CHAPTER 2. FOUND
Mike Stanford had agreed to step in for his fellow colleague and friend, Dr. Harper who was going on vacation and needed a replacement for the short term. Queen Elizabeth wasn't any different from St. Barts. Well except instead of car crash victims and the usual assembly of alcohol poisoned drunks, Drug addicts that were ODing, children with high fevers and elderly who had fallen, it was soldiers wounded soldiers stabilized in Kandahar and transported for serious medical care. That's when he came across a familiar name on his rounds. All by accident.
"It's too bad, they think he wont make it to the end of the week. The chart says he's a Doctor." Mike overheard a nurse speaking to an orderly. Sadly, Dr. Stamford, had come across several intensive care cases such as this, it made him appreciate his family even more. This is what drew him towards this patient's bed, under the pretense of making his rounds. Mike thought since it was the end of his shift the least he could do was sit with the unconscious soldier who gave his life for his country.
The nurse had adjusted the dieing patient's pillows gently. She gave Mike a tight smile as he reached for the chart, the poor soldier had just come had to operate, shattered clavicle, high powered rifle did awful things to a man's shoulder, loss of blood, a bag of blood hung from an IV, and the name-
"Oh god." Mike dropped the chart moving around the bed, for the first time in since graduating medical school, he felt helpless.
Shaking hands collected the chart once more, as a medical doctor, trained and skilled Mike would have looked at the machines with a clinical eye, the vitals would register on an impartial level. As if reading a text book, but this was different, so very different.
The Doctor saw the ventilator, the tubes supplying IV fluids and pain medicine, Jesus the blood soaked bandages would need to be redressed. Mike's heart pounded in his chest, he tried to find words, to catch his breath. He knew this face, he'd spent the last part of a summer three years back waking the lazy git up for his hospital shift.
This unconscious person this soldier had slept on Mike's couch more than once. How many times had Mike Stamford walked past the couch getting ready for his morning jog, quietly moving past the same sleeping form.
Now his friend had a ventilator held to his mouth running a tube directly into him, forcing air into weak lungs. His eyes were bruised, sunken in, from the loss of blood, and the strain of trauma. God, he was so thin. John looked smaller more fragile under all the wiring and tubes.
And unlike the other critical care patients sharing the room, there was no one sitting at his side holding vigil, six beds in this room to be exact, three to one side and three neatly in a row the opposite. The ventilators seemed to sing in tune with each other in a morbid chorus all in rhythm while the heart monitors kept the beat.
Doctor Stamford tore from the room, knowing exactly where to find someone, someone who might care. At least sit and wait for the end, so John wasn't alone. Mike would take on the task but he couldn't shirk his duties as a Doctor. God of all places.
~0~
Sherlock stood behind Molly Hooper causing her to drop her scalpel nervously she stammered. "S-ssorry."
"Molly could you make this any faster, I do have to be back at the Yard sometime before next week." He snapped, causing her drop the scalpel once more.
"Sherlock I don't even know why you've come all the way here to the Queen, Henry is filling in for me at St. Barts beautifully, I left instructions for him to help you with whatever-"
"He's an idiot. And he wont let me take any of the specimens home." Sherlock replied irritably, he glanced down on the cadaver of a woman, smoker late fourty's died of heart attack, no family. Molly promised him a stomach and he wasn't going to leave without one. He was about to point out she was cutting to shallow when the doors to the morgue burst open.
Molly jumped dropping the scalpel once more, "Oh for God's sake." Sherlock hissed.
Mike knew he would be down here, he knew that Sherlock no longer cared for John, but maybe he knew how to reach Harry. Mike caught his breath, he was definitely out of shape, when did that happen?
"Molly is Sherlock-" Mike scanned the room finding the man he was looking for glaring at him darkly.
"Mike?" Molly could see her friend was a bit pale, and he had been running, his cheeks were flushed, but he looked like he was going to be sick. "What's wrong?"
"I'm fine, just ran from the elevator." He exhaled "Sherlock. I know you don't care and you've asked me to never say his name in your presence but-"
"Just stop right there Mike." Sherlock snapped holding up a hand he turned to Molly. "I'll come back later." He made to leave but Mike grabbed his arm firmly before he could walk past.
"Dammit!" He growled, causing Sherlock to pause, this was completely out of character for the usually easy going Doctor. "Just answer this and you can get the hell out. Do you know how to get a hold of John's sister Harry?" Sherlock's lip turned up in a snarl at the sound of his ex-boyfriend? Lover? Friend? Ex whatever's name. But upon closer inspection, Mike looked frantic, desperate something was wrong. Why would he want to know about Harry?
"I thankfully haven't been in the harpy's presence since three years ago. She's probably drank herself to an early grave good riddance." He snapped. Mike's hand tightened and he looked ready to keel over.
"Why would you be looking to get in contact with her?" Sherlock pulled his arm free. The once fit now rounder Doctor was running a hand through his brown hair.
"Mike, what's wrong? Maybe you should sit down." Molly was removing her netrile gloves.
"No, I can't I have to get back, he'll be alone if I don't."
"Who?" Sherlock tried to read the man's expression but a heavy stone seemed to have decided to form in Sherlock's stomach, for reasons beyond him he was holding his breath.
" . It's John." Mike managed. Turning away from the two and heading back through the large metal doors of the hospital morgue lost and defeated.
That didn't make sense Sherlock reflected, why would John be- he started after the man, something was wrong. It didn't make sense, therefore he needed more data.
"What are you talking about Stamford?" Sherlock demanded.
"Fifth floor, room 516 second bed on the left." Mike entered the elevator in a daze with a very confused Sherlock Holmes behind him.
That had to be wrong why would Mike want him to go to the fifth floor? That was where they brought the soldiers in need of critical care, after stabilizing them in the desert they were shipped here. John was a Doctor not a soldier. Was he up in that room now? The thought struck Sherlock he almost hit the stop button on the elevator to escape to another floor.
It wasn't until Mike lead him past the first couple of hospital beds, the scent of bleach and antiseptic trying to cover up the more unpleasant odors of death and dieing. Scanning the room he saw no other Doctors only mourning family members, some talking, crying or reading or a combination of all, to the coma patient. He noted one woman sitting quietly just holding her son's? Brother's? Yes, her brother's hand.
"He's been here since yesterday. No next of kin is listed." Mike ran another hand through his thinning hair.
"John?" Sherlock could read the hospital band on the bandaged wrist. Bruises and scrapes lined the other arm where an IV had been hastily inserted. He forced himself to inspect the unconscious soldiers face. As if his hand had a mind of it's own, Sherlock found himself combing his fingers through the soft blond hair. Observing, the blond had been bleached by a desert's sun. John had been to the desert he had the tan to show for it, but nothing below his sleeve line or collar so obviously not vacation.
"Captain John Watson." Sherlock read the words on the chart. His John was in critical care, no not his John anymore. Just John. Once again as if a mind of their own his hands pulled his phone out and sent a text to the only other person he could think of. Despite their differences, Sherlock needed the cool and calm anchor that was the definition of his heartless brother. He couldn't speak.
John. Hospital. Room 516. Queen Elizabeth.-SH the reply was almost instantaneous.
On my way.-MH