Doing back to back updates so as to get this ball rolling. The next update should be out in about two days (work pending). As always, if you like the story and/or want to give constructive crits, please send a review my way. They are very helpful.
Also, I apologize for the deleting and messing around of the chapters. It's been ages since I used this site and I need to get the hang of it again.
Summary: After The Fall, John seemingly disappears without a trace only to be found three years later. Sherlock knows the capabilities of the mind better than any man, but can he save a man from his own mind?
Triggers
Chapter 1
The days ticked by like seconds on a clock hand. Soon the months felt all too similar. And, within the blink of an eye three years had passed. Time heals all wounds and the wounds left by the death of Sherlock Holmes were all but healed to a sad ache.
John was another matter.
While not everyone could say with honesty that they liked Mr. Holmes, the same thing could not be said about Doctor Watson. He was kind, patient, and very loyal. The gaps that were left in the intelligent department of Scotland Yard were wide after Sherlock's death. The gaps left in the hearts of many by Sherlock and, especially, Johns absence were just as wide. Of course, the most difficult part to coup with was the idea of never knowing. Johns disappearance left everyone with the horrifying question of "What happened?" Was he killed? Is he still alive? Is he being tortured? Sherlock had so many enemies, what if John got caught up in it all?
On April 1st, the answer came.
"Sorry, you have a what?" The constable pressed his phone to one ear and used a finger to plug up the other so as to hear better. The office was small and even with the only handlful of officers, the noise of their morning chatter was enough to make it hard for a person to have a telephone conversation. The constable nodded and ended the call. He grabbed his hat and coat and made his way to the door, calling the officers attention to him.
"Okay everybody, listen up." the other officers stopped their morning gossip. "Ben, you're with me, we got a call from Mrs. Welsh. Apparently she was driving into town and found a man collapsed on the side of the road. Probably some drunk, but an ambulance is on the way just to be sure. We'll call if we need backup."
The man known as Ben, grabbed his hat and coat and made his way out the door.
"Lestrade!" Donovan made her way quickly into the office of Detetive Inspector Lestrade. "Lestrade!"
"Donovan, can it wait?" asked as he looked up from gathered a folder full of papers and making his way towards the door. "I have the murder suspect from..."
Donovan made her way between him and the door. "You might want to take the call on line 2 first."
Lestrade made a face, but then back tracked to snatch the phone off it's receiver and press the button blinking "line 2"
"Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking."
"Hello, Detective Inspector, my name is Inspector Wright from Sanford. We have here a Missing Persons report for a Doctor John H. Watson that we would be happy to help you with..."
Before Lestrade could have time to finish his work and begin to make the drive down to Sanford, he received a text.
He's been transferred to St. Bartholomew's
MH
Lestrade pulled the car out and made his way towards the hospital. "He's been transferred." he thought. "More like I transferred him..." The Detective Inspector wasn't sure HOW he did it, but he was glad he did it. Meant less of a drive for him.
Molly, though typically found in the morgue, made her way down the hall of the hospital wing. She had gotten the text from Lestrade. She turned a corner, excused herself for running into a passing nurse, and began to exam the labels on the doors. It took her a moment to realize the obvious; the one with the two security guards place outside of the door was probably his room. Sure enough, his name was on the door and the guards looked at her.
"Sorry ma'am. No visitors."
"But...the..." she began to stutter, but soon collected herself. "Detective Inspector Lestrade called for me."
The guards looked at each other before one popped his head into the room and called for the D.I. A few words later and Molly was granted access.
In three years you'd suspect that much can change about a person, but John looked very much the same.
The only thing that Molly noticed about his physical appears was that he appeared to be much more fit. His arms looked more toned and defined then when she had last seen him. Molly tried to shake this away. More likely she had never really took the time to notice Johns physical appearance and didn't see how fit he was. He was always running around with Sherlock after all and those heavy coats and sweaters could have just hidden these features.
But the nagging idea that he was far more fit then he was wouldn't leave her and as she stared at him in thought she felt startled when Lestrade gently tapped her shoulder. She jumped back and then grabbed her chest to stop her racing heart.
"You okay?" Lestrade asked.
She smiled and for the first time noticed Mycroft in the corner. She nodded to him and then turned to Lestrade "I'm fine, thank you. Is Mrs. Hudson on her way?"
"She's stuck in traffic and probably having a fit about it." Lestrade said with a chuckle. The two then walked up to Doctor Watson's bed.
"Where was he?" Molly asked after a quiet moment.
"He was found unconscience up in Sanford. A woman found him on the side of the road." Lestrade said as he tried his best to sound optimistic.
