Old habits (Johnlock)

chapter 8

John had always hated hospitals, from the day he was born he had cried until his mother was discharged and left carrying him in her arms. Hospitals were grim and they smelled weird and they made John sad. Nothing could be worse than being in a hospital bed, besides maybe he thought sitting next to one willing the love of your live to stay alive. Begging them in your mind to stay with you even though it would do no good. Doctors had told John that Sherlock may never wake up from this coma weeks ago, but John clung to the hope streaming from the word 'may'. Sherlock may wake up, John may sleep peacefully again, Mary may come back. May was a funny word, filled with broken dreams and hope, a vast oxymoron in the space of three letters. Three letters to bring fear and hope and love and loss. Just three. They were going to pull the plug today, Mycroft had said so and Mycroft sadly had all the power. Sherlock was to die and a part of John was to die with him.