Two weeks spend in this filthy room where Moriarty and his men had violated me. Raped me. Stripped me of any pride I had left, and all I could think now was 'When is my body going to finally give up?'
Footsteps. Footsteps approaching the door to the room where I lay on a bed smothered in my own blood, sweat and tears, along with some other things left behind from Jim, but those are better to be left unsaid. The door swung open, a tall figure standing in the door frame, the light rushing in around his body," Just let me die already!" I screamed, my head and heart heavy with exhaustion and drugs, particularly Rohypnol. I shrunk around the sheets on the bed, with my hands being cuffed to the bed frame, I had to use my legs to cover what I could of my abused body.
But the response I got wasn't 'Oh John, but I thought you liked it!', it was a sob. A single, heartbroken sob. The figure rushed towards me, and it was when I saw his face I knew that my torture was over.
"Sherlock", I gasped. For the first time since he had faked his death I allowed myself to cry. He un-cuffed me and fetched a clean sheet from the linen closet across the room, wrapping me up in it and scooping my thin frame in his arms. He carried me out of the room and down the stairs. I looked over his shoulder at my room and saw the evidence of my suffering practically painted on the bed and the floors. I looked away and allowed myself to succumb to the exhaustion that had been looming over me for so /I heard the shocked gasps of Lestrade and Donovan at seeing me in is state. I pressed my face into Sherlocks' chest, listening only to his heartbeat, ignoring the ambulance and police lights, the shouting voices, and the cold hands of the paramedics. His heartbeat lulled me to sleep.'Bum bum, bum bum, bum bum, bum bum, bum bum...'
My eyes slowly opened in room 410 in Harold Wood Hospital, the beeping machines and the sting of the I.V drip helping with the process of opening my eyes and viewing my surroundings. The room was a good size. A bathroom to the right of the bed and a hot cup of tea on the side table next the couch on the opposite side of the room, alerting me that Sherlock was still around. I sat up and saw my wounds clearly for the first time. It wasn't just Moriarty who hurt me. After he had finished with me, he let his men do whatever they wanted. They burned both of my thighs with boiling water and gave me multiple cuts and welts on my arms, chest and face. I could feel bandages where stitches had been inserted to help my wounds heal, and the cooling pad placed on the bed to help with the pain of the wounds.
As I was about to press the call button, Sherlock walked into the room. His hair was scruffy and unkept, nothing new, except he had a terrifyingly worried expression on his face," John! How are you feeling?" he asked, setting down his notepad on a chair and taking a seat in the chair next to my bed," Great, considering the circumstances." I said, adjusting my position in the bed and hissing when the burns on my thighs rubbed against the fabric of the hospital bed," Do, uh, do you... need anything?" Sherlock asked, his big green eyes never leaving me," Some water would be great, thank you." John said, relaxing once more in the hospital bed.
As Sherlock went out to get some water, a nurse entered my room with a clip board. He had a kid expression on his face," Its good to see you awake!" he exclaimed," I'm your nurse, Benjamin, but please call me Ben." he said as he took a seat in the chair next to my bed," I'm afraid we're going to have to go over what happened to you. Is now an okay time, or would you want to discuss this later?" he asked," Now is fine." I replied," Im going to skip all of the sweet stuff and get right down to business. You are suffering from severe dehydration and famine, you have second degree burns on both thighs, you have multiple lacerations on your back, a broken left wrist, and anal tearing. We got you stitched up and taken care of for the most part, but your body has been violently rejecting food and fluid. We tried a different solution that hasn't failed on patients that come in with your situation, but it hasn't quite seemed to work it's magic on you."
Ben stood up and fetched an ultra-sound from the hall," Would you mind if I took a peek inside of you?" I already knew the drill. Lie flat, shirt up, and 'It's going to be cold!'. I heard the door open and Sherlock. Re-enter the room, setting my cup of water on the bedside table. He brought another chair to the bed and sat down, his eyes and face looking much more exhausted than normal.
"Well, everything seems norm-" Ben stopped," What?" I said. I saw Sherlocks jaw drop and his eyes become as round as saucers," What?!" I demanded," ," Ben said, looking at me," I believe you're pregnant."