Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

"Damn it John Breathe!" Sherlock shouted.

Sherlock's hands furiously compressed John's chest in the practiced CPR move. His lips touched Johns and he puffed his breath into John's airway five times. Then Sherlock felt John's neck for a pulse but he still could not find one.

"John, you wanker. BREATHE! You are not leaving me."

Then Sherlock said a word he hardly ever said, and when he did he never meant it. This time, though, he truly and desperately meant it.
"…Please." Came the word in a broken, pleading whisper.

-20 minutes earlier-

-Sherlock POV-

This was just supposed to be a meet up with Moriarty. So why was John here, and why was he strapped to a bomb? And why did Sherlock's chest suddenly feel so tight, his heartbeat had quickened as if he'd run a marathon. For the first time in his life he couldn't think, he couldn't form a thought other than 'not john, anyone but John, please not MY John'.

Sherlock had John's gun trained on Moriarty. The sniper's laser site was still roaming around John's body: his heart, his neck, his head, and the many explosives strapped to his chest. Moriarty stepped closer to get the missile plans from him then proceeded to throw them in the pool. Ah, so it was all about the game after all, the missile plans didn't really matter. Then all of a sudden John grabbed Moriarty from behind, holding him in a headlock, and shouted at Sherlock to run. But how could he, when John was still in danger. He could never leave him behind.

"You've rather shown your hand there Doctor Watson." Moriarty said in a delighted, yet slightly out of breath voice.

By John's expression Sherlock could tell there were now laser sites on his own body as well. John let go of Moriarty as though he were a hot stove and retreated. His eyes showed more fear than when the first sniper had aimed at him. 'Always more worried about my life than his own. Idiot!' Sherlock thought but attempted to keep his expression blank.

"Do you know what happens now if I let you go Sherlock? Kill you? No, don't be obvious." Moriarty said in his lilting singsong voice echoing faintly in the tiled room, "I mean I'm going to kill you anyways… someday. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying…" the consulting criminal paused

"I will burn you. I will burn the heart right out of you!" Moriarty spat through his teeth.

His heartbeat quickened because he knew Moriarty didn't mean his physical heart. Moriarty had somehow figured out in a matter of days what took Sherlock's 'vast intellect' almost half a year to solve: he loved John Watson. That he was Sherlock's heart and Moriarty was intent on burning John, and any other emotion Sherlock had ever had, straight out of him. He'd never truly been a sociopath. He'd always had feelings but learned at an early age never to show them. Which was why it had taken him so long to recognize he was in love with John; practice can make too perfect.

"I've been reliably told I don't have one." Sherlock said after a beat of silence where only the lapping of the chlorinated water was heard.

"But we both know that's not true." Moriarty grinned with twisted glee. Then he abruptly changed directions "Well I'd better be off."

They bantered back and forth as arch-nemeses do until Moriarty finally left, his expensive shoes clicking on the tiled floor. Sherlock kept the gun trained on him until the bastard was through the locker room door, and kept it aimed at the door for a few moments longer, just in case. Finally he could look at John and make sure he wasn't injured. He was sure John could see the primal fear emanating from his eyes and Sherlock dropped the gun and tore the explosives vest off his body; his hands and fingers shook badly. Sherlock's hand lingered over John's heart for a second almost to reassure himself he was still breathing…still here.

" Alright? ...ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" He repeated when John didn't reply.

John finally said he was as he stumbled on his feet, somewhat woozily. Sherlock slid the vest as far away as he could along the slick floor. His hands still felt shaky, hell his whole body was vibrating. John was safe though and that's all that mattered. He went to check the door Moriarty left from and John seemed to fall into a crouching position with his back against the wall and his legs bent awkwardly in front of him. He was breathing quite heavily trying to calm himself down. Sherlock came back and started pacing in front of him, trying to use the metronome-like tapping of his Italian loafers to lower his heart rate.

"That thing…that you did…that you offered to do. That was um…good." He stumbled through the words. He glanced between John and the many reflections of the water that bounced around the walls. One hit John's face highlighting his handsome eyes for an instant.

"I'm glad no one saw that." Watson said. "You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

Sherlock froze for a second, unsure how to respond. He knew he was in love with John but was quite sure that, while they were best friends, John was not in love with him. So in order not to scare him off Sherlock hadn't told him; having part of John was much better than having no John at all.

He finally responded, "People do little else," with his usual wit and smiled at John. Until the smile was torn off his face when the sniper's laser suddenly appeared right over 'My John's' heart, again.

Moriarty strode back in to the room cockily. He told them he was going to kill them, as they were too much trouble for him; the usual villain-talk but with an eerie undertone of psychopath. Sherlock glanced back at John and it was as if they could have a conversation without speaking, a conversation with just their eyes. John was the only person on Earth he could do this with.

