Here's part two... I don't know if this part's going to okay or not so just tell. ENJOY

Kaseykc

The Final Game – Part Two


"A broken man surrounds himself with broken people and broken things... it is his way of being normal in a chaotic and broken world." - Kasey


Oh noise. Noise is about as useful as Anderson is at a crime scene; i.e. not very besides being a constant annoyance. Why wouldn't it stop? Why can't it be quiet? Why- oh right. Consciousness was noisy. Naturally. It was mostly unimportant, noise that is, but at times when your eyes are too heavy and you have neither the strength nor the inclination to drag your eyelids back and survey the world, noise can be quite useful in discerning as to where you are.

There was the obvious sound of people, oh people! Heavens does he hate people... they just can't stop thinking about their inconsequential lives long enough for them to actually see what he does.

But the sounds of these people weren't your usual and average noises, oh heavens does that sound wrong to an inferior mind? The sounds these people were making were sickly coughs and weak moans of pain and tiredness, so he was somewhere where the ill were. Yes, isn't that assisted by the constant and continuous beeping of what he guessed was a heart-monitor; he doesn't know the correct term but he's sure John does, John's the doctor afterall.

John. Where is John? Why isn't he here? Where's John?

He opened his eyes and tries to sit up only for the newly seen world to spin and everything to make him feel like he's coming down from having too many nicotine patches again; and wasn't John pleased when he'd had to clean up the mess he'd made during that time?

He heard someone coming over to him, saying words but he didn't want to hear them so he didn't listen to them; he lay there waiting for his equilibrium to return to him before he bravely opened his eyes and slowly sits up, still ignoring whoever the hell is blathering on in his ear and trying to gently push him back down. Bloody people. Always getting in his way!

But John isn't people, John's John and he doesn't get in his way; he helps him, he clears the road and paves the way for him to run around London and keep his mind busy. John's not people; John's his. His. And he isn't one for sharing.

"Please Mr Holmes you shouldn't be sitting up yet," the nurse or whatever says to him as she pathetically tries to restrain him and he knows that if it had been John telling him to lie back down and rest he would have grumbled and pretended like he didn't want to but ultimately he would have done what John told him because John was a doctor, an army doctor, and if he told him to lie down then it was for a good reason.

This nurse however was not John so Sherlock didn't have any qualms about completely ignoring her except to give her quite the withering glare as he shook off her grip on his arm. He slipped out of the bed or whatever he was in, hospital bed, hospital ward; looks like Darwin to him but he hasn't seen that many hospitals besides their morgues and the private sections which he'd always been to when younger. He looks about trying to see John, he must be here, maybe he's in a private room or something like that? Yes, that must be it, afterall John's a doctor. It makes sense that they'd have favouritism for doctor's in a hospital doesn't it?

"John," he calls out for some absurd notion because it's not as if John's in hearing distance, if he was then he'd have seen him already, so why was he calling out? Why was he feeling like something was wrong? Why did he-

A Bomb... that's what was wrong!

A bomb-vest on John, a red dot prancing across his chest, his face holding back the terror and fear that Sherlock knew he felt.

Oh my...

No more bomb on John... it's on the floor now... Moriarty!

Sherlock wobbled slightly as his mind suddenly unleashed a flurry of memories and feelings that he'd already felt before but had apparently forgot; was this what normal people felt when they had flashbacks? If so then it was no wonder that John sometimes cried after waking from a nightmare Sherlock realised. It's like you're reliving it all over again. Not nice.

Boom... fire... smoke... water?

The nurse grasped Sherlock's arm as he continued to sway and with a little effort she directed him back to his bed which he damn-near collapsed on as another memory came to the fore which made his heart scream and his eyes water.

John trapped... dying... drowning... bleeding... not breathing... dying... John!

It couldn't be... his doctor. His doctor! No! It couldn't be... it just couldn't. It was inconceivable, no it was beyond inconceivable. It was completely impossible! John...

