The Taker - Part 2

There Will be No Need for Casket Wood

Chapter 1 - She's Not Dead

…

In movies a trip to the hospital's emergency ward is normally described with blurry lights of red and blue, figures shifting about, the whining of sirens and, if you're lucky enough, some sort of whispers from a loved one that you'll probably forget by the time you wake up a day or two later. That was not the case for Robin Day Whittaker.

The ride to the hospital was, technically, loud and it did involve people shifting around her trying to keep her alive. She was, however, strapped down to a spinal board, with her head in a brace, due to the fact that a sniper rifle's bullet had hit the posterior right temporal lobe (around the mastoid process), fracturing it. Furthermore, it had all but scrapped the helix and upper scapha of her right ear's pinna, shattering it. That same bullet had continued on and had just missed puncturing her lungs, instead ripping apart a gash on her upper back and practically destroying her rhomboid muscles and injuring her trapezius muscle. It had, furthermore, nicked one of her spine's posterior processes. This, of course, was all later explained by the doctor on hand at the hospital first to whomever it may concern and eventually to Robin.

In the ambulance people were more concerned of the fact that she had a brain, and possibly a spinal, injury and the fact that she might bleed out since they couldn't move her to a prone position. It was all very hectic and, gladly, Robin was blissfully unaware of the chaos due to being soundly unconscious.

Once the ambulance arrived at the hospital, the trained professionals made quick work of getting Robin into surgery. The surgeon cursed at her low body mass, the odd trajectory the sniper bullet had taken, and the amount of blood she had lost but, all in all, there were no complications. The injuries were mainly superficial and hardly vital, save for the possible brain damage. There were no tragedies to be had that night.

…

She didn't quite feel like she was waking up, more as if she had been floating earlier and had decided to lay down on for a moment. Or perhaps maybe she was slowly drifting upwards from a dark river, each new elevation bringing her more light. The body floats upwards naturally, but at times she felt like currents were bringing her back down, not particularly harshly, but still. It took some time, but she started to feel again, past the cool oblivion on the deep dark. Sunlight on her eyelids, currents brushing through her fingers. It was all quite peaceful and Robin would later thank for the undisturbed unconsciousness, void of nightmares.

As she settled in, however, she noticed that the water had a thread-count, the sun was harsher and less warm than she remembered and that, no matter how much she tried to shift around, everything felt heavy and she just couldn't move. She was heavy again, but she didn't sink. It took another half an hour, she'd estimate, although in honesty a whole day had passed, for her to realize that she was in the hospital and that she was not, in fact, dead. Or drifting in a mass of water. It took another while for her to open her eyes a crack.

She was glad that the sedatives were keeping her not only painless but also calm enough to not have a panic attack after remembering what had happened. She was gratified further to realize that she may not have any memory loss. Well…hopefully, she'd still have to wait for a bit to confirm the short-term memory loss. Maybe she just didn't remember what she had forgotten.

Her eyes now cracking open a bit wider, she immediately let out a groan as the lights came flooding in and caused a burning flash of pain throughout her skull, painkillers be damned. That was no kind sunlight, the light came from the harsh fluorescence expected at a hospital.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried again, but slower, and this time the pain wasn't so bad. Again, however, she had to close her eyes after a few seconds. It took over a minute for her eyes to adjust and let her open her eyes far enough to perceive anything worthwhile. Her vision was blurry and she didn't know if that was due to the lack of her glasses or from the brain injury, or from sleeping…for however long she had slept. It took another moment to feel about and get her surroundings in check. She confirmed that yes, she was in a hospital bed and that she was bandaged from her chest upwards. Her neck was also in a light-weight foam neck brace and she could feel bandages wrapped around her forehead.

'Qu'est ce qu'il s'est passé? I-I must look horrendous…I feel horrendous. Was my head shaved? I wonder what happened after…that?' she thought, resting again but maintaining consciousness. She now felt a deep pit of worry grow as she tried to remember any detail after she was shot. Was everyone okay? Did they get the sniper? Where was Sherlock…was he okay?

