Chapter 2
What was wrong with Sally? Sherlock was pacing up and down in the cell trying to think. No matter how many questions he asked, she wouldn't answer.
"Sherlock, if you don't stop pacing, I swear I'm going to kill you." Sherlock smirked, knowing that whilst she would probably love to, she didn't have the energy. "I think we both know that's never going to happen Sally. You don't even have the energy to stand up, so how are you planning on killing me?" He smirked again as he could feel Sally's glare aimed at the back if his head. The smile was wiped off his face, however, as he turned to look at her. She was paler than the last time he had looked, and now she was sweating and shaking too. He walked over to her and crouched down next to her again.
"Sally, you're going to have to tell me what's wrong. I might be able to help you."
Sally knew things were getting bad now. But she still didn't want the freak to know. She didn't fancy her chances, however, if she got to the point where her body started to shut down and she fell into a coma. Would the freak know what to do? Probably, but he was just as likely to use her as an experiment. She sighed and decided that she'd have to tell him. "Alright freak, since you're so interested, I'll tell you."
"Just telling me is boring. We've still got time to kill before John and Lestrade get here, so let me try and guess." Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. He had spent all this time trying to pry it out of her, but as soon as she decides to tell him, he doesn't want her help anymore, he'll guess it on his own. Well good luck with that.
"Right, well, let's start with the obvious. Sweating, shaking, pallor, dilated pupils. Could be drug related, but I don't think you're stupid enough for that. From the way you keep rubbing your temples, I assume you've got a headache, yes? What else. Clumsiness, ataxia, fatigue. What else, what else?" Sherlock paused his ramblings to watch as Sally stretched and rubbed her hands, not as though she was trying to warm them, but as though she was trying to rid herself of pins and needles. "Hmm, paresthesia of the extremities. Oh!" He suddenly exclaimed. Sally jumped in surprise. "Hypoglycaemia!"
Oh great, the freak had worked it out. Sally just looked at him and raised her eyebrows, she didn't have the energy to say anything to him. He stared back at her. "You're used to this, so obviously this isn't the first time. So given that fact, it's not just that you haven't eaten in a while. You aren't incredibly skinny, so it's unlikely to be the result of a long term eating disorder." Sally raised her eyebrows at him again, this time in an incredulous way. She want expecting that to come out of his mouth. "You're not an alcoholic, so it isn't that." Sherlock paused for a moment, before a smile lit up his features. "You're diabetic." Sally just stared at him. Yes he was right, but he didn't have to look so happy about it, did he.
Sherlock kept on smiling to himself. He was pleased with how fast he had managed to work out what was wrong with her. Just over 30 seconds. The smile soon fell off his face, however, when be realised the implications of this. "Ah, yes, I can see why that might be a problem, given the situation. You don't happen to have any food on you, do you?" A single raised eyebrow from Sally was an answer enough. "No, because that would just be ridiculous. No, Sally, don't go to sleep."
Sally had got fed up of the freaks ramblings. She just wanted to sleep. "No Sally, stay awake. I meant what I said before, you know. Sally. Sally!" The freaks voice finally faded to silence, and Sally drifted into a deep slumber.