He couldn't breathe, why couldn't he breathe? He feels like he's breaking... breaking? Cracking, tearing, falling apart, he's shattering into pieces so small that no-one could ever hope of putting them back together to make him the way he was. Even if you had every piece it wouldn't be the same because it'd be glue holding him together, he wouldn't be whole, he been cracked and minute pieces would be missing from him. Pieces like John in his life...

"Mr Holmes?" the nurse asks as Sherlock feels a tear roll down his cheek. He's crying. That can't be either. It's about as impossible as John being gone. Sherlock doesn't cry. He doesn't. So why is he crying now?

"John..." he croaks, his voice is failing him, it's showing how human he really is; no that can't be. He's a high-functioning sociopath. He's not human, he's not like other people; he doesn't care. But that's a lie and he knows it.

Oh yes, it's easy to fool the fools but to joke with a jester you've got to be the best and willing to use any material; that was why Moriarty knew he cared because Moriarty, Jim, was well and truly the most effective sociopath that ever existed. Sherlock was like a huggable teddy bear compared to Moriarty in that respect.

"Who's John Mr Holmes?" the nurse asks. Such as stupid question from such a stupid fool! Who is John? John is his! John is... John. How can he explain just who Doctor John Watson, ex-soldier in the British Army, is to such a fool? How can he explain just who John Watson is to him? He doesn't think he can so he does the best he can do with such a fool and with such a mental block.

"John Watson... he's a doctor," he answers as he looks about himself; he needs John, he needs to see him to know he's okay, that he's alive. He needs to see his doctor! Where is he? Why isn't he here? He should be here!

"Does he work here?" the nurse asks, of course she doesn't know and she doesn't understand; she thinks he means one of those fools that walks around with a bloody stethoscope around their neck and throwing out orders as they try and make themselves more important than they really are. He wants to chase her away, make her go away in tears and he could, oh heavens could he! Well, he could if he could focus his mind on something not John-related. He already knows she's divorced and is a serial adulterer; probably why she's divorced, he already knows that she's not a natural blonde and that she's slept with half the staff on this ward; not that that's a surprise in this day-and-age. But that's all he's got because that's all he's allowing himself to see, what with his focus on John and not on such a mundane fool as this bloody nurse!

"No... he's-" Sherlock stops in his clarification that John's a patient. What if John isn't a patient? What if John's not even breathing anymore? He can see the medic working on him, trying to save him. He can see John stopping, his breaths ceasing, he can see... no! It's his imagination! John would never die! Not ever! John doesn't want to die so he won't die because Sherlock says he won't! And Sherlock's always right!

"He's a patient, he was in an explosion with me," Sherlock swallows and he explains to miss adulteress, what John looks like and what he can remember of the injury John suffered, tactfully ignoring the vivid flashbacks he's getting; if he didn't know any better he could swear that he had PTSD, but that was preposterous, "he's approximately five foot six, sandy-blonde hair, funny button-like nose, interesting green eyes and tends to scowl when he's either angry, annoyed or generally bored; but his smile is fantastic," is that nurse looking at him fondly? Why would she be looking at him like that? Strange, "he was in an explosion with me, he was trapped underneath a piece of metal roofing and I believe it pierced his side; and I'm afraid that's all I know," now she looked sad and sympathetic; oh no... Did she know who he was talking about? Did she know where John was? Why did she look sad? Was he- no! Not going there again Sherlock! "Do you know where he is?"

He smiled at her, trying to charm her but it seemed that it didn't work because she shook her head; maybe his smile wasn't as charming as he'd planned for it to be? "I don't sorry Mr Holmes. But I'll try and find out where he is for you. Heaven knows I was as worried as you when my boyfriend was in a car crash last year; I couldn't stop fretting about him."

Boyfriend? So she isn't a serial adulterer... unless the boyfriend was the one she got divorced over? Hmm... Wait a moment... she thought that John was his boyfriend? How novel! How wishful of her... if only John was his... But he remembered how John was always quick to deny that he was his boyfriend whenever they were out in public, and wasn't it funny when an acquaintance had called John Sherlock's escort? Well, it had been to him but John hadn't seen the funny side of it; and Sherlock hadn't when John had began to throw things at him when they'd got back to Baker Street. He'd made a mental note to avoid John when he was in a throwing mood; the doctor's aim was far too good for him to dodge the thick volumes being launched across the room at him.