Moriarty said, "I believe everything I've thought has already crossed your mind."

Sherlock held John's eyes, and he made a barely noticeable nod. He replied, "Probably my answer has crossed yours."

He pointed the gun at Moriarty, and then when he had his full attention slowly lowered it to the vest of explosives that was between them. If they were going down they were taking Moriarty with them.

Chapter Text

-John Watson POV-

"I believe everything I've thought has already crossed your mind." Moriarty said.

John held Sherlock's gaze with his eyes and nodded to him to continue.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock said. He pointed the gun at Moriarty, and then slowly lowered it to the vest of explosives that was between Moriarty and them.

John's soldier instinct kicked in. His body silently drew in energy; it coiled in his calf and thigh muscles, ready to spring. Ready to protect Sherlock. Time seemed to slow down but his awareness heightened. This had happened in battle a few times so he knew what to expect. His whole body seemed to thrum, as if every cell were on the same frequency and the only objective was to save Sherlock, damn the consequences to himself. A world without Sherlock was not a world worth living in. 'He is the most amazing, intelligent, brilliant man on Earth…and I love him.' John thought.

The second he saw Sherlock's hand muscles tense to fire John sprang. His body slammed into Sherlock milliseconds after he fired. He just hoped it was fast enough to get them into the water before the bomb exploded. He felt and heard the explosion. A fiery cloud zoomed towards them just as Sherlock's body hit the water with a splash. He felt Sherlock's breath rush out of him. John's body was almost completely submerged when he felt the fire on his back. The flames licked across him, burning a path as they went. It hurt like hell but the shockwave from the blast pushed them deeper underwater before he was burned any more.

John held onto Sherlock tightly, not wanting to lose him in the confusion. He looked up through the turquoise water and tried to see through the distortion of the surface when the blast stopped. He made sure they stayed under until the fire subsided and debris landed. Sherlock felt limp in John's arms; 'I hope to god he's okay.' He needed to get Sherlock air, and needed to get him out of the pool. Hopefully he was just knocked out from the jolt of hitting the water and the shockwave from the bomb. John pushed against the gritty white pool floor and swam furiously, holding Sherlock in his arms, up to the surface. He gasped for air as soon as he broke the surface, lungs throbbing, and swam to the edge using one of the lane dividers as help. He then pushed Sherlock's limp body up onto the tile floor.

Sherlock started coughing up water immediately but didn't become conscious yet. He had a small purple bruise on his temple, but John could tell it wasn't serious. He breathed a huge sigh of relief. The man he loved was going to be fine, they were both going to get out of this and they could go home. Sherlock could continue solving mysteries and John could continue following him around and loving him from afar. Sherlock had already stated when they met that he was married to his work so John had never told him his feelings. He also would not have been able to stand it to be apart from Sherlock if he made him feel uncomfortable by sharing his feelings.

"Sherlock? Sherlock are you ok? ...It's all right, you just wake up whenever you're ready…like usual," he said with a slight roll of his hazel eyes.

He was so relieved that Sherlock was not hurt, that he was still in the water watching the rise and fall of Sherlock's chest as he breathed, still unconscious but showing signs of waking. The adrenaline high was leaving John and he was beginning to really feel the burns on his back in all their glory. They stung like a Motherfu… When he heard huge creaking and groaning noises from above him. The sound of metal and stone tearing He looked up just in time to see a large chunk of beam from the ceiling falling exactly where he was floating.

"SHERLO—mmf" John managed to yell as it cracked against his head and then whooshed all the breath out of his body as it landed on him. Everything started to go black and the last thing he remembered was the feeling of sinking.

Chapter Text

-Sherlock POV-

"Sher… ck? Sh…lock? Sherlock…you…k? It's alright…wake up…ready…"

'I'm so tired, I don't know where I am or what is going on, and that's quite unusual for my brain. I think I'm dreaming…aren't I? Who was calling me? It's as if cotton balls are in my ears… or WATER?'

He suddenly remembered everything in a rush: setting up a meeting with Moriarty, seeing John, John strapped to a bomb, Moriarty stepping out of the doorway, the conversation, thinking it was over, ripping the bomb off John, relief, Moriarty coming back, John's nod, pointing the gun at the bomb, and, almost instantaneously, shooting and feeling John collide with him sending them towards the water.

His eyes shot open. Quickly he catalogued his body; 'breathing normal, head aching slightly, chest a little sore (probably from impact both of John and the water), no burns though it's obvious the bomb went off due to the condition of the room. Overall fine but will be sore for a week or so. The next question is where is John? Obviously I was in the water (I'm wet), someone else got me out of the pool (as I was unconscious for undetermined amount of time) and it wouldn't have been Moriarty. Moriarty!' He quickly scanned the room for both Moriarty and John and within a few seconds didn't see obvious signs of either. Moriarty had gotten away, of course he must have had numerous backup plans, but where could John be?

