I couldn't resist!

I could tell he was furious.

I couldn't see Sherlock's face, but his voice from outside the hospital room was getting progressively louder and louder. I looked to the nurse at the foot of my bed and she grinned.

"Husband?" she asked.

"Yes." I replied "He doesn't seem very happy, does he?"

"Well, I would assume not. He's probably being held up at the front desk by the morons who screen the visitors. He's Sherlock Holmes, right?"

I nodded.

"Well, there's their problem. Your husband is legendary for wreaking all sorts of havoc."

Giggling, I turned my head to the man in the chair next to me. "John, will you go tell them to let Sherlock in? I don't think he'll be happy if they deny him access any longer."

Sighing and shaking his head, my second-best-friend pushed himself up from his chair and started shuffling to the door. "He's going to be so angry at you, you know that, right?" I nodded, smiling. "He won't be that angry." John snorted "Yes, he will."

And with that, he left.

I lay my head back on the pillows of my bed, wincing at the stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. The nurse kindly asked if I would be alright without her for a few minutes and I shooed her away. She had been very kind to me and deserved some sort of rest from my incessant talking. But before the door could fully close behind her, a pale, long-fingered hand shot out and grabbed it. The hand then pulled the door open and morphed into a body, the body of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, genius, violinist, and my husband. Once he was fully in the room he scowled in my direction, but I suppose the relief broke through the anger, because before I knew it, he was standing over me, his fingers flitting over my wound.

I smacked him on the shoulder lightly "I'm not dying, you clod, sit down."

The scowl returned.

"Oh, yes," I sighed, "John said you'd be angry. Speaking of John, where is he?"

"Getting coffee."

"I take it that was not his decision."

"No."

I glanced at Sherlock's face. I had definitely miscalculated. He wasn't angry, he was livid.

"Alright, Sherlock, go ahead."

"What were you thinking, Ellie?" he roared, "You could've gotten yourself killed, or worse, taken hostage. It was not your job to rescue those people, it never has been. You were supposed to stay in the van."

"Sherlock, I couldn't just let those people die."

"They wouldn't have."

"You don't know that.

Sherlock groaned. "Look, Sherlock, I don't expect you to like my decision. But that's it. It was my decision to make."

Sherlock carefully sat down at my bedside, his eyes full of an emotion I had never before seen on his face. I realized that emotion was fear. "Do you know" he said slowly, "what it would've been like for me to lose you." For once I had nothing to say. "It would've been" he coughed,"hell."

"Oh, Sherlock, I-"

I was suddenly cut off by a hand on my mouth. "Shut up. What I am trying to say, you insufferable, stupid, beautiful, selfless girl, is that I love you, and please don't ever do that again."

"No promises."

Sherlock glared at me. "That is not funny."

I smiled. "Maybe a little."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okaaay...one-shot number 2. I am seriously thinking of a series now.

R&R please!

love

lorelei