Safe! He was finally safe. He leant back against the bolted door and slowed his breathing as his heart continued to pound in his chest. His pursuers had been relentless and he had escaped by the skin of his teeth. If it had not been for the young girl, he might have been caught.
It had been a mistake to go out in his state, but he had been desperate. The knife wound in his thigh had to be treated. The edges were beginning to redden and the ooze of blood had never quite stopped. Running had brought a fresh ring of crimson to the surface of his jeans, joining the darker stain already there. Now, he was feeling feverish and achy. He had ignored the prodromal symptoms too long. If John were there, he would have berated him for letting himself get in such a state, then cleaned and closed the wound with his precise stitches.
Breaking into the pharmacy had been easy, getting back to the grimy, dimly lit bolt-hole had been a different matter entirely. Moriarty's men seemed to be everywhere, but he had kept his head down and his hood up. Thankfully, he had gotten back relatively unscathed.
He shook two capsules from the bottle, gulping them down and following them with a swig from the bottle of Coke he had stolen along with the antibiotics and supplies. He didn't know how anyone tolerated the sugary fizzy drink. It made his teeth ache. Oh, God, how he wished for a cup of tea and some dry clothes… and a bath... and...John...
Pushing his thoughts aside, he slid his blood-soaked jeans off and carried his parcel of goods to the bathroom. By the light of a single candle, he inspected his wound again. Yes, there was an increasingly red ring around the wound's perimeter. If he didn't get it cleaned and the edges closed, he was not going to be able to continue his eradication of Moriarty's network. He had lost too much already for it end before it had really begun: the work, his reputation, his friends and... John. He shook his head, the solitude must be making him sentimental, or maybe it was the fever. John was his friend and flatmate, nothing more.
Pouring the antiseptic over the gash in his leg, he winced at the sting. Better to endure a little discomfort now than have to go to the hospital and risk being identified. When the bubbling and fizzing seemed to slow, he pulled out the bottle of saline solution and rinsed the breach thoroughly. He had hoped to find liquid skin adhesive, but apparently it was not available outside a hospital or clinic (or John's personal stash under the bathroom sink). He had settled instead for a tube of antibiotic cream and the tape strips commonly used to close cuts and minor surgical wounds. The strips weren't ideal for an area that was subjected to the pulling and tugging that accompanied movement, but if he put enough of them on and covered it with a bandage, maybe it would hold. John wouldn't approve, but, needs must when the devil drives.
Exhausted and morose, he left the remnants of his ill-gotten goods where they lay and crawled onto the pallet in the corner of the main room. Leaning against the wall, he pulled out his phone, not the burn phone he had been using and replacing over and over since leaving London, but his phone from before. Mycroft had retrieved it from the roof of St. Bart's and given it to him before he departed. The GPS feature had been disabled and he wouldn't dare make a call from it, but it had his music. He slipped his ear buds in and scrolled through the playlists. Mozart, Brahms, Wagner, Holst, he passed over them all, opting for something more contemporary. He wanted something to suit his mood. His thumb hovered over the screen a second before choosing. He leant back and let the notes wash over him.
When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
His thoughts kept returning to the same man. John had called him a machine and he had responded that being alone protected him. "No, friends protect people," John had thrown back at him. He wished he could tell John that he did understand, that this was why he was in this place, protecting his friends. Protecting the man he secretly... loved...
And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you..
He felt the burning in his eyes and pressed the pads of his fingers there. He was Sherlock Holmes and he did not cry. He had more important things to worry about than the ache deep in his chest for the man he wanted to be more than his friend.
Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face and I
Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face and I
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you…
The ping of the text alert surprised him. He paused the music and wiped at his cheeks. He had not received a text or call on that phone since before he…fell. He and Mycroft had agreed it was not to be used for such. The message he saw warmed his heart.
Don't
Be
Dead! -JW
He hadn't been forgotten. Maybe the fascination wasn't all one sided and there was a chance for something more. All he had to do was get through this.
Notes:
The lyrics contained within are not mine. They are from the song Fix You by Coldplay. If you haven't heard it, check it out.