"Oh my god!" He gasped out loud finally realizing the only place left to look for John was in the water. His heart skipped a few beats.

He sat up and scanned the bottom of the pool searching through the rubble spread across the floor and finally saw legs. JOHN! He was wedged underneath a large piece of the ceiling that had fallen and Sherlock could only see his legs and head on opposite ends. He realized there were no bubbles coming from John's mouth. 'NO!' Sherlock's heart grew cold as he dove into the now murky water, swam all the way down, and grabbed the beam. It was so heavy he didn't know if he could move it, 'but I have to because it's John, my John'. It started to shift, a little bit at a time, and stirred up debris in the water, then finally it moved enough that John's body was free. Sherlock grabbed him around the waist, pushed against the pool floor for an extra boost of speed, and started frantically kicking till he got to the surface.

John's body was limp in his arms and he wasn't breathing as Sherlock swam towards the edge, ignoring the floating pieces of rubble in his way. He quickly dragged John's limp, waterlogged body out, and then used his arms to lever himself up onto the side of the pool. Sherlock searched for a pulse first on his wrist then neck. 'I can't find his pulse anywhere. He's got a bad laceration and bruise on his forehead, probably a concussion, and massive bruises all over his chest and stomach from the beam.' He started CPR.

'1, 2, 3… 18 19 20 chest compressions,' Sherlock counted in his head. John's wet clothes made squishing noises against the tile floor as Sherlock's arms pounded his chest. Then he put his mouth to John's, hoping this would not be the first, last, and only time he could kiss those lips. Those cold, unmoving lips. Sherlock tilted John's head back, held his nose and puffed five breaths into his mouth. There still was no response; John's chest didn't even rise, meaning the breaths were not getting past his airway and into his lungs. He continued, and all the while started to panic. This was the second time tonight he had panicked. The third time in his life he had ever really panicked. All of which had been when John was in danger of being hurt or killed. 'I've never felt this way before; I've never been in love before this; before John.'

He continued his compressions, and breaths. John's face was losing all color and his lips were turning an alarming shade of blue.

"Damn it John, breathe!" He shouted.

Sherlock's hands furiously compressed John's chest in the practiced CPR move. His lips touched Johns and he puffed his breath into John's airway five more times. Then he felt John's neck for a pulse but still couldn't find one.

"John, you wanker, BREATHE! You are not leaving me!" Sherlock shouted in a strangled voice, emotion overcoming him.

Then he said a word he hardly ever said, and when he did he rarely meant it. This time, though, he truly and desperately meant it.

"…Please." Came the word in a broken, pleading whisper.

He kept pumping John's chest, and suddenly felt a tremor through John's diaphragm. Sherlock kept pumping his chest another 10 times. He put his lips to John's and breathed the last 5 breaths into him. Finally he felt the doctor's chest spasm and he started coughing water up. Sherlock turned him on his side so he could evacuate the water more easily. That's when he noticed the burns on John's back. 'All over his beautiful back, are red welts and oozing sores and blood. He got those protecting me, damn that idiot…But I don't have time now.'

He turned John back after his body seemed to stop the chest spasms and the water was out of his lungs. Sherlock watched as his chest moved slowly up and down, finally breathing. He put his fingers on John's wrist checking his pulse. 'How I've taken that for granted, that simple fluttering beat telling me John's alive.'

His heart felt 30 kilos lighter, and the rush of relief made him dizzy. In his stupor he bent down and quickly, lightly, laid a kiss on John's lips. Sherlock jerked his head back realizing what he had done, his soaking wet pants sliding on the floor a bit, and was glad John was still unconscious. 'If John ever found out he might hate me, or leave, and I can't have either of those happen.' Sherlock thought with an inward flinch.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and took out his phone, somehow not damaged by the water, and called Lestrade.

"DI Lestrade here."

"It's Sherlock, I need an ambulance right away, you'll want to bring police and the fire department too. The public pool. Please hurry." He hung up before Lestrade asked a bunch of inane questions that would distract him from John. Sherlock noted that another 'please' had slipped out, and he meant this one as well. John's care was and is paramount.

He sat there, not noticing the rather large puddle forming around he and John, and waited for the ambulance, annoyed that there was nothing else he could do for John's probable concussion and crushed ribs. 'I can't complain too much since John is still with me.' Sherlock thought. He watched every breath and still held John's wrist, feeling his pulse. After two and a half minutes, and exactly 52 of John's breaths later, the police had arrived and were starting to make their way through the rubble. Lestrade and the medics were first. The medics rushed to John's aid while Lestrade started talking to Sherlock.

"What in the bloody hell happened Sherlock? Was it the serial bomber? Is John okay?" Lestrade asked in quick succession.

