Remember by Christina Rossetti
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me, you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts once I had,
Better by far your should forget and smile
Then that you should remember and be sad.
Lestrade opens his eyes and his vision is blurry. His body aches and won't respond to his commands, such as 'sit up', or 'raise hand to face'. He hears a beeping sound but can't find the energy to turn his head to seek it out. He closes his eyes again.
The next time he opens them, there is a nurse standing over him. He's in hospital, he's told. He's been in a coma for a month and the staff is happy to see him awake. The tube that was in his throat is removed as is the neck brace that had been keeping him immobile. Turns out coma patients move sometimes and the medical staff take to protecting the sensitive bits. It's all far more complicated than that, but that is all Lestrade understands.
He speaks with his doctor and finds out he was shot on a routine domestic call. The fact that he's a policeman comes as a bit of a surprise but the doctor says some amnesia was to be expected and that his memory should recover in time.
They tell him how lucky is that the bullet was a low calibre shot from a distance otherwise he'd have died on impact instead of losing some memories. They tell him they put him in an induced coma to keep the swelling down in his brain. That his while his immediate memories will never return his long term memories should.
When Greg expressed his frustration at not being able to remember such details of his life as his occupation, the doctors' tell him it's to be expected and that most of his memories will return including those of his life's work. They tell him to take it easy as he just woke up the day before and some patients take up to a week to recover their memories after a coma caused by head trauma such as his. This fails to make Greg feel any better.
Two days after he wakes up from his coma he gets a visitor. A man, younger than him, with sandy blond hair and a rumpled air about him, is sitting in a chair next to bed when he wakes up in the morning.
"Greg, hey there. I'm John Watson, a friend of yours. I'm a doctor, we've known each other for around three years." The man, John, says, after Greg stared at him in confusion for a few moments after waking.
"Ok, hi." Greg hits the button to raise his bed to a seated position.
"I understand you've lost some of your memory." John began.
"Who gave you the right?" Greg blustered. "I thought that stuff was private!"
John raised his hands in a defensive, placating gesture. "Your doctors here told me, I'm listed as your personal physician, they weren't betraying your confidence." John smiled earnestly. "I can show you all the proper paperwork if it will make you feel better."
"Oh, um, sorry. This no-memory-thing is a right pain in the arse. When I first woke up, I had to be told I was a policeman, I couldn't remember anything. A lot has come back to me since I woke up but there's so much I still don't know, like it's just out of reach but up here." Greg said, tapping his index finger against his temple.
"I understand. I'm so sorry you're going through this. I'm sure it's very frustrating but you're still so lucky to be alive." John reached out and patted Greg's knee where it lay on the hospital bed under the blankets, before sitting back and crossing his legs.
John continued, "Greg, if there's anything I can do to help, beyond being your physician, I'll do it. You can ask me about whatever you like and if I know the answer, I'll tell you, or point you towards someone who knows. How's that sound?"
Greg smiled at the younger man. "That sounds great, thank you so much John. Um. Can I ask how we know each other? You said you're my friend as well as my doctor?"
John nodded. "That's right, although I'm usually more a friend than a doctor. I don't give you your physical exams but I've treated you for bumps, bruises, stabbings and the like since I've known you."
Greg looked at him askance, "Stabbings, huh? That explains the scar on my midsection."
John huffed a small laugh, "Not my finest work that, what with Sherlock hovering me over like a mama bird. 'Watch your stitches, John!'"
Greg smiled. "Oh you know Sherlock, too? How is he? Has he be harassing the other detectives while I'm laid up in hospital?"
Greg watched as the smile fell off John's face and his slate blue eyes took on a serious aspect.
"He was my flatmate… Oh Greg, I'm so sorry. Sherlock… He died. Two years back. Suicide." John ran a hand over his face, his entire body radiating weariness.
Greg felt sick to his stomach. "Oh God no. Not Sherlock! Suicide?! How?! Was it an accidental overdose?"
John looked up sharply. "No!"
Greg recoiled at the vehemence in the other man's voice.
John's face softened. "Sorry, but no. He was clean. He'd been clean for years when he died. He said you saw to that. Er, maybe this should wait until you're feeling a bit better. Regained some of your memories. I don't want to upset you further."
Greg shook his head. "John, I don't know what you could say that would upset me more than Sherlock killing himself."
John gave him a sad smile. "You'd be surprised."
He coughed and cleared his throat. "Um, Sherlock — well, he jumped off a building after being exposed as a fraud."
Greg stared at the other man, disbelief writ large across his features. "A fraud?! No way. He was the real deal. 100%. No way he could fake all that."
John's eyes welled with tears and Greg felt his own moisten. "He'd be so happy to hear you say that, Greg. I know he would. Your faith in him meant a lot."
"I always believed in him. Always." Greg stated emphatically. Suddenly his eyelids felt very heavy. Sherlock, dead? He was beyond exhausted. John noticed and stood up, gathering his coat.
"Listen Greg, get some sleep. Doctor's orders. I'll be back to visit you in a day or two. I have to work tomorrow, but I can swing by after my shift if you like."
Greg looked up at the other man as he reclined his bed into a horizontal position. "Whenever you can, John. Don't go to any trouble."
John smiled fondly. "Well, you certainly sound like your old self. I'll see you soon. Get some rest."
John went to the door and clicked off the overhead light. Once the room was dark, Greg let the tears overflow onto his pillow.
"Oh Sherlock, my lad. I'm so sorry."
He fell into a restless sleep.