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While You Were Sleeping

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They had decorated Baker Street. It had been quite a bit of fun when they had; they’d cracked open a bottle of wine and even though Sherlock rarely imbibed he’d had some with her, and they’d played cheesy Christmas pop songs as they made the place look festive. They’d ended the night in front of the fireplace, with her somehow having modeled a set of lacy red and green lingerie topped off with an elf hat that ended up flung on the tree along with Sherlock’s pants. It was rather awkward when Mrs. Hudson walked in on them the next morning. It had been one of her favorite memories with him.

She didn’t want to think he wouldn’t remember that when he came too.

When she got to the Royal London Hospital she was told he wasn’t out of surgery yet but she could wait in his room. She nodded and moved into the room to wait for him. It looked so sterile and unappealing. She had brought a few bags of decorations with her, after asking Mycroft if it would be all right. He had said he supposed there would be no harm, as Sherlock would indeed be there over the holidays. She would wait until he was wheeled into the room, however.

She had been there for nearly an hour when he was brought in. Her eyes widened when she saw him. He looked like he’d been put through the ringer, for wont of a better term. There were cuts all over his face, and she could see he was going to have bruises all over. Some of his limbs were in casts already, and it was quite obvious he’d undergone extensive surgery. And worst of all, they’d had to shave his head. When the nurses left, she moved to his bed and ran her fingers gently along his cheek. “Oh, Sherlock,” she said sadly, her heart breaking. Someone had tried so hard to kill him, and from what the doctor had told her while the nurses were getting him settled, they’d almost succeeded. He had a long road to recovery.

And she’d be damned if he’d be walking it alone.

After a moment she started to decorate the room. There were garlands in one bag, cheap silver tinsel strands that she hung up on the window. Next there were two door length prismatic posters that she hung up, one on the back of the door leading out to the hall and the other on the door to the lavatory. There were a few little Christmas lantern decorations she hung up on the top of the window after that, and then finally she went and pulled out a tiny Christmas tree that had tiny decorations on it and set it on the table next to his bed. It wasn’t as cheery as Baker Street was, but it was something.

She went to his bedside and sat next to him, reaching over for his hand, grasping it. “I don’t know if you can hear me, if you still remember who I am and who I am to you, but…I love you, Sherlock. I’m here for you however you need me when you wake up, for as long as you want me to be.” She raised their hands and then kissed the back of his hand before settling in and waiting. She knew he would have visitors, that there would be people who wanted to know how he was doing, and she supposed she would need to steel herself to deal with all of that.

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She didn’t know how long it had been when she felt movement next to her. She hadn’t left his room at all; the nurses had taken pity on her and brought food to her, and let her sleep on the other bed in the room. But even then, she preferred to sit by his side, her hand grasping his, her head by his as she dozed. After a moment she realized that it was Sherlock’s fingers rubbing against the engagement ring on her hand and she lifted her head up, giving him a smile. “Hey,” she said, unsure what reaction she would get.

He opened his eyes, letting them flutter slightly as he got used to the light in the room. Once they were adjusted he grasped her hand more tightly. “Amelia,” he said quietly.

She felt a sense of relief wash over her. “You remember me,” she said. “Do you…do you remember…us?” she asked.

“My memory is patchy of the events surrounding recent events, but I do know who you are and our history together,” he said, his thumb going back to the ring on her finger. “I didn’t realize I had proposed yet, though.”

“You didn’t,” she said, giving him a smile. “Mycroft knew you had the ring in your sock drawer. The only way I could stay here was if I was your wife, so he gave me the ring. You didn’t actually propose.”

“I’m glad,” he said softly. “I would have been devastated to have forgotten that.”

She moved closer. “Do you still want to propose?” she asked.

He shut his eyes and was quiet for a long moment, so long that Amy was almost afraid he’d gone back to sleep. “You may not want to be part of my life,” he said softly when he finally spoke. “All of this may take too long for me to bounce back from. I may not fully recover. I may never be the same man you loved before.”

“I don’t care,” she said, tightening her hold on his hand. Then she lifted their hands up and kissed his hand. “I will fall in love with you all over again. I will learn to love whoever you are now, and I will stay by your side. I won’t make the same mistake I did with Rory by running away from my problems, by pushing you away. I promise you that, Sherlock.”

He nodded slightly and then opened his eyes. “I love you, Amelia.”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she whispered, tears in her eyes as she set their hands down and then moved up and kissed his forehead. Eventually the ring already on her finger would be given to her by him and it would mean something more, a promise of a future together, and whatever it was that he had to go through, whatever it was that happened in the future, they would get through it together.