"Yes it was the serial bomber Lestrade, and obviously the bomb blew up. John's breathing, but I don't know if he'll be completely fine." He said the last part with a grimace. During this time the paramedics started to put John in a neck brace, took his vitals, checked him for injuries, and, with Sherlock's help, lifted him onto the gurney. Sherlock never let go of John's hand; the medics could work around that surely.

They wheeled him to the ambulance, every time the medics seemed to want to protest Sherlock's presence they would look in his eyes and start to speak, but whatever they saw seemed to shut them up immediately. 'I must look just as desperate and haunted as I feel.' Thought Sherlock. His hand tightened around John's.

The ride to the hospital was blessedly short; Sherlock had continued counting John's heartbeats. They started to head in the ER doors when the medics paused for a second.

"I'm sorry sir, but you can't go in here." Said the female paramedic as she held Sherlock's gaze, almost bravely. "They have to fix him up, and then you can see him again soon. I promise."

Sherlock's eyes widened and his hand reflexively tensed around John's. Then he placed a light kiss to John's fingertips, reluctantly let go, and watched them wheel 'My John' away. Something in Sherlock ached deeply at the loss of his presence, like losing a limb, or a heart, but still being able to walk around.

Lestrade came in and found Sherlock staring at the faux wood doors they wheeled John through. He glanced back, and Lestrade seemed to flinch at the look in his eyes. He silently led Sherlock over to the cheap brown chairs and they waited.

The room had cream floor tiles with brown specks, the walls were painted a warm yellow-white with a linoleum baseboard around the bottom half of the wall, and the walls had poor copies of supposedly cheery paintings. It felt like forever that they sat there, Sherlock's leg twitched nervously making his chair tilt back and forth over it's uneven legs, and his hands were clenched together on his lap. Lestrade didn't seem to know what to say, so he just sat next to Sherlock, and silently waited. Finally the doctor walked out of the doors, Sherlock shot up like a rabbit, and rushed over.

"Ah, family of John Watson?" said the doctor. He was a shorter man, he looked tired, there were bags under his chocolate-brown eyes (not unusual for an ER doctor), and his skin was tan but looked strange under the fluorescent lights.

"Yes, I'm…yes." Sherlock replied, not knowing exactly how to quantify their relationship. 'It's not like Harry, the only family John has left, would even show up, probably too drunk off her arse.' Sherlock thought sadly.

"Mr. Watson is stable." Sherlock let out the breath he'd been holding. "We've looked over his injuries and he has a moderate concussion and laceration on his head, one broken rib, one fractured rib, many bruised ribs, a laceration on his forearm, and part of his back is covered in first and second degree burns. We've stitched up the lacerations and treated the rib injuries, and the concussion needs monitoring but should be all right after a few weeks. His back is the more serious concern, as there are open wounds and burns that were exposed to unsanitary water. We've cleaned and treated them, but he will need antibiotics for at least three weeks and we need to check the burns often and change the dressings often to insure healing and prevent infection. They will scar quite a bit, but we found he does not need any skin grafts at this time. If you would like to see him I can bring you to his room. We can never predict when someone will wake from a concussion so we'll just have to wait."

"Thank you, and yes I would really like to see him now, please." He twitched at the use of the word once more. This could take some getting used to, although it seemed like some part of Sherlock already used it automatically.

The doctor took him to John's room. Sherlock paused at the door for a moment, nervous to see John look, well, not like John. It only lasted a moment, before he strode in and went immediately to John's side. He did flinch when he first set eyes on the army doctor's still form, Sherlock had never seen him look so...small before. He sat down in the chair next to the bed, and gently took John's hand in his, and before he knew what was happening he kissed the back of the army doctor's hand. Slightly shocked at himself, he sat back, fingers on John's pulse for reassurance, his hands still wrapped around John's, and waited. 'At least waiting for John to wake up was better than waiting for his heart to start beating again.' Sherlock thought.

Sherlock heard the irritating tick of the hall clock as he looked around the dull hospital room. He started to feel the aches and pains of the day and the exhaustion. It was deeper than the bruise on his forehead and the general soreness of almost getting blown up. 'Who knew emotion could take everything out of you like that?' Sherlock thought. He'd never felt this much emotion before, never had someone to care about…to love.

'I don't understand why people go through so much trouble for love. Is it really so bad to be without it?' He sighed out loud then worriedly checked John to be sure he hadn't jostled anything or woken him. As soon as he set eyes upon John's face his heartbeat thrummed and his chest warmed as he remembered all the little things that made him love John. He realized 'this is why people go through so much shit just to stay with their loved ones. John is beautiful yet strong, frustrating yet infinitely interesting, wears his emotions on his sleeve yet I can never tell exactly what he is feeling or thinking (especially when it comes to me). And he is worth every single second of agony I'll ever go through. He is worth it.'

