The horrid mustard coloured chair creaks under Sherlock as he stands and paces at the end of John's hospital bed. He'd been here for two hours now and John had been hooked up to various machines to monitor him in his unconscious state.

The blow he'd received wasn't life frightening.. yet.

It all came down to when (the doctor said if, but Sherlock refuses to believe that) he wakes up. If John stayed in this comatose state too long it could do damage to his brain.

Sherlock had spoken to various doctors, who had various opinions. The main, stupid, doctor, who said if, thought that John had little chance of waking up. Sherlock may or may not have snapped at him and told him all about his cheating wife. He had then requested a different doctor.

Dr. Kate was far friendlier and positive about John. He was sure the coma wouldn't last less then a week. He said he'd seen many cases like this and then commented on how John seemed like a fighter.

That had made Sherlock smile a little for the first time since John had fell from the tree. But the small twitch of his lips had soon disappeared as his eyes fell on his fighter, just as they did now.

John was noticeably paler. He'd been changed out of his constricting suit and was now in the ugly hospital dressing gown. Ugly or not, Sherlock refused to leave his side to go fetch some clothes.

Not only did he not want to leave John's side but he felt as though getting clothes for John was admitting to the world that John would be here for any great length of time. Sherlock just didn't believe that. He refused to believe there'd be a need for him to get clothes. John was a stubborn, strong man. There was no way they'd be in this hospital for more then a day.

Wrong!

Sherlock's stomach drops, his gut twisting. For some stupid reason, beyond Sherlock's understanding and logic, the detective chose that moment to consider the voice's opinion.

What if that stupid voice was right? It wouldn't be the first time...

What if John didn't wake up soon? What if it was weeks, maybe months, before he woke up? What if that stupid little sharp rock did scramble his brain? What if he didn't love Sherlock when he woke up?

Sherlock snakes his head with a sigh, ridding himself of the horrid thoughts.

John would wake up within the day. He'd wake up, smile at Sherlock, give him a kiss and then demand to be let out so they could go get married.

Wrong, Sherlock.

No. He wouldn't listen. He had no reason to worry. John would be fine.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong!

Shut up! Sherlock mentally hisses back to the childish argument the voice was making.

The voice went silent after that but the sick feeling in Sherlock's stomach remained.

The detective sits down again, the chair creaking once more, and he takes John's hand in his as he looks at his fiancé. Unknowingly, Sherlock plays with the ring on John's finger as he attempts to give the man a smile despite his closed eyes.

Suddenly, Sherlock frowns.

"I'm not leaving" He speaks before his brother had even entered, his tone cold and harsh.

Mycroft walks in with a smug smile, liking the way his brother was back to being cold. Both had silently agreed to not mention their little bonding session.

Then the older Holmes' eyes take in John. His smile falls but he does not look sad. He just looks like a machine. No empathy or sympathy showed in his face or eyes. Mycroft switches his attention to Sherlock, his face remaining uncaring.

Sherlock was thankful. He didn't need or want pity, he didn't need a friend or any other form of 'comfort' and he certainly didn't need a caring brother. All he needed was to be left with his thoughts while he waited.

Because that was what he was doing. He was waiting. He was not grieving, nor was he upset. He was just waiting for those closed lids to open and revel those beautiful eyes.

"Brother" Mycroft greets, wrinkling his nose up as he takes in the now crumpled suit Sherlock wore.

Sherlock stays with his body facing John as he turns his face towards Mycroft, his teeth baring in anger. He didn't want his brother here, telling him what they both know wont happen. "I'm not leaving, Mycroft. Tell Gary he doesn't--"

"Greg" Mycroft corrects.

There's a moment of silence as the two brothers stare at each other, all words going unsaid and yet both understood as they thought back to their conversation earlier today.

Sherlock's hand was still in John's as he turns slightly towards his brother, making his head rest at a less painful angle.

"Congratulations are in order, I believe, brother" Sherlock smirks as he deduces the other man "Wrinkled collar, someone's grabbed you and going by your swollen lips and displaced hair I'd say you and the Detective Inspector weren't just having an argument over my sleeping arrangements and well being"

Mycroft snorts and rolls his eyes, but Sherlock's keen eyes catch the traces of a blush. "A kiss. To shut me up. Hardly worth congratulations"

"A snog session to shut you up, more like" Sherlock scoffs.