She gave herself a rest and slipped off into a light sleep.

When she next woke, which couldn't have been much later, she suspected, she felt a bit better. She was still quite fuzzy, but she now felt less heavy. The medication was allowing her to avoid the pain, but she still felt odd…stuffy. She was tired and she wasn't particularly able to move around much. Oh…and the catheter. She hated that thing. It meant that she had been out long enough to need to manage…such things. By now she had enough self-awareness to know she was hooked up to an IV, or two, along with the damnable catheter. Her upper body was bandaged, but not unbearably so, and she was pretty sure she had stitches on her back and possibly skull.

She had just enough strength to reach with her good hand, her left and check her bandages. She notices her IVs and the heart monitor beeping in the back. She checked her brace and winced when she felt her head wrapped up. Her left ear was completely wrapped and, horrifyingly enough, she couldn't hear from it. Her breath caught, but the medicine kept her sedated enough to know that no matter what, she didn't know if any of her conclusions were permanent at the moment.

Again, she rested, oblivious to the world past her small hospital bed.

Next, she checked her legs and lower half. Robin was glad to find that she could wiggle that part of her body with relative ease. They were stiff and sore, and the catheter was bothering her, but that was all. Although her right arm was more or less useless, she knew at least that three of her four limbs were working relatively well. She couldn't quite move her left arm, however, as even though its muscles were intact the pain from the wound on her back was too much and she could only move it just enough to check herself.

Robin sighed after a while. She figured that she'd have to open her eyes fully soon, at the very least so that she could find a nurse. Her throat was parched and she could barely utter a noise. She hoped that at least she'd be close enough to water to reach it. Robin, being a solitary person, didn't think anyone would be waiting for her, let alone ready to give her some water or alert the doctor of her full wakefulness. She figured that the nurses had by now at least figured out that she was conscious, if not barely, or they would be around soon enough to help her out.

"Merde!" she gasped, opening her eyes fully, which just caused her to hurt more. She had taken it slow, but it was still painful. Again she wondered if it was due to the brain injury.

Finally opening her eyes, she first saw the lackluster white ceiling of the hospital. Next, she slowly looked over to her left, glad to find a table and a glass of water next to her bed. At least the nurses had thought to put the water where she could reach with her good hand. She tried, but it was just out of reach. Robin hissed painfully when she tried again and she felt her back stretch. She sucked in a breath slowly and forced herself to stay calm and not cry. No one would be around, but she felt like crap. Her eyes tearing up from the effort and the frustration, she wished for once to not be alone and for someone's help.

In the next second, however, her wishes were answered when a hand reached for the glass instead and gently, oh so gently, helped her sit up a bit to take a sip. Robin, completely blindsided by this development, did not even think to see who's hand it was. She, however, drank the water gladly, if not sorely, and finally felt cool relief. She drank slowly, limited by the hand's control, with little gulps so she did not accidentally choke.

Looking up, she was further surprised to see the owner of the hand. It was Sherlock! He was alright! 'Oh, mon dieux, quelle paix!' she thought as a wide grin suddenly graced her sore face. Even that motion was awkward, but she couldn't help it. Robin began to tear up, this time not from the lighting, but from relief and thankfulness.

"You're alright," she croaked out after a moment, just staring at the detective. She was too tired and drugged to care what anyone thought. She knew that at that moment she didn't care. He was safe, damn him, but he was safe. He'd wiggled himself inside her defenses and then had scared her half to death. But at the moment her need to hug him outweighed her need to slap him. Sadly, she could do neither.

The consulting detective had just faced death, and yet he seemed no different. He did sport a bruise, however, on his left cheek, but nothing apart from that was visible to Robin. She drank in the sight of him and was glad.

"Look around, Robin," advised Sherlock, who seemed unfazed of her odd reaction. He was keeping close to the bed, his hand brushing her limp one as it rested at her side. She liked the contact. He was, however, frowning a bit more than normal and Robin couldn't quite figure out why.