He attempted to get comfortable, in the world's most uncomfortable chair (ugh hospitals), but never let go of John's hand, never took his fingers off John's pulse. It was his steady pulse that lulled Sherlock into a doze, the exhaustion and emotion of the day was just too much for him to stay awake.

Chapter Text

-John Watson POV-

'My chest is so tight…so tight. Can't breathe…can't breathe. Where am I?' His body felt weightless, but his chest was so heavy…so heavy. Then nothing, no feeling, no light, no dark, no sound, just nothing…

Then he felt something. There was something pounding on his chest, over and over again. 'It hurts, please stop.' Then his chest was seizing and he felt water in his mouth and nose, at some point it stopped, he wasn't sure when because he was somewhat out of his body. He felt something on his lips, and something squeezed his wrist. 'What was that? Who was that?' He blacked out.

At some point he started to notice things again. He felt warm, felt soft sheets around him, felt dizzy, felt pain but somewhat removed from his awareness. He felt…definitely hands holding his, but also he could feel the slight tickle of breath on his side, the up and down movement of a chest that wasn't his own, and a slight tickle of curly hair.

'Sherlock!'

The events of the pool zoomed through his head as if they were a movie recap on TV. He tried to figure out what the last events he remembered were. He remembered tackling Sherlock into the water and dragging him out. He remembered Sherlock was completely fine, coughing up the water in his lungs immediately and without assistance; so like Sherlock not to need help. Then things got a little fuzzy for John. He remembered a loud sound and…something from the ceiling fell on him? Yes that should be right, he thought. After that there was nothing he could remember.

'I must be in the hospital,' John's brain formed hazily. The bed was too small and uncomfortable to be his, and he realized he could hear a faint beeping from the heart monitor.

'I should probably attempt to open my eyes now' he thought. He started to creak one open and shut it immediately, clenching his eyes tightly due to the overly bright light. He tried again, there was only a small lamp on in the corner, and it wasn't as bright as his brain was making it out to be. He realized he probably had a concussion. He could finally get his eyes all the way open, he blinked around, trying not to move his head or body, dreading the pain he would feel when he did. He glanced over to see who was lying on him, and found it was Sherlock.

'Of course it was Sherlock, who else would even visit me?'

Sherlock started to stir, unconsciously sensing John was awake, and John quickly saved the snapshot of Sherlock (curled around John's arm, head against his chest) to save for later. When else would he ever get the chance to see Sherlock a) sleeping peacefully, and b) touching John, holding on to him and not wanting to let go.

Sherlock stretched like a cat, slowly coming back to life, but never let go of John's hand.

"Hey," said John in a low, throaty voice.

Sherlock seemed to freeze for a second then his eyes quickly met John's eyes, scanned John's body, and then went back to his eyes.

"Hello." Sherlock replied. "How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain?"

"I don't know, and not in a terrible amount of pain, no. Are you all right? What happened? I can't remember everything." He said in a gruff voice, his throat still raw from nearly drowning.

"Of course, you, the one in the hospital bed with more tubes stuck in him than the London Metro would ask if I'm all right." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes I'm fine you idiot. I got off with a bruise on my head. You on the other hand…" John saw pain and guilt flash through Sherlock's eyes. "You have been injured quite badly. Concussion, lacerations, broken and fractured ribs…and burns on your back, and they might be infected." John noticed Sherlock's blue eyes seemed to get darker and tenser as he named John's injuries.

John's felt his heart tighten at seeing the pain in Sherlock's eyes. The pain caused by John being hurt. He knew Sherlock did care after all, no matter how hard Sherlock denied it, how much he refused to admit it. John hated seeing that pain in Sherlock's eyes, but he hated seeing Sherlock hurt or almost killed even more, so he was still glad he saved the detective. He would give his life for Sherlock; he would do anything to protect this amazing man holding his hand.

"A beam from the ceiling had pinned you to the bottom of the pool. You stopped breathing, your heart stopped beating…I did CPR, but it still took too long." Sherlock's breath hitched before he forced himself to continue. "You have to promise me you won't do that again, you can't leave me. Not again. You can't let your beautiful heart stop beating. Please." Sherlock continued; his voice was pleading and broken. He squeezed John's hand and brought it up to his lips for a quick kiss.

John gasped quietly at Sherlock's sudden display of affection. His heart thumped extra strong for a second until he convinced himself that Sherlock couldn't possibly be thinking of him in that way…right?

"You know that's not something I can promise right?" He squeezed Sherlock's hand but saw a shadow fall over the striking ice-blue eyes at the words. "But I'll do my best, I swear."

"You have to do better than your best. I can't…" Sherlock seemed unable to figure out the right words. "I can't…I…I can't lose you." Sherlock finally said. He had brought one of his hands up to John's face and stroked his cheek lightly.

