If You Love Me, Let Me Go

Chapter 23: Almost Is Never Enough

Mycroft held the door open, allowing John to walk ahead of him and catch a glimpse of the hallway that stretched beyond. On the private ward, the atmosphere was completely different. The air had a distinct perfume scent and every surface was dustless. The nurses were unhurried, almost as if they too knew that they weren't going anywhere anytime soon. It was only after they took their seats in the waiting room that it occurred to John how unbearably difficult this was for Mycroft. Caring truly was was a disadvantage.

The months that followed John's return from Afghanistan brought the darkest nights he had ever encountered. They weren't just dark, they were black. Every night brought a new nightmare that he couldn't escape from. He couldn't breathe yet he didn't mind because quite frankly, feeling nothing was surely better than feeling everything. He would close his eyes, try again. But every time he did, he heard them. Screams - desperate, full of fear and overflowing with pain screams. Screams that would haunt ones dreams forever - and they did. When John awoke, the noise didn't stop. Only then did he realise that he was the one screaming. Pleading for the nightmare to end. And as John sat waiting to hear something, anything, he felt the same pain, the same nightmare just waiting to be heard.

Hours has passed before they were allowed to see Sherlock. He was still unconscious but stabalised, for now at least. Mycroft decided against it, but encouraged John to sit with him. Seeing Sherlock in such a state would only remind Mycroft of all the times he had found him, lying in an alley somewhere, a touch out of reality, oblivious to where he was and how he'd ended up there. Ever since Sherlock was twelve, Mycroft had waited for another tie on his brother's heart. After Redbeard, he thought it wasn't possible. Mycroft knew that John Watson was quite possibly the most dangerous temptation that Sherlock would ever face, a pull more powerful than any drug he had ever taken. Only the result of the elastic being released meant that Sherlock was back to his old habits. It pained Mycroft to admit it, but Sherlock's suffering was far beyond his help. John Watson was the only man who could get through to him now, if anyone. Mycroft knew that losing his brother would undoubtedly break his heart. Even if there was nothing there left to be broken.

John had prepared himself for what to expect when he entered the hospital room, due to remembering the vision he had when seeing Lestrade. Only this time, it was different. This time it was Sherlock, lying unconscious in a bed that was cold and incapable of comfort. The repeated noise that sounded from the machine attached to Sherlock's chest was the very little proof that he had a heart and it was in fact beating, existing, fighting. John struggled to remember a period of time this long he had spent with Sherlock without being insulted. His lips stretched at the thought, barely forming a smile but betraying the tears that formed in his eyes all the same.

The silence was hateful.

John fought the temptation of rewarding his tiredness by sitting down - because to sit would be making an unwilling commitment. He would be granting Sherlock's wish, giving him permission to stop fighting and slip away into the unknown. John swiftly moved around the bed, acknowledging Sherlock's best and worst angles. He looked the same, perfectly symmetrical. The white lights illuminated his features, revealing how pale he truly was. If Sherlock was in pain, John couldn't see it. He could feel it, but that was different. He looked remarkably peaceful, as though all his sufferings had come to a sudden end, just as John's had begun. It wasn't long before John had completely lost track of the time. He gave in and took the seat next to the bed. He sat close enough so that he could smell him. A mixture of mild bed sweat and disinfectant, but underneath, there was still something distinctly Sherlock and John clung onto it as he allowed himself to nudge that little bit closer. He pulled out the note once again and began to analyse it more intently knowing that Sherlock was as safe as he could be at this moment in time, by his side.