She followed his directive and felt surprisingly stupid. How had she not noticed the flowers and cards? Sure, there weren't many but even still, she should have at least noticed. They weren't hidden. What further surprised her was that John and Lestrade were in the room. How did she not notice them? Lestrade looked the same, if not a bit tired, but he smiled at her gently. John looked practically haggard and, although the smile kept fighting for dominance, Robin had to furrow her brows a bit in worry. Had he worried about her? She had missed her friend.

"Everyone's safe?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes, everyone's fine. You were the only one seriously injured," responded Lestrade, a bit tentative with the subject. Robin, however, huffed out a breath of relief.

"Why didn't I notice you all?" she asked, more to herself than anything. John's brow furrowed with worry.

"Are you experiencing any black circles, spots missing in your vision?" he asked, his tone worried but at the very least he was staying practical.

"No…no…I just didn't notice. I should have noticed," replied Robin, airily. She did not want to worry John anymore.

"You were waking up, and are medicated, it's normal," reassured John, realizing that there wasn't anything seriously wrong. They lapsed into a brief silence, Robin blinking a few times again and resting before she shifted as best she could and asked her next question.

"And…and the sniper?"

"Gone, Graham-"

"Greg"

"Greg shot her and incapacitated her before she could do anything else. She's now in police custody and I'd suspect soon to be in Mycroft's care," replied Sherlock, in a business-like tone. He was as mechanical as he usually was, but maybe a bit more tense than the situation required. If the sniper was gone, then they at least had bought some time. It was a small victory. Sherlock did sound more satisfied than normal, however, even though the frown still hadn't left his face.

Robin let herself digest the facts before nodding. She could get filled in on the rest later.

"Where are we?"

"At . Originally you were on your way to another hospital but Sherlock insisted that you come here. Mycroft seemed to agree…for once. They both insisted," replied John this time.

"John," she started, to which John immediately perked up. "Don't t-tell me you've been here all along? You look almost as horrible as…as I do."

To John's credit, he did flush a bit, but he kept a relatively 'doctor-like' face on him.

"Well…Mary did make me leave for a while but…but…What was I supposed to do, leave you alone for almost two weeks? We didn't know when you'd wake and…and well…you're my friend," he explain, which again practically brought Robin to tears.

"I-…wait…I was out for two week! C'est impossible! I-" stuttered out Robin, shocked once the news sunk in. She didn't really have the energy to move, but she felt like running suddenly, bolting far away from the situation.

"Almost two weeks. Not impossible. You did seem to come around a few times, but you weren't aware of your surroundings. You were, as far as the doctor's know, complete unconscious for the first week, however. You were in a coma. I'd suspect it had something to do with your fractured skull and your already overtaxed body. When you awoke, you were completely unaware of your surroundings and didn't notice whoever was in the room at the time…which I must say was vexing at times," supplied Sherlock, getting straight down to business. Robin blinked at him incredulously. Almost two week?

Before she could further comment, however, she was interrupted by the doctor walking in. She vaguely heard him introduce himself, but she didn't really care much. She also couldn't quite hear anything as the doctor had gone over to her bad ear's side half-way through his examination. It seemed the doctor was recounting her health not only for her but also for the other occupants of the room and soon after he was done, Lestrade took his leave. The DI gave Robin a quick nod and promised to see her soon before leaving. She returned the farewell and wished him well.

In the end, it turned out that she would be stuck for another week on bed rest and another three months at least would pass before she made anything resembling a complete recovery. The skull fracture wasn't severe, thankfully, but had to be monitored. She had lapsed into a coma, and so there was a chance that damage had been done. Her ear's upper cartilage had been shattered and she was now basically left with a mangled ear, along with hopefully temporary hearing loss. They had tried to clean up her ear as best they could, but the doctor noted that although the shape was still intact, she was missing quite a bit of it. The worst injury was by far her upper right shoulder and back, mostly due to the odd angle she had flung herself at Sherlock with, the very moment when the sniper had fired. That's where the bullet had made the most contact. The bullet and the fall afterwards had cracked one of her ribs, bruising another, which were weaker than normal due to her nutrition. She'd be spending some time on her stomach, it seemed. Her back had been glued together as the nurses could not leave her on her stomach constantly. Gladly those wounds were clean, so the glue would dissolve soon enough. Her head injury, however, was stitched and apparently before she left they would be taken out.

