“John!” Sherlock yelled, jumping up and looking around the room. He set his hand next to himself as if he imagined John would be there. He sighed quietly and rubbed his eyes, looking at the clock. It was five twenty. It took Sherlock three hours to fall asleep, he didn't want to waste another few hours.
Slowly, Sherlock got out of bed, walking past all the needles, bottles, and stray pills that were scattered over the bedroom floor.
He just couldn't stop thinking about John since the man moved away. No, he didn't fall in love with another person and go off, or finally decided he'd had enough of Sherlock, he moved away, but not exactly in that context.
John was rushed into the E.R. a few months ago. He had conjured up a possibility fatal disease, which weakened him and made him less aware of his surroundings. Because of that, his disease caused the accident that threw him into a hospital bed in a coma. He's been there for months, they say he'll never wake up.
But that doesn't stop Sherlock from trying. He'd lay down with John and talk to him, play a song he made on the violin, sit next to him and hold his hand like they were drifting apart…. He couldn't do anything to wake him though. He wasn't a doctor. He didn't know what was safe or what wasn't.
Sighing, Sherlock shuffled into the living room and sat at his desk. He opened his laptop and noticed he had a new email. He had been opening emails and reading the cases to try and find a distraction from John's medical situation. Just thinking of him made Sherlock's heart yearn for his warmth and unbeatable comfort.
It didn't matter that, if John didn't fall into a coma, he'd be leaning against Sherlock and needing help with simple daily tasks that he couldn't do anymore. Sherlock would help him out. It would be better than walking around the flat alone and heartbroken.
He opened an email, expecting to be presented with a case that he'd probably decline. But it wasn't even for a case. It started out formally, addressing Sherlock as Mister Holmes.
Then, as he read on, it took on a more sinister tone. It started to talk about John. 'I know he's in a coma, and I can bring John back.’
That was confusing. Nobody could just bring John back.
He continued to read out of sheer curiosity. They told him that there was something he needed to do first, before John was brought back.
It said he needed to give the devil his soul in a sacrifice, and kill a young woman and perform a ritual around her body. He didn't want to do any of that… but he was willing to try if it brought John back.
He did the tasks, half because he didn't believe in the devil, and half because he was going crazy. He didn't care what happened to other people now-- as long as John woke up.
The next day he went to the hospital and sat by John's bed. He reached over and took his hand, leaning over to kiss the man's face. John looked like he was waking up.
“John!” Sherlock had the purest, happiest face. He bounced in his seat. “Hey, baby,” he whispered, moving closer. “C-can you hear me? Love?”
He couldn't almost believe what was happening. It was a miracle.
John's eyes opened up. He looked around. Then he looked at Sherlock. He had an expression of absolute shock.
“John,” Sherlock cupped his face. He leant in and kissed his cheek.
“Sherlock,” John felt different. He looked around. “Oh my gosh, what happened…?”
Sherlock started crying. He leant down and cried into John. “John,” he sobbed. “My John's awake…”
“I-I, err,” John tried to sit up. Sherlock helped him up. He hugged John tightly.
“I'm so glad…”