John felt a place low in his stomach get warm and tingly. His heartbeat quickened (which made his ribs twinge painfully) and he was embarrassed that the heart monitor displayed that change quite obviously. He couldn't keep anything from Sherlock anyways, but did the machine have to make it so damn easy. Well he seemed to have kept his more-than-friend-Love from Sherlock's notice.

John stared into Sherlock's eyes. "I don't want to lose you either…not ever. You keep me going Sherlock, you keep my heart beating. I'm not saying this to hurt you, it's just true. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't met you." He said, hoping he hadn't gone too far and scared Sherlock off.

Sherlock's eyes pinched painfully as he seemed to absorb what John's words really meant.

Then Sherlock's mouth crashed into John's.

John gasped into the kiss, ignoring the pang in his ribs, as Sherlock's lips moved lightly, sensuously over his. John couldn't quite believe it but the pain he was feeling proved this wasn't a dream (he thought so at least), so he started to kiss back, hesitantly at first. Sherlock's hands cupped his face, stroking his cheekbones, his jaw, and his hair. Soon the kiss turned desperate, deep, aching, passionate. Lips were everywhere, tongues dancing together, and teeth nibbling. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, sending tantalizing vibrations through both men. He felt himself getting aroused, each dart of Sherlock's tongue went strait down to his core like pleasant arrows of fire.

Suddenly John couldn't get enough oxygen in; he pulled back reluctantly, gasping for breath. He was gasping and his chest was sending sharp shooting pains through him. He started to hyperventilate, his head aching and dizzy, all of the pain that had been held off by medication, and Sherlock, came to his attention simultaneously. He felt the burns, his ribs, his stitched cuts, his concussion, and his lungs aching from expelling so much water only a few hours previous.

'BLOODY HELL THIS HURTS!'

Chapter Text

-Sherlock POV-

John was awake. Awake meant he was ok. It meant he wasn't going to die. Sherlock had never felt happier…until he remembered how John had gotten there.

"A beam from the ceiling had pinned you to the bottom of the pool. You stopped breathing, your heart stopped beating. I did CPR, but it still took too long. You have to promise me you won't do that again, you can't leave me. Not again. You can't let your beautiful heart stop beating. Please" Sherlock pleaded, a small part of his brain noted the word that slipped into his speech.

He surprised himself by adding the beautiful part without even meaning to. His brain went through the possible outcomes if John had died, if John wasn't in his life anymore. He decided he had to tell, or show, John how he felt. He could start off small so as not to scare him off, but he couldn't live without being as close to John as possible anymore. He couldn't stand the thought of being torn from him again. 'Burn the heart out of you'; the sentence kept popping into Sherlock's head. John was his heart, Moriarty seemed to have figured that out already and kidnapped John because of it. It wouldn't make any difference if they actually were to get together, Moriarty seemed to think they are anyways, heck everyone did.

He found himself kissing John's hand, and heard John gasp lightly.

"You know that's not something I can promise right?" John replied, and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "But I'll do my best, I swear."

That wasn't good enough, thought Sherlock, not even close. John's best seemed to be throwing himself in front of things that might hurt Sherlock.

"You have to do better than your best. I…I can't…" He faltered, trying to decide how to phrase what he wanted to say. He couldn't just up and tell John he loved him. That might cause John to leave him. He stumbled around the words. "I can't…I…I can't lose you." Sherlock finally said. He had brought one of his hands up to John's face and stroked his cheek lightly. It felt nice, not too smooth; it felt like lived in skin. Skin that had smiled, that had seen sun and rain, skin that had the perfect amount of imperfections, wrinkles, and freckles. Sherlock stroked it again, noting how John's pupils seemed to dilate and his heart monitor beeped a little faster. Surely this was a good sign…?

John's woodsy hazel eyes held Sherlock's gaze. "I don't want to lose you either…not ever. You keep me going Sherlock; you keep my heart beating. I'm not saying this to hurt you…it's just true. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't met you."

Sherlock listened to the words, he was happy John felt the same, but then he understood the words. John meant that if he hadn't met Sherlock, John didn't know if he would still be alive. Yes he had survived, just barely, a horrible war wound, but after that he had been drifting. John was a purposeful man without a purpose, in pain, nightmares every night, PTSD, and no friends or family really to help. He may have tried to end it. Sherlock winced at that thought. A world without John is no world at all, not anymore.

