#johnlockangstnet

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John’s vision swayed as they finally pulled him away enough to tend to Sherlock themselves. John watched in horrifying slow motion as a nurse placed a tube down Sherlock’s throat, then ushered John out of the room before he could fully catch his breath. A few hours later, Mycroft showed up, and stayed in the room with the doctors, before finally opening the door and silently allowing John back in. John walked around the large bed and observed Sherlock’s state. Sherlock was reclined at a slight angle with a tube in his mouth, taped to the side of his cheek, and hooked up to a ventilator. Mycroft stood in the corner, his posture stiff, and his expression grave. John looked at him, raised an eyebrow, urging him to just say it, whatever it was going to be. John knew he wasn’t ready, and would never be. “The doctors are not sure how long he was unconscious for, without oxygen,” Mycroft began. “They’re not sure yet about his brain function, and will be running an EEG and an MRI in the morning.” John’s jaw and fists clenched and he looked back at Sherlock. Sherlock looked pale, thinner than usual, but alive, as if he was just sleeping. It almost looked like his eyes were even moving beneath his lids, but John knew it was just his own eyes playing tricks on him. He cleared his throat, and spoke. “Will he wake up?” John could hear Mycroft shuffle in the slightest way possible, shifting his weight off his umbrella and preparing himself to leave the tension filled room. John took his hesitation as the answer, but Mycroft spoke anyway. “They’re not sure, yet. They’ll run tests—.” “And you haven’t urged for the tests as fast as possible?” John countered as he turned around to face him. “You’re willing to wait till morning?” Mycroft met his eye without hesitation. “It’s the earliest I could manage.” John scoffed and turned back towards Sherlock. He wanted to scream at him to wake up, he wanted to cry, thinking maybe that will catch Sherlock’s attention, or something. He wanted his noise back, his presence, and him sleeping like this, like he was perfectly alive was making this entire situation seem like a bad dream, or a joke. John found he couldn’t quite breathe, so he turned on his heal and left the room without another word.