Mycroft simply hums, choosing not to reply to that comment. "I'll tell Gregory that you're choosing to ignore his concerns"

"Thank you!" Sherlock replies in mock enthusiasm, giving his brother a large sarcastic smile and a wave as he turns together the door.

He then faces has John again and returns to waiting.

Two days pass that way. Sherlock sitting around, waiting (and arguing with nurses and doctors).

Greg had brought him some clean clothes by the end of his first night at the hospital, which he was thankful for. Not that he said so. Instead of thanking the DI he insulted him and embarrassed him to the point he left.

On the second day a few people came to visit and to 'comfort' Sherlock. He had either snapped at them or just ignored them.

It was now 4am and the third day of John being unconscious. Naturally, Sherlock was more worried then ever but, being Sherlock, he didn't let it show.

Standing, Sherlock let's out a small sigh. He couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried.  His body just refused to shut off despite it's fatigue. He'd trained his body to cooperate with his mind far too well. So now, his body was bending to the will of his mind and his mind was reeling with all kinds of thoughts, as it ever was. God, he'd never hated it more then he did right now.

All the negative thoughts and statistics were swirling around inside his brain like a crazy person running around in circles saying 'I'm a pretty pony'. Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration but it was how he felt.

Shaking himself slightly he walks over to John and kisses his forehead before he slides out the room in search of a warm beverage.

He makes his way to the staff's private kitchen, scoffing at the 'PRIVATE' sign. He really couldn't care less about their stupid rules. It'd been mere days and half the staff already hated him, but obviously no one said a word because he was the one with a big scary government official brother.

The kitchen was small, spotless and too white. Sherlock hated it. It was too typical. He could imagine all the nurses standing around having a good old chin wag while patients lay in their bed in pain.

Not that Sherlock cared about them. He only cared that time that could be spent helping John was wasted while a bunch of sex deprived middle aged woman discussed how fit this celebrity is in comparison to that celebrity.

Once Sherlock was finished making his tea, he picks up the cup and blows on the surface of the liquid. He takes a tiny sip, wincing at the heat, before leaving the kitchen with the cup in his hand.

On his way out a nurse passes and gives him a snide look. He gives her the finger, really not in the mood, as he walks past and back towards John's room.

He enters the room to see John sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Sherlock freezes for a moment, a whole wave of emotions running through him. He doesn't stop to analyse them before rushing over to the hospital bed with a huge smile, his tea and cup sent plummeting to the floor.

"John!" He half squeals, leaning down to cup John's face.

He leans in to kiss him when suddenly he's being pushed back and a fist collides with the side of his jaw, making sure their lips didn't meet. Sherlock falls to the floor and just sits there, holding his jaw and frowning at John. His fiancé glares at him. Sherlock gapes, bewildered. John hit him. Why had he done that?

"What the fuck are you doing?!" John was pretty angry, that was clear by his clenched fists and reddening face.

Sherlock frowns. More confused then ever. Why was John angry? And why at him?

The detective opens his mouth to speak but before he can John have taken in his surroundings and asks another question.

"Why am I in hospital?" He asks, looking to Sherlock again with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock looks at John, not saying a word as his heart thuds. He was too confused right now. First John punches him and now he's acting as though it didn't happened.

"Well?" John pushes, frowning at Sherlock.

Sherlock raises to his feet and brushes off his trousers as he replies "Um, you were pushed out of a tree and you hit you're head on a sharp stone. John, I'm confused, why did you--"

"Call a nurse" John orders with a wave of his hand, ignoring the fact Sherlock was in the middle of asking a question.

This was military John. Sherlock had seen it and heard the voice before on case and, yes, on occasions in the bedroom. He didn't understand why John was using his authority right now but he was powerless to disobey. John rarely used that tone and Sherlock had a weakness for it.

So, like a good obedient boy, Sherlock trotted off to find a nurse. He quickly comes ace to face with the one he flipped off. She gives him a sour look and opens her mouth to lecture him on manners.