Sherlock couldn't take the pain of those thoughts anymore or the physical ache of the space between him and John. He didn't care if he scared John off, he couldn't stand being apart any longer.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to John's. John gasped and Sherlock thought he had wrecked everything for a split second, until John relaxed against him and started slowly moving his lips with Sherlock's. Sherlock thought he felt John wince lightly but was so entranced by the feel of John's lips moving against his he couldn't stop. The kiss deepened; lips moving in time with each other like a dance. It was hungry and wet and passionate. Sherlock almost came undone when John moaned into their kiss; the vibrations had tickled their way up his tongue and then shot to the synapses firing in his brain. Desire pooled in his lower abdomen, like warm little tendrils curling and twisting, and for the first time he didn't try to analyze or deduce, he just let himself feel.

Sherlock realized they were both gasping for breath, but John's were starting to sound pained, and desperate. Sherlock pulled back his head. He saw John gasping for air, felt him flinch and tense under his hands as the barrage of pain from his injuries overcame him.

Sherlock quickly pressed the Nurse Call button. "John you'll be ok, the doctors are coming, it's all right. Hold on I'll be right back." He ran to the door and yelled into the hall they needed help STAT. He rushed back to John who even through the pain had been holding his arm out to Sherlock, scared at the loss of contact.

Sherlock held one of John's hands and put his other on John's face trying to get him to calm down his breathing.

"John please, it's ok. Please try to calm down your breathing. The doctors will be here soon."

The doctors and nurses burst in the room and rushed to John's bed. Sherlock took a step back to give them room but John wouldn't let go of his hand. Sherlock saw his eyes and jaw were clenched in pain, his whole body rigid except for the erratic breathing.

"We're going to inject some pain medication and a sedative Dr. Watson. It will help you calm down and so we can get your breathing to normalize." One of the nurses said as she injected two syringes into John's IV. Within 30 seconds John's body started to calm down. His breathing slowed and deepened. His body became less rigid. Slowly he relaxed, but never let go of his grip on Sherlock.

"It's alright, this can happen after a body has been through trauma and these types of injuries, broken ribs and near drowning, can cause breathing distress afterwards. You may go to sleep because of the sedative, have your friend let us know when you wake up and we'll go from there." Said John's doctor.

Sherlock saw John's eyes open and close drowsily getting closer to shutting each time. He heard the nurses and doctors leave but never looked away from John. 'Well so much for my kissing skills, either I'm very bad, or dangerously good. We'll have to wait till John is feeling better to try again' thought Sherlock with some disappointment.

He sat back down in the chair and scooted close to the bed.

"You won't…leave me right? You'll be here…when I wake up…right?" asked John drowsily but with a hint of desperation in his voice that anyone but Sherlock might not have noticed.

"Of course John, I won't leave you, ever again." Sherlock replied squeezing John's hand. "Unless you want me to." Sherlock added, in a moment of vulnerability, because John's reaction after the kiss was to almost have a panic attack.

"No, not ever…" John replied, almost sleep talking; he was so far gone from the sedative. John's eyes had shut and his breathing became slow and regular from sleep. Dreamily John's voice whispered, "…I love you Sherlock."

Sherlock jolted at the words. John was asleep when he said them, and probably didn't even realize he did. 'But the words hadn't come from nowhere. They had to come from somewhere in John's head.' Happiness burst in Sherlock's chest, warm, sunshine-y, glorious love surrounded Sherlock's heart.

"I love you too John." Sherlock said, even though John couldn't hear it.

He settled in to watch John sleep, not worried anymore. John would be ok, and it even seemed as though they had a future together.

Chapter Text

EPILOGUE

-John POV-

He was finally being released from the hospital. After 9 days of doctors, nurses, concussion monitoring, the infection in some of his burns finally abating, his ribs healing, and the worst of it all…hospital food, John Watson was allowed to go home. Home to Baker Street to rest and recuperate for another couple weeks. At least no doctors or nurses were going to bother him at 5 AM to do checks, and he would have a comfortable bed and real food.

He had been surprised that Sherlock stayed with him the whole 9 days. The detective didn't leave his side once, he didn't complain about boredom, and he didn't use (too) many nicotine patches. After he had explained over and over again that 'yes indeed, we can kiss Sherlock', 'no it was only my recently injured ribs, diaphragm, and concussion that made me hyperventilate after kissing you', 'YES! I promise, we can bloody kiss again and I won't stop breathing!' All John's talk finally made it into the stubborn detective's brain and since then they had shared many kisses and touches while John was in the hospital.

-Flashback-

Sherlock. Bomb. Moriarty. Bomb. Sherlock. Snipers. 'Sherlock limp in my arms.'

He was underwater, wait no, that wasn't right. He was at a pool, but the colors were too bright for it to be real, and everything was moving slightly like he couldn't focus.

John bolted awake, heart racing, gasping for breath.

He looked to his right and breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock was right there, sitting in the chair next to his bed, absently playing with John's fingers and staring into space. He abruptly looked back at John; he knew Sherlock could tell he had woken from another nightmare. Sherlock squeezed his fingers and leaned down to give him a reassuring kiss, quickly and lightly. Luckily the kissing had become a regular occurrence. Unluckily the nightmares had as well.