Molly did a quick scan of him and found, except for a few cuts and bruises, that he seemed perfectly fine.
"It doesn't look like he was hit in the head..."
"If you're looking for head trauma, you won't find it." Mycroft finally spoke up from his corner.
"Was he drugged?" Molly offered.
"Test have confirmed that except for a light dosing of chloroform, there are no drugs in his system." Molly went to interjected, but Mycroft continued. "And before you ask, or imply anything to contrary, we were VERY through."
"The problem is..." Lestrade cut in, giving Mycroft a look for his rudeness toward Molly "He was found at around 6am this morning. The effects of the chloroform would have worn off hours ago. So with no head trauma, no head issues in general, and no drugging...what exactly is keeping him asleep?"
A silence set on the room for a few moments as each tried to think of possible solutions to the question when the sound of an aged woman echoed outside the door.
"Young man, if you don't let me through this door THIS INSTANT, so help me I will throw you out of my way and..."
Before she could continue and find herself arrested, Lestrade bolted for the door and hurried her past the amused officers. She immediately burst into tears at the sight of John and ran to his side.
"My poor John, what did they do to you?" She began to pet his head affectionately as Lestrade grabbed her a chair and pulled it along side his bed. Molly wrapped an arm around her and gave her a sqweeze. She smiled at her and then went back to attending to Johns hair.
"They?" said Mycroft "Who do you assume did this to him, Mrs. Hudson?"
"Oh any number of people you've made enemies with, I'm sure!" she said with a bit of ice that was rather unexpected. She turned back to John and immediately her face melted. "My poor John, where did you go, sweety? I would have let you stay at the flat. I even kept it tidy for you. No fingers in the fridge or anything..." and with this her eyes filled with tears and she cried again. Molly rubbed her arms and held her as she wept.
Mycroft made his way out of the room without a word, not enjoying the sound of a whimper old woman, and Lestrade followed him out.
Once outside, the two talked.
"Keep the guards posted by the door." Mycroft demanded
"Sure, but you think someone will make a move here?" Lestrade, taking a nicotine patch and unwrapping it.
"Doubtful, but I don't want to take any chances." Mycroft responded as he watch Lestrade unbutton his shirt to to expose his arm.
"I know this sounds dumb..." Lestrade waited a moment for Mycroft to make some remark at this statement, but then again Mycroft was a lot different from his brother. When Mycroft simply waited for him to continue, he did, placing the patch on his arm as he spoke "...but has anyone tried just shaking him awake?"
"Smelling salts are a little more dignified means of achieving that goal, but yes, we have tried to force him awake." Mycroft explained as he took out his phone and began to look through his messages.
Lestrade was silent for a moment before pulling out his phone. It was a little after 7pm. "I'm going to head to Sanford as soon as I can. I want to see if I can find anything myself."
"Can you spare that kind of police time?" Mycroft seemed to be only partially paying attention.
"I'll be doing it on my own time, thanks for asking Mycroft." Lestrade added before walking away.
"You know, you can always ask for my help." Mycroft called out and Lestrade stopped and turned back, actually surprised by his offer of assistance. Mycroft put away his phone and walked to Lestrade side and the two began to walk out of the building. "I've taken the liberty to having my own team go down to investigate the area, and since you've taken an eager interest in this mans case, I'll assign you to lead the team."
"But how..." Lestrade began as Mycroft waved a hand at him.
"I've made a few calls before we arrived. Scotland Yard can do without you for a week or two while you find out what you can."
Mycroft seemed uninterested as Lestrade smiled on his way to his car.
"And here I thought you didn't care."
At this Mycroft stopped and looked at Lestrade hard in the eyes. "Let me be understood. Sentimentality has nothing to do with this..."
"Not even a little? I mean, he looked after your brother a hell of a lot..."
"And so did I." He didn't raise his voice, but the firmness of his tone made it feel like he did and Lestrade closed his mouth. "The people that John could have entangled with, given his association with my brother, makes this a matter of urgency and...I owe John for the times he has assisted me and was never reimbursed for his time."
"I see... all right, Mycroft, send me the details about this team of yours. Have a good night!" Lestrade said with a nod and left his side. He felt a sort of sad smile creep onto his face as he thought "This is just the way the Holmes show they care."
Molly retreated to her sanctuary...which just so happened to be filled with dead people. So, needless to say, no one would feel ignored if Molly were to take out her phone and check her messages. She went into the bag, shoved aside the more expensive phone and took out a cheaper, pay-as-you-go, phone.
