Anonymous asked: Okay so what if Garridebs happens and Sherlock confesses his love while John dies and John remembers and thinks about it all the time while he is recovering but he still doesnt say anything because he thinks Sherlock only said it and meant it in that moment (im really bad at this sorry)

waitedforgarridebs:

And Sherlock doesn’t know if John remembers or not, because he’s already been very much unconscious back then, but he would say something if he remembered, wouldn’t he? But doesn’t he behave weird? Is this only because of the general shit that happened that had led to Garridebs? (something about Mary and the baby) Does John blame Sherlock for all of this?

So in the end it’s Sherlock who brings this up again, some days after John has been admitted to hospital and had time to recover a bit already.

Very carefully, Sherlock knocks at the door of John’s hospital room and peeks in to see if John is asleep.

“John?”

John, who had been pretending to read one of the magazines he had found in the kiosk downstairs only to pass the time and to tell himself that he’s not thinking about what Sherlock had said, almost jumps in his bed and straightens himself immediately, mumbling a hurried, “Yeah? Come in, come in,” as he sees Sherlock still waiting in the door.

Those last few days had been rather awkward. It’s not that they were being cross with each other - to the contrary, they were almost nauseatingly polite - or avoided each other’s company, except when they did. 

They talked, but in the same moment never know what to say. 

Hands almost found their way to fond touches of affirmation, but always got lost somewhere else halfway. 

They wished each other good nights every evening, even if the time they were apart always was the most horrible part of their days, despite all the awkwardness when they were together. 

And this morning Sherlock had woken up and realised that he wouldn’t be able to bear this even one more day. 

He had to talk to John.

Had to know what was wrong, so that he could fix it. 

Therefore he hadn’t moved away from the door very far and stood rather shyly on the other side of the room now, observing, hesitating. 

Until he stopped doing that and started rambling, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“I was wondering… the day you” (almost died, no, Sherlock, he’s fine, it’s all good) “were hurt, I… I told you something. Something I always wanted to say. Something I should have told you a long time ago. Something I suddenly was afraid I would never be able to tell you again. And now I-”

But his voice broke, the emotions to overwhelming, the fear of the consequences of this confession making his eyes water, the need of finally getting it out too great, the confusion about this whole situation hampering with his wanting to find the right words.

A heavy silence hung between them for some moments, their breathing the only sound in the room, the distance between them seemingly growing wider with each passing second.

Until John’s voice broke the silence.

“… Sherlock?”

And surprisingly enough, John’s voice wasn’t confused. Wasn’t angry. Wasn’t reproaching.

It was firm. Curious. 

… Fond.

And Sherlock looked up to find a warm smile on John’s face.

“I heard you.”