Characters are from BBC´s Sherlock and therefore the honour naturally belongs to the original creators (including Arthur Conan Doyle, of course). This is my first fanfic ever and as I´m not a native in English, I don´t claim or even expect it to be perfect. All the advice and honest feedback is very welcome :)
A GOOD SAMARITAN IN LONDON
It was clearly not one of his best days. Only good part was that the day hadn´t, at least, been completely boring. However, the piercing pain he was feeling now and which was only getting worse wasn´t exactly nice and the hazines that accompanied it was a real bother. Besides, dying wasn´t nearly as interesting as one would imagine. Maybe it was a problem of a method, but at least this way was utterly anticlimactic. Yes, he had most certainly a dangerous drug overdose and also somewhat painful knife wound on his side. That´s what one gets from pissing off a local gang boss.
He was laying on the wastebags in the corner of an alleyway. Breathing was painful as hell and his head felt as if it had been filled with cotton and knives (what a ridiculous combination that was!). It was getting damn chilly too. He didn´t have enough energy to get up. Hell, not even energy to call for help. And he truly needed help to survive. He could hear voices from distance as he was near to one of the bigger streets where there was lots of traffic even at this time of night. Some part of his brain saw it as a psychological experiment. His hypothesis was that no-one would stop to help. People were selfish creatures (he himself among them, though certainly more intelligent than most).
Some people surely spotted him but decided to ignore, which seemed to validate his initial hypothesis. Who would care about one dirty dying addict? Mycroft would be devastated to hear that he had died in a dirty alleyway so close to help and because of a bloody overdose, though. Damn it. Bigbrother was so pedant about some things. Sherlock had to admit, however, that this was hardly a preferable way for Holmes to pass on. There should have been something grand. Overwhelming danger and excitement. Trumpets and fireworks. Something…
-Hey, Jennie, there is someone laying over there. I think it´s a person. Wait for a moment. I will go and check on him. We still have time before the movie begins.
-Oh no. And here we go again.
A girl (supposedly Jennie) gave a frustrated sigh.
-You remember that you´re on vacation, don´t you, John? I know, how you love to help people, sweetie, but it´s not your responsibility to save every junkie you happen to pass by. For once, you should just leave them alone and have some fun. Am I right? Besides, he is probably having a really nice trip right now, don´t you think? He may get really angry at you if you disturb him. I totally don´t want to explain in the restaurant, why my boyfriend has a black eye. Just let him be, honey, won´t you?
The woman´s whiny voice clearly wasn´t persuasive enough as firm steps of her boyfriend kept approaching him.
-You never listen to me. Of course you never do what I ask, the girl nagged annoyed. From the sound of high heels Sherlock could tell that she followed her medlesome boyfriend despite her complaints.
The man kneeled in front of Sherlock. Warm hands shook his shoulder briefly and concerned voice tried to get him to answer.
-Are you okay, lad? This is not a place to sleep. It´s going to be a chilly night.
He immediately liked the voice. It was clear and certain. Calming even, but without the annoying quality of trying too hard.
Sherlock moaned softly. The girl took it as a sign that he was alright.
-Ok. He´s alive. Come on, John.
She pulled the man´s jacket to get him to leave.
-God damn it, Jennie! The man hissed back. -I need to check him up. And I need to get someone to pick him up even if nothing is wrong. We can´t leave him here.
-Oh, God. Why not? Why not, John? As everyone else is doing just that? Why do I need to miss a movie because you want to play saint? Oh, God, John don´t touch him. He may have some kind of disease, you know.
Sherlock decided that he officially hated the man´s highpitched date. His helper was also similarly getting furious.
-Oh, damn it, Jennie! You know what I think about addicts. You know about, Harry. If I heard that Harry had died on a street corner just because some people had left her there without bothering to check, just because she´s drunk… If I heard about a doctor who had participated in that… Fuck! I would literally rip his throat! Such a person doesn´t have any fucking right to pretend to be a doctor.
-You seriously plan to miss our date to help this no-one?
The girl sounded sceptical.
-It´s one date against human life, Jennie. You know me well enough. Of course I will.
Wrong answer, dude.
-Sometimes I wonder if you even like me! Either you come with me right now or we are through.
Prolonged silence followed the girls words. Finally the man sighed.
-He is showing the symptoms of an overdose and he has a bleeding cut on his side. I can´t possibly leave him before the paramedics get here, Jennie, he explained patiently.