Sherlock watched as she walked off towards the nurse's station and was debating over whether or not it would be productive to try and escape the ward so he could look for John on his lonesome when a rather familiar face came swanning into the ward through the doors on the opposite side of the ward. Sherlock scowled at his brother who made a beeline straight for him and he truly wanted to run off and find John because he didn't want to have to deal with Mycroft and his stupid, pointless, predictable questions.

And maybe that was why he wasn't expecting what Mycroft said the moment he reached Sherlock's bed.

"Doctor Watson is alright Sherlock, you can stop fretting about him; he's healing quicker than you are and his injury was far more serious than your little cut on your head," Mycroft smiled and Sherlock automatically reached a hand up to his forehead, and winced when he touched a stitched cut on his forehead. It took Sherlock a moment to realise what Mycroft had actually said about John so he was still scowling at his brother when his mind let him in on what it knew.

"John's alright?" Sherlock almost whispered and if he'd been attentive and not in a mixed state of relief, shock and disbelief, he might have noticed his brother's raised eyebrow at how emotional his younger brother was actually being about an ex-army doctor.

"Yes Sherlock. He's alright, though I think he might be in need of that walking stick of his for a while yet," Mycroft nodded as Sherlock slumped back in the bed, staring at his brother in an almost glazed stupor.

Then, as if someone had personally removed that blasted mental block that was over-emotionalised fear, Sherlock dived off the bed and hugged his brother in such a flamboyant and dramatic way that Mycroft truly wasn't expecting it, "He's alive! He's alright! Yes!" Sherlock exclaimed happily as he squeezed his brother tightly and let him go, his face shining with joy and his eyes alight with happiness in such a way that Mycroft truly thought his brother had either gone completely insane or had suddenly developed the ability to show his feelings. Both of which wouldn't last with his brother; nothing much ever did with Sherlock.

But John had lasted this far and Sherlock wanted him to last even longer. Sherlock wanted John to be by his side for years to come and he'd be damned if Jim Moriarty was going to change that!

"I want to see him," Sherlock declared as he gained some control on his emotions, just as that nurse came over and smiled at him; no doubt she too knew John was alive and better yet she would know where he was.

"Of course Mr Holmes, but you're going to have to be in a wheelchair; I don't want you having any funny turns on your way up to Mr Watson," the nurse smiled and Sherlock scowled again; a wheelchair. How... humiliating. He had half-a-mind to refuse but that would mean that he wouldn't be able to see John and he really wanted to see John.

He nodded and the nurse moved off to snatch a spare wheelchair and Mycroft took the moment to look at his brother properly, taking in every aspect of the happy and cheery man his brother had apparently become; his brother had become more human from the day that he'd met John Watson and Mycroft wasn't entirely sure whether or not that was a good thing. Heaven knows that Sherlock was a nightmare when he'd been working alone, but now he was worse than ever because he had someone he could impress, someone who was able to put up with him, someone who was able to teach him how to be human. It made Sherlock Holmes a far more dangerous man to anyone who dared hurt someone he cared for as Mycroft was sure people were soon going to discover in the near future.

The nurse returned and Sherlock almost dived into the wheelchair and with a childish shout of , "let us go rescue the damsel!" the nurse and Sherlock were off down the ward towards the lift with Mycroft following behind thinking that John Watson was indeed a good thing for his brother afterall; who else could invoke such behaviour from the calm, composed and emotionally-reticent Sherlock Holmes?

The answer; no-one other than Doctor John Watson.


Wow... I actually wrote this... and I didn't have to use nicotine patches either... amazing... :D

If you want another update at some point then you're going to have to work for it my people. I.E. REVIEWS! :D

Hope you enjoyed and tell me what you think of it; preferably use more than one word like 'good', 'more' or 'SHERLOCK!' :P

Two words will do lol.

Kaseykc