refused to sleep, making sure to do it again every two days. I need to sleep tonight though, at some point, or else they will hold me for a few more days. Every time I close my eyes I see Moriarty's face, the wicked smile he wears.

"Are you okay?"

I'm shaking again, fell too far into my thoughts.

"Yeah. I'm...I'm fine."

I let him hold me, thankful for the silence. Mycroft comes in a little later than he usualy does, smiling when he sees that we are together.

"Hey Sherlock."

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

We still havent made up from our fight fully, although he is trying. I have been fighting depression for the whole time since the abduction, only helped by John and those who visit. Mycroft sits in the chair, clearly he has something to talk about. John gets up and leaves us alone again, asking me at least try to talk to Mycroft.

"So... You get out tomorrow morning."

"I know."

"And I was wondering if you would like to do anything special."

"Why would I?"

"Its your birthday Sherlock."

"Dont tell John."

"What?"

"He would make a big deal about it."

"Fine. We can still do something Sherlock."

"No."

He goes silent again, making the occasional attempt to talk to me. I feel a twinge of sadness when he leaves, looking sadly back at me before shutting the door. John comes back in soon after, asking how it went.

"Fine."

"Sherlock? Are you okay?"

"No."

"Do you need anything?"

I curl against him again, letting him run his fingers through my hair for the first time since I got back. He kept trying before, absentmindedly, but it reminds me of Moriarty. I havent told him this, of course, but I think he has it figured out by now. Most of what happened at least. I told him what I remembered, not all of it, but enough.