-This is going to be just another replay of our previous dates! You helping some anonymous strager and me watching from the sidelines. You promised that the next one would be perfect. Furthermore you are going to leave soon and this was supposed to be our last night together. I hate you! We are through! The girl screamed.
She sniffled and waited for a while. Sherlock amusedly deducted that she must have expected her boyfriend to rise up to console her, but instead the man was checking his pulse. The embarrassed girl turned around and dashed away.
-Are you… Are you sure you aren´t going to r-regret? Sherlock whispered.
The other man gave a joyless laugh.
-Oh, you can speak. That´s good… Very good. I will call for an ambulance. Your state seems a bit concerning. It´s better to get you to a hospital to get everything checked properly. Can you tell me which substances you have taken?
-The-there is a list. On my pocket. My brother´s orders. Over concerned… Doesn´t have… a life, Sherlock muttered painstakingly.
-Seems like a good brother to me. But actually… Could you tell me your name? We should probably contact your family.
The man dealed the 999. He hold the phone on his ear with one hand while rumpling through Sherlock´s pockets with the other.
-He seems like he´s in his late teens. Maybe a bit older though. Someone has hit him and there is a knife wound on his side. You should probably contact the police. The wound is bleeding a bit but no major arteries seem to be cut. More concerning is that he seems to have overdosed. His breathing is weakened. There is wheezing and it´s getting worse. The pulse is too rapid and his consciousnes seems to be faltering. He can still speak somewhat coherently but it seems to be getting worse so I guess the drugs have just started to kick in. The patient says he has taken mainly cocain and also something with heroin in it… Yes… Yes, the address is…. I´m a doctor. I will stay with him until you arrive. The first contact is someone called…
The man narrowed his eyes as he checked the name on the bottom of Sherlocks drugs list.
-Mycroft Holmes? Yes, that´s right. That´s a scetchy first name, I agree. I would like to meet his parents. Anyways, the phone number is…
As the man was talking, Sherlocks cosciousness began to drift. He remembered the man slapping his face trying to keep him awake. But he was tired. All too tired… Usually people nagged to him to sleep, but actually it was double as annoying when someone tried to keep him awake. It was also very painfull.
-Just breath… The man´s voice seemed come from far away. Sherlock could still feel his palms around him so he hadn´t actually moved.
-Do it with me, the man ecouraged him and kept him performing the devious lifemaintaining act of breathing.
-In… and out. And again. In… and out. You are doing well. Keep going, keep going.
-Br-breathing is… boring, Sherlock groaned.
There was a short silence as the man considered it.
-May, fucking well, be so. But just keep doing it! Because… Hell, I´m not letting you die. You aren´t allowed to die.
-Y-you sure? Be-because of me you didn´t get to shag your girlfriend, Sherlock muttered quietly.
-Oh, come on! The man sighed. -Instead of speaking this nonsence, keep on breathing as I told you. As you so blatantly expressed, it´s your, bloody, fault that I don´t get to shag tonight. And who knows when I get the next chance. Gotta kill you, if you die on me on top of that!
Sherlock snickered a bit while he fell into unconciousness. Thank God, he had came across a doctor with a nice sense of humour. Thanks to him, he had at least had remotedly entertaining last moments.
When Sherlock woke up in the morning, he found Mycroft sitting next to his hospital bed.
-I´m not sure if I should shut you in one of those rehabilation centers in the countryside, brother, were his first words when he noticed that Sherlock had woken up. He said that in perfect conversation manner and only minute stiffness around his mout betrayed that he was actually very displeased.
-You know, that I would kill myself if I was locked in that kind of boredoom, Sherlock reminded.
-True. But that doesn´t seem so different from what you are doing already, his brother pointed out and sighed.
-Oh, come on, Mycroft. Don´t pretend to care. You are just concerned that I will do something to ruin your reputation.
-Can´t I just simply worry about my self-destructious baby brother?
-Very sweet, brother of mine. But quite transparent, if I may say.
Sherlock tried to sit straighter on his bed. He looked around the room, but there was no-one except him and his brother in the pastel colored private room.
-Where is the doctor who helped me to get in to the hospital? He seemed somewhat interesting… Sherlock asked curiously.
-Oh, according to the nurses he spend a long time on your bedside before leaving. Earlier your heart stopped for a moment, brother. I was told, that he had to give you CPR, while waiting for the ambulance. They told me that he waited until you were stabilized and out of the danger before leaving the hospital. He supposedly had an appointment that he couldn´t miss. I don´t know if you have any use for the information, but he seems to have left the country for military service on this morning.