Physiotherapy, she just knew, would be killer. Apart from the long list of injuries, and apparently a nicked spinal bone, she wasn't too bad off, thankfully. It was all about perspective. And most importantly, everyone else was fine.

What surprised, and ashamed, the young hacker, however, was when the doctor mentioned her malnutrition and the state her body had been even before the sniper's attack. She had been exhausted and underweight, making the blood loss and overall injuries a lot more dangerous.

Robin didn't look at anyone as the doctor explained that with intravenous supplies her body had recovered a bit, but she'd be on a strict diet before, and after, she was let out of the hospital.

Robin nodded her consent.

Robin listened with half an ear, or, well, with one of two ears. She occasionally looked to John for help and her kind friend would explain everything else that the doctor didn't quite manage to explain to the disoriented and injured hacker. Robin occasionally glanced at Sherlock, but he simply sat silently by her side, distant but with hands familiarly steepled, which was reassuring enough. It was nice to know that she had found such good friends. It was a relief to no longer wake alone in a hospital bed. She never had to face recovery alone again, she supposed, as she had protected her friends and they were safe. John had apparently stayed with her throughout the majority of the almost-two week, although Sherlock, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Mr Forester had visited often enough.

Of course, Sherlock gave his excuses and immediately made it clear that he only came out of obligation, as she had saved his life, and for the fact that he was apparently recording her recovery for future reference. Robin couldn't tell if there was more to the story and her tired body simply didn't let her think about it too much.

By the end of it, Robin was once again exhausted and begged to be left in peace for a bit of rest. The doctor left and she was able to persuade John to go home for a day or two, at least. She didn't think she needed to really say anything to Sherlock, so she simply nodded off.

Robin could have sworn that someone had kissed her forehead, however, right before she lost all knowledge of what was around her.

…

Still in her bed, Robin watched out the window of her hospital room. When she had been shot, the weather had been crisp and cool, but warming. Spring had been well on its way and she had just begun to notice the budding plants. At the time, she had been in such a rush, working on one thing and the next, that she hadn't paid much attention to the changing season. Now, almost three weeks later, she was faced with green trees and flowers in full bloom. Spring was on its way out, the season tending to be short in England and the climate cooler. She had missed spring, her favorite season. It wasn't really a big deal, but she realized that she had to slow down. Soon enough the spring showers, which Robin had missed the majority of, would make way for the normally mild but stuffy summers, and then eventually into fall once again.

Robin began to realize just how much things had changed.

…

"I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?" Mycroft scrutinized, glaring at his brother. The two kin were in Mycroft's office, which honestly looked more like a very poshly decorated bunker than an office one would suspect a government official to have. Then again, when you were the government, you could take some liberties. It had modern shelves and a minimalist decor, and the walls were a dark, somber color.

Sherlock, who had been up until that point busying himself with his phone, turned slightly and glanced at his brother.

"You know, I think John might be proposing to Mary tonight," the detective commented, in a rather blasé tone. Of course, he had known that John had prepared today to be the day that he proposes to his lovely girlfriend for some time. He would love to be in the restaurant when it happened, being a 'supportive' friend and all, but he had been rudely whisked away by Mycroft. Still, there was time before the dinner. He had a suspicion that Robin had something to do with the abduction. Even when in the hospital, the hacker seemed to have quite a few resources.

Then again, maybe John had pulled in a favor from Mycroft.

Rude.

"Sherlock!" snapped Mycroft, exasperated.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock glared right back at his dear brother. "I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft," he conceited. "Just get me back in the public. I'm tired of hiding and with the threat of Moran gone…for now…I'd rather like my official status to once again be 'alive.'"

Mycroft nodded, already ahead of the detective. They had planned this for a while now. All he would have to do is hit start and watch as the dominos fell.

