CHAPTER TWO
"Afghanistan or Iraq? Afghanistan. How do you feel about the violin? I'm sorry what? I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end, does that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other… Are you wearing any pants? No…Why are you saying this? ... I'm a fake, the newspapers where right all along… Nobody could be that clever. You could… SHERLOCK! NO SHERLOCK!" Sherlock jolted to a sitting position in the hospital bed. He groaned as he grabbed the left side of his chest and then lay back down.
"Sherlock!" John yelled as he ran from his chair to the side of the hospital bed.
"What happened?" Sherlock asked as he began to get up and pull all the devices that were hooked up to him off.
"Sherlock, you're in the hospital. You need to lay do-"John tried to convince Sherlock to stay still.
"Clearly, I'm at the hospital. What other place would have me hooked up to useless mechanisms." Sherlock muttered as he stood up. Sherlock grabbed the railing of the hospital bed as the world around him spun.
"Sherlock, you need to lie down!" John kept trying to get Sherlock into the bed. "Sherlock-"He repeatedly said as he pulled at the hospital gown that Sherlock was wearing.
"Uh! What is this hideous thing?" Sherlock said, looking down at the hospital gown. "I can't go home looking like this. Where are my clothes?"
"Sherlock, regardless of what you are wearing you can't go home. Not yet." John explained to Sherlock. Sherlock shot a glare at John and the started to make his way to the exit.
"Sherlock. Lay down now." A voice demanded from the doorway. Sherlock looked quickly up at the door way, making the world spin even faster and causing him to lean on John for support.
"Mycroft. Nice of you to finally visit." Sherlock sarcastically said. He stood up straight but still wobbled as it he was intoxicated.
"Oh grow up, Sherlock Holmes. " Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"Fine. If that's all you have to say then I guess I'll be on my way." Sherlock began walking towards the door in a staggered pattern.
"Sherlock, listen to your brother and lay down!" A voice came from behind Mycroft.
"Ms. Hudson." Sherlock straightened up even more and tried to stand still.
"Lay down." Ms. Hudson repeated herself. Sherlock took in a deep breath and admitted defeat. He made his way back to the bed, refusing John's help, and laid back down.
"There you have it. I'm lying back down." Sherlock said as he gently fell back onto the hospital bed. "Now," He said clearing his throat, "Will someone please tell me what happened."
"Sherlock, you were shot." John stated.
"Oh was I!? That may explain the bullet wound in my chest!" Sherlock said using a sarcastic tone once again. Everyone just stared at him. "I know I was shot! But why?!" Sherlock began losing patients. Everyone just continued to stare. "Oh wonderful, none of you know." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"We weren't there Sherlock. You can't expect us to know." John said in a low voice, as if he felt guilty for not knowing the answer to Sherlock's question.
"Whatever." Sherlock said and then stared angrily at the ceiling.
"Tea, Ms. Hudson?" Mycroft asked. Ms. Hudson shook her head 'yes' and then they left.
"Sherlock… why are you so angry?" John asked as he walked over to the railing of the hospital bed.
"I can't remember." Sherlock said as he pounded his curled up right-hand against his forehead.
"It'll eventually come to you." John said as he reached across the bed and grabbed Sherlock's wrist to prevent him from hitting himself any longer.
"John." Sherlock whispered as he looked him directly in the eyes.
"Let's just be happy that you're alive. I was so worried." John said as he stared back. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat and it felt like someone was pushing down on his chest making it impossible for him to say anything back.
"I… I think I need to rest." Sherlock cleared his throat before speaking. He pulled his arm out of John's grasp and laid it gently down. "If you don't mind, I'd rather be alone. The thought of you watching me in my sleep is... uh… a bit disturbing." Sherlock said as he broke his focus away from John.
"Right, of course." John said. He pulled the blankets further up on Sherlock as if he was tucking him in and then left the room. Sherlock gasped for air as if he had been holding his breath for hours. What was this feeling? He'd never felt it before. He grabbed the left side of his chest again which was throbbing because of his rushing adrenaline.
"I never thought I'd love my clothing so much." Sherlock seriously stated as he finished buttoning his shirt. John laughed as he handed him his coat.
"I thought you'd be happier about being able to get out of the hospital than being able to get out of the hospital gown." John continued laughing as they made their way out of the hospital.
"You know, Sherlock, I should have been there." John disappointedly said.
"What?" Sherlock confusedly asked.
"It's my fault you got shot. I didn't make it there in time. I'm sorry." John said.
"No, John, it's not." Sherlock felt the strange feeling coming about again. The pedestrian light turned green and John looked away from Sherlock and began walking. He knew it would be pointless to argue with Sherlock and figured it would just be best to bottle the burden up. Sherlock watched as John walked away and then followed slowly behind him.