She doesn't get the chance, however, as Sherlock begins to speak. "Morning Susan, John's awake and is requesting a nurse"

He doesn't get to explain further before she's nodding and rushing around paging doctors as she heads for John's room. Sherlock follows, deciding he can talk to John after they've got all the medical stuff out the way.

They enter the room and John smiles. Sherlock goes to smile back but he then realises that John isn't smiling at him.. He's smiling at the nurse.

"Morning, Mr Watson. You've been out for a few days after a blow to the head. How are you feeling?" Nurse Susan asks as she collects the clip board from the end of the bed and pulls a pen from her breast pocket.

John nods "Good. Bit of a headache and my head wound hurts but other then that I'm in perfect health"

"That's good. How long have you been awake?"

"Um, no longer then ten minutes" John estimates.

The nurse nods, jotting a few notes down on the clipboard after checking her watch.

Sherlock felt completely left out of the conversation, because he was. That and John hadn't even acknowledge his presence.  Sherlock had no idea what he'd done to make John ignore him like this.

Something was off, Sherlock could feel it. Something had changed.

What if the blow had affected John's brain and he no longer loved Sherlock?

Considering John's reaction to Sherlock trying to give him a kiss and this current behaviour, it was entirely possible. Sherlock really really hoped that this wasn't a time that the never fading voice in the back of his mind was correct.

"--and I'd like this man out of my room" John's words bring Sherlock back to reality.

Both the Nurse and Sherlock frowns at John, confusion evident on their faces.

"What?!" They question is synced shock.

John rolls his eyes. "I said I want this man" John gestures to Sherlock "out of this room. I don't want him near me" He gives Sherlock a look causing the usually cold faced detective to shrink away.

While Sherlock was drowning in confusion and hurt, the Nurse pipes up.

"John, can you tell me who this man is?" She asks slowly, as if John were a five year old.

John looks at her "I've never seen him before"

"What--" Sherlock starts, only to be interrupted by the nurse.

"Mr. Holmes! Please!" She snaps.

Sherlock falls silently, seeing as John was responding to her.

John looks between the two of them, his anger being replaced with worry. They were clearly not all on the same page right now.

"Dr Watson, this man is Sherlock Holmes, your fiancé" She explains, taking a step closer.

There's a moment of silence before John's eyes flicker to Sherlock then down to his own hands. He observes the ring there and laughs nervously.

"Okay, very funny. Where's the cameras? Did Harry set this up?" He looks around, as if searching for hidden cameras.

Sherlock's heart sinks, realisation dawning on him. John didn't remember him. At all.

"John, can you tell me the date?" Susan asks, tapping away at a button on her pager.

"January 26th, 2004" John recites the date as if it were his birthday. Sherlock recognises the date immediately. Two days before they met, over ten years ago.

Sherlock almost falls to his knees.

Ten years. Their whole friendship, relationship, everything. Gone. Forgotten. Every kiss, word, moment they had shared.. just gone. All because of a simple small sharp stone.

Sherlock falls into a near by chair, staring at John from his side of the room. The nurse shifts awkwardly as the two men stare at one another.

"Nurse..." John murmurs, not taking his eyes off Sherlock. "What's the date?"

"It's March.. 2014"

John looks away from Sherlock then, his eyes wide as he gapes as the nurse. A doctor enters the room then, but John pays no mind to the new visitor, still staring at the woman who just told him the date.

"Are you telling me that I banged my head and forgot ten years of my life?" John asks in disbelief, licking his lips and glancing at Sherlock. His supposed fiancé.

Susan nods, giving John a sad smile and Sherlock a pitiful look as she hands over the clip board and leaves the room.

"Ah! Doctor Watson, time for some scans I believe" The overly cheerful doctor, who's badge said 'DR. R JAMES' grins.

John doesn't smile back, simply nods as he listens to the doctor talk.

Sherlock continues to stare at his John, wishing this was a terrible dream, that he'd wake up to find his body had conquered his mind and  forced him to sleep slumped in that ugly chair.

Unfortunately he didn't wake, because he wasn't asleep and this was actually happening.

John had forgotten him.