That actually explained a lot. At least it solved the mystery of sharp chest pain pain he was feeling. CPR, when conducted properly, often left some cracked ribs. For a moment he considered how unlikely it had been to bump into a competent professional of all people out of sheer luck.
-So, I suppose that the good Samaritan disappeared before you arrived, brother. You didn´t meet him at all? Oh, it must feel terrible to not be able to compensate him for the tiresome task of looking after your little brother. Such horrible manners, Mycroft! And you always seemed to be so strict about etiquette... Oh dear, what would mommy say? Sherlock mocked.
Mycroft frowned and was just about to say something, when a nurse cruised into the room. Sherlock glanzed her briefly. She looked like she was in her early 40s. Light hair, stylish but practical. Has two children at home. Presumably both boys. Divorced not long ago, but has a lover, who she doesn´t share a home with yet. Takes extra shifts as often as can to earn a bit more. Good in her job. Respected and well liked, though considered a bit bossy among her colleaques. The nurse greeted both Sherlock and Mycroft politely. She introduced herself as a head nurse and handed an envelope to Mycroft with an apoletegic smile.
-I did as I was told to, sir. But he refused the money and asked me to return it, sir, she explained.
Mycroft was very good at controlling his facial expressions, but for a fraction of second Sherlock could see several different emotions dance on his brothers wide face before it turned back to plank. Surprise, resentment, confusion and even a little bit of admiration, he recalled as Mycroft thanked the nurse politely and slipped the unopened evelope into his pocket.
Sherlock was curious to know, how much money Mycroft considered saving his life to be worth of. He had observed that the envelope was quite thick. Even more interesting, however, was the fact that the seal of the envelope had been completely undamaged.
-Was he that well off, that he didn´t even care to open it to see the figure? Mycroft wondered. That intrigued Sherlock like vise.
The nurse frowned.
-He seemed like an ordinary man, if I may say so, sir. Proper and clean but not overly wealthy. Really nice young man, I would say. He was here only for a short time, but all the nurses were smitten by him. Despite his young age acted confident and seemed to be very competent doctor. This of course didn´t decrease his charm at all.
-According to you he didn´t come across as overly rich. Then why, you suppose, did he decline my, hmm... appreciation? Mycroft questioned. His eyes were slightly narrowed like those of a hunting cat´s.
-Well, actually he asked me to deliver a message to you, sir, the nurse muttered. She looked reluctant for some reason.
Mycroft nodded encouraging her to continue.
-He said he was flattered of your offer, but that you as everyone should be aware that no money can compensate a human life. Furthermore, he said, he didn´t save your brothers life for you, but he saved it for you brother. Therefore, logically, if someone, it should be the littlebrother to compensate, not you. He also asked me to tell your brother to take better care of his life from now on. That he owed him that at least. He also said that he won´t probably be around much for some time, but when he comes back to London he expects the life he saved to be in good condition.
Sherlock was elated to see Mycroft bat his eyelids abashed. It wasn´t every day that Mycroft got scolded. And it had certainly hit the mark. This unknown doctor was freeking brilliant!
-He also left a letter for the patient, the nurse added and gave Sherlock a hastily written sheet of paper.
Congratulations,
by almost dying on me you skillfully destroyed my last chance to date before I´m stuck with a long period of army selibacy. I´m generally an understanding man and I probably wouldn´t hold it against you if it weren´t for this one excessively annoying comment you muttered while I was doing my utter best to keep you alive. "Breathing is boring", you said and honestly I almost forgot the Hippocratic oath of never causing harm for the patient while hearing that. You weren´t at that time in a condition in which we could have had a heated debate about the subject. Nevertheless, I really feel like getting the last word in this! Therefore I left you this note. (This is actually brilliant, because this way you don´t have any chance for a counterargument.)
Back to the subject. You think, breathing is boring? Well, I´d like to ask, if you think that all the other people do breathing because they somehow find it amazingly interesting? Well, let me enlighten you, that´s not the case. People breath just because that´s the only way they can keep on seeing and experiencing the stuff that truly is interesting. Simply that.
Keep on living, find out what makes it interesting for you and make this all worth of wasting a shag!
JW
It took a while for Sherlock to notice that Mycroft was looking at him weirdly.
-What? He asked.
-It´s just… I haven´t seen you smiling… for who knows how long time.
There was a warmth in Mycroft eyes, almost like affection. At least relief.
Sherlock touched his mouth. It was real. His lips curved a bit upwards. There was no reason to fake a smile. He wasn´t doing it to get something by it. Therefore it must be real. Facinating.