Anthea, who had up until this point stayed out of the way of the two brothers, silently watching diligently from the corner of the room, finally spoke up.

"One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there's going to be a terror strike on London – a big one," she relayed succinctly, handing the detective a case file, getting a tiny nod from Mycroft while Sherlock blatantly ignored everyone. Sure, they knew that there would be a terrorist attack, but had the operative actually gotten any useful information before he died, like…oh, who, where, when, or how?

"What about Robin?" he asked suddenly, checking his phone for any news.

Mycroft cocked his head a bit at hearing the hacker's name, furrowing his brow.

"What about her?"

"Don't play coy, brother, I know you were in to visit her on the…oh…third day? Thankfully she was still unconscious so she didn't have to endure your visit for long. Still, I know you're waiting for her to be healthy enough to be back in action. This is, after all, just her sort of thing," deduced Sherlock, now facing his brother with a smirk on his face. Robin was, after all, one of Mycroft's more useful assets. She was also, probably one of the very, very, few people Mycroft didn't admit to caring about, but probably did in his own way. The elder Holmes had known her for some time and knew more about her than anyone else, to Sherlock's frustration.

Again, Mycroft glared at his brother.

"Nothing can be done about it now. She'll need some time to recover." He almost, almost, sounded slightly dejected.

"Oh, I think she'll be helpful enough. She might be stuck in bed, but she'll be out of the hospital in a day or two. The weather is improving, her week of hospital bedrest is almost up and, knowing her, she'll be starving for some work."

"Knowing her? Dear brother, do you know her, really?" asked Mycroft, knowing full well what a loaded question that was. Sherlock's complexion immediately darkened, even past his normal glare. It had been a concern for some time for the detective. Firstly, the woman was unreadable. Secondly, she had proven to be a good friend and ally, even if she rarely talked of her past. Finally, even though he didn't know much about the woman, he still trusted her and now she had gone off and saved his life without a bother for her own. For goodness sakes, she had been ready to die to save him. Even the heartless detective had to admit that those actions meant something. Yes, he figured she would have done the same for John, but for him? Why? Why did she protect him and what was he going to do with her answer? What did it mean to him?

"Enough," he snapped back. "She will help me gather the information needed to find this terrorist cell. You must admit that it is the most logical course of action. I will get John to help, of course, once he's done playing 'lovey-dovey' with Mary."

Mycroft sighed. "Fine, brother. Your status will be changed by tomorrow."

Anthea, noticing that she was no longer needed, excused herself. "Welcome back, Mr Holmes"

Sherlock nodded to the retreating woman and glanced back at his brother. Smirking, he prepared to leave as well.

"…blud," he bit out sarcastically before sweeping out of the gray office.

…

Disclaimer: The characters and plot of Sherlock BBC are the property of BBC, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. Characters, plot and any other original idea belongs to me.

Translations: 'Qu'est ce qu'il s'est passé? : What happened?

Author's Note: Did you miss me?

Hello everyone! It's been a while, hasn't it? I blame school. I've graduated High School and now am off to university to study Health Sciences. So excite.

But, enough about me, onto the story! So yes, the following three stories will follow season 3's episodes, at the very least loosely. I haven't changed too much, apart from Robin's contributions. The timeline is stretched out, however, to fit everything in chronologically. It was spring went we last left Robin...grazed and bashed up by a sniper.

The only other thing I want to say about the story is that...well...Robin's character is developing a lot now. You will see.

And, to whomever actually stuck around and waited for me, THANK YOU! I've read all of the reviews from the last story and I enjoyed laughing maniacally. Oh, and btw, I'm traveling but I've finished this whole story so the upload interval should be 1-2 per week...maybe more. There won't be much of a wait. Promise?

OH! AND, with the title of the story, it relates to funeral caskets. I thought for a while about naming it 'Coffin Wood', but the thing is...I work at a funeral home and we are trying to get rid of the misnomer 'coffin'. A coffin is wide at the shoulders and narrower at the feet. A casket is a rectangular box.

Cheers,

Elleari