"It's all right John, I'm here, we're both safe. It's all right." Sherlock said quietly into John's fingers clasped in his hand.

What Sherlock said was mostly true, John knew, they were safe for the moment. Sherlock had not died, though John's dreams usually leaned towards that scenario, and John was leaving hospital soon, but Moriarty was still out there. They didn't know what injuries he had sustained, but knew he would be scheming again soon. John's eyes flicked to the case files Sherlock had Lestrade bring to the hospital for Sherlock to read. John knew after this, both him being injured so badly and their relationship changing drastically, that Sherlock planned to shut Moriarty, and his network, down. John was terrified that Sherlock would do this even if it was the last thing he ever did. John tensed again; he saw the images from his nightmare reappear, flashing through his eyes. He clenched them shut and tried to force the dreams away. He felt Sherlock run a hand through his hair soothingly and then he leaned in to put his lips on John's forehead.

"Mycroft has assigned us guards for awhile. They'll make sure we're safe… I'll make sure we're safe. And I won't leave you John… I promise I won't do anything rash." Sherlock kissed his forehead when he paused each time.

John felt his muscles relax from their tensed state, but his mind could still see every image like it was tattooed on his retinas. A single tear slid down his cheek and he wiped it away quickly.

"Sherlock, could you…maybe..." John looked down embarrassedly, "…I swear just one more time. I just need…to feel you." John said a slightly guilty whisper.

Sherlock smiled and then proceeded to climb into John's hospital bed. He slid in right next to John, laying along John's side, lightly wrapped his arm around John's torso (being careful of his tender ribs), and nestled his face in John's neck. They lay there for a while, and just listened to each other's breathing and felt each other's heartbeats. They cuddled together, both grateful the other was still alive.

"Thank you," John said in a quiet voice, "I'm fine now, I promise. Sorry."

Sherlock huffed, the warm breath tickling John. "John it's fine, really, I've found I actually quite enjoy it. Besides we'll be doing this a lot more when we get back home." He smiled into John's neck.

-End Flashback-

John blushed at that thought; it was both nerve-wracking and exciting.

He continued to get together some of his belongings that Mrs. Hudson had brought for him to wear and use while in the hospital. Sherlock was filling out some paperwork for the release at the front desk. 'I love that man' John thought.

-Flashback-

John was finally able to sit up and use the facilities comfortably now. He could move around a bit, although he was still assigned to bed rest. Sherlock was sitting in the chair next to him reading a book. He still had a penchant for holding John's hand, especially with his fingers around the army doctor's pulse point. He knew Sherlock didn't think he noticed this but he did.

Sherlock looked up to notice John watching him with a part happy part desirous look in his bright hazel eyes.

"I know we haven't exactly talked about all of this in detail," Sherlock said suddenly, "but I've wanted to say this for a while now. I've waited so long because I thought I would scare you away." Sherlock paused anxiety flashing through his eyes before he attempted to put his indifferent mask back on. "And you don't have to say anything back, I know it's soon in our…relationship?" Sherlock stopped for a second seemingly having trouble getting his words out. "...But, I love you John Watson." Sherlock said. John could see obvious trepidation and fear in his eyes, but also hope and sincerity.

John couldn't stop himself from beaming, "I love you too Sherlock Holmes. I love you too."

Sherlock's eyes lost the fear, and it was replaced with pure joy radiating out of his whole body. He leaned in and snogged John damned good; steamy, hungry, owning kisses, with a hint of a smile. Their lips fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces. And it felt amazing.

-End Flashback-

John smiled as Sherlock walked into his hospital room for the last time. Sherlock took his hand, wove their fingers together and they walked down the hall and out into the brisk sunny day. They had long gotten used to ignoring the two guards in suits who had stayed outside the hospital room and followed them everywhere.

"Let's go home Sherlock. I really want to go home, although I suppose that's anywhere you are, isn't it?" John smiled. "By the way we have one huge decision left to make." He said with a mock-serious face.

Sherlock looked at him with genuine worry for a split second before realizing John was kidding him on the last part.

"And what would that be pray tell?" Sherlock replied, cocking his eyebrow and smirking.

"Which bedroom is going to be OURS?"

"Ours?" Sherlock repeated lamely. Sherlock hadn't thought that far ahead…ok well he had thought pretty damn far actually…but he wasn't sure how far John was willing to take this given how emphatically he had described himself as straight; apparently quite far.

"Yes. OURS!" John pecked Sherlock on the lips. Well tried to peck, but it seemed Sherlock would not stand for that short of a kiss, so he pulled John into his arms, and they found themselves snogging in the middle of the street in front of the hospital.

The End