A/N I have been a little under the weather lately, so this fic is a loving group dedication to the lovely July Birthday Girls of Mrs. Hudson's Kitchen Forum. Ladies, I wish I were up to writing a separate fic for each of you. You definitely deserve it, but I know you understand that that is a little difficult for me just now. Relax and I hope you enjoy your story. It's a departure from my regular writing as it is the first thing I've written from Sherlock's Point of view and in first person!
This fic is dedicated to: :MrsNoggin ,Kimberly The Owl, Daffidill, and the lovely Death Frisbee
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Life and Death
Small incidents sometimes have the largest impacts. A seemingly innocuous happening can lead to life changing results. It is a curious thing that I have often observed in others. That it would happen to me was unexpected.
It was a stupid, senseless thing. One minute we were walking down the dirty back street alley arguing about a trivial thing I happened to say to upset our landlady that morning, and the next, John was overcome by two rough looking thugs who quickly had him down to the ground. I had just started forward to help when I realized that a third man, a huge lumbering brute, was behind me, his rather unpleasant grin showing several missing teeth.
"ello, wat we 'ave 'ere?, Posh one like you should 'ave somethin worth my time.'"
"This is a mugging?" I asked a little incredulously, "I think not!" I brought my right fist up in an upper cut into his face that sent shock waves up my arm to my shoulder. It was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I threw the punch. The lout merely shook his head, grinned wider, and lunged for me. Large and particularly filthy fingers clamped about my neck. I struggled to breathe as I tried to break the death grip of his hands.
"You should 'ave just given me your money," the man growled as he shoved me roughly against the brick wall. "It would have been less painful. Ere's a little gift to remember me by."
His left hand moved rapidly. There was a flash of silver and I felt a searing pain in my middle as I slid to the pavement and watched him pocket my wallet. The three men laughed and headed down to the deserted street leaving me to stare at John's crumbled form before me.
"John? John, are you okay?" I croaked feebly as I tried to staunch the blood pouring from my stomach. "John, I could use your help here, I think I'm dying."
I was okay with the thought of dying. I had long ago come to the conclusion the lifestyle I pursued made it inevitable. It was the fact that it came as a result of a simple mugging that annoyed me. The whole incident was over in less than five minutes.
ɸ
"Sherlock."
"Sherlock."
"Sherlock look at me!"
A voice penetrated my pain filled haze. "Look at me!" the voice demanded. I forced my eyes open and looked up into the battered face of my blogger.
"John, you are alive," I said somewhat stupidly as a lack for better words evaded me.
"Yeah, how are you?" John asked worriedly.
"I'm dying," I said.
"Not if I can help it," John declared as he fussed about me. "The ambulance is on its way. You'll be in hospital in no time at all."
The pain in my stomach was increasing. I struggled to focus on John's face.
"I don't want to die," I said, and to my surprise, I actually meant it. I had never really thought about it much. I had always assumed I would face the moment rationally and practically. I stared into John's worried face and realized I didn't want to leave him. I wanted to continue to solve mysteries and go on amazing adventures. I wanted more time.
"Just stay with me, Sherlock. You'll be in hospital soon."
"I don't like hospitals," I gasped with pain.
"You'll love this one if it saves your life," John said a little grimly. "Just hang in there mate." John's voice had a desperate tone that I knew meant that things were not good.
The sound of a distant wail of an approaching ambulance faded as the pain took over once more. Even breathing hurt. It burned and grew sharper with each second. It felt as if acid were coating my insides, and I suppose that was as accurate description as any. Obviously my stomach had been punctured and digestive juices and all manner of bacteria were free floating inside me. The pain increased to the point I knew I would pass out before long.
"John," I said desperately, "I need to tell you . . ."
"Shhh, not now. You can tell me later"
"No, I need to tell you." I gritted my teeth with the pain. "I want you to know if I don't make it, that…" I paused and huffed then bore on, compulsion forcing the words from my mouth. "That I feel...I care about you John." I gasped in pain and all the other things I wanted to say were lost in waves of agony.
"I know, Sherlock. I've always known." John told me as he stared down. Tears were running down his face freely and one of them splashed onto my cheek. "Hang in there just a few more minutes, the ambulance is pulling up now."
I don't remember the ride to hospital. I don't remember the CAT scan or the following surgery. I do remember thinking, 'This is it.' As I rode the waves of unbearable pain, I wondered in my delirium, with some curiosity as to where I would wake up, or if I would wake up at all. I hold the views of my favorite author, who once wrote: 'To die will be an awfully big adventure."
That may come as a surprise to some of my fans. Most of the people who follow John's blog assume, since I am a scientist, that I do not believe in higher authorities or the afterlife. They do not know that I grew up under the wise and very devout views of my Grand Mere Vernet. In honor of her gentle teachings, I hold all options open for discussion.
ɸ
I remember waking to sounds. Little clatters and clicks of objects being manipulated about me, mixed with background mutterings. I opened my eyes but my vision was very blurry. Shadowy forms moved about me.
"Am I dead?" My mouth was dry and the words were hard to form. If this was the afterlife, I was not impressed.
One of the shadows paused and looked down at me. The figure looked bizarre, with all the sterilization clothing she wore; she looked like a cross between a frazzled lunch room lady and a hair dresser.
"Not today," She said cheerfully. "We lost you once, but we brought you back. You are a very lucky man Mr. Holmes."
"Dull," I said as I fell back to oblivion.
ɸ
John was permitted to see me the next day. It was mainly because of my insistent demands on the deplorable staff, but I think Mycroft had something to do with it. I had already talked with him, which was unnecessary. I had given my statement to Lestrade, who was working the case in spite of it not technically being a homicide. Mrs. Hudson had stopped by briefly. Even Molly Hooper had dropped by with a bunch of posies and her usual stuttering comments. Finally John, sitting in a wheel chair, was wheeled into my room accompanied by a nursing student.
John looked battered and tired. Somewhere inside me a small voice told me that, insisting that I see him now, while he was feeling so poorly, was not good. He had several purpling bruises that could be seen beneath a staggering amount of bandages. Two broken fingers, cracked ribs, one leg in a cast, a very black eye and possibly internal injuries I was unaware of.
"You look like hell," I told him.
"Well, you should know. I hear you made a quick trip to the underworld and back. Did you see anyone we know?"
"No," I replied shortly. I had something on my mind and I needed to get it out before I grew too tired to talk.
"John, what I said to you yesterday, in the alley, I..."
"Molly came to see me," John interrupted. That was not his usual style. "She brought me a very interesting book on words and their meanings."
I looked at my friend quizzically. I could see he was determined to continue his line of thought, so I settled back, content for now to relax to the timber of his voice. He nattered on a few minutes remarking about the various origins of words and their meanings. Some of what he said was interesting, but I confess my attention was beginning to waver until he changed the subject slightly.
"Take the word love, for example," John said.
My eyes popped open and watched him as he explained.
"In English, the word love is so imprecise. It can mean anything from I love Thai food, to my favorite football team, or the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. It gets a little confusing."
John looked at me, satisfied that he had my attention, nodded his head and continued.
"Now the Greeks were a little smarter. At least they used different words to try to keep the meanings clear. Take the word Agape for instance. It is usually translated to mean love in a 'spiritual' sense, most often connected to a love of God."
I nodded my head, I knew this and I thought I knew where John was going.
"The interesting thing is that it also refers to a sense of 'true unconditional love' which is separate from sexual love. This love is selfless, continuing even without that love being returned. It can also be described as the feeling of holding someone in high regard."
John stared at me steadily for a moment, and then continued.
"Now Eros, we are more familiar with. It means physical, passionate love mixed with sensual desire and longing." He paused and cleared his throat. "Interestingly, eros does not have to be sexual in nature. It can be interpreted as love that is deeper than the love of friendship. It can also mean an appreciation of the beauty one finds in that person or even of beauty itself. Socrates argued that even sensually-based love aspires to the non-corporeal. It strives for something that is beyond mere physical attraction."
John paused for a few moments as I pondered his words. He seemed to realize that I needed the time to sort and file away the information.
"Please continue," I encouraged him at last. None of this information was new to me, having studied Greek and Latin in school, but John's clear descriptions cast a unique light on the subject when compared to our relationship.
"Well, Philia would be next." John said. It means friendship. It includes loyalty to friends, family, and community. It requires virtue, equality and familiarity."
All of these things describe John. I thought to myself.
"The last is Storge love," John said. He paused, looked up at me with a grin. "It is an affection most often used to describe a relationship within a family. It is used to express acceptance of a situation which cannot be changed. In those cases one learns to 'put up' with the situation, as in 'loving' the tyrant."
I huffed a little and we laughed, which caused both of us to wince with pain. "Let's hold off on the humor for a while," I told him. "At least until some of our stitches have begun to heal."
"Right," John agreed. "You look exhausted Sherlock. You need to rest. All I wanted to say is that I wanted you to realize I understand that there are many levels of friendship, caring and loving. We will have time to explore and find the ones that suit us. It's all fine."
For the first time in a long, long time, I felt peace. John understood what I was trying to tell him. This strange relationship which seemed to be developing and changing was okay with him. I almost felt happy. I was definitely pleased. I felt my eyes close.
As my thoughts began to drift among the stars, I heard John say softly. "Sherlock, I'm so glad you didn't die. Sleep well."
"Me too. To live will be an awfully big adventure," I answered drowsily.
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"To die will be an awfully big adventure." J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
"To live will be an awfully big adventure." Hook. 1991, Tri-Star Pictures
Information source for Greek words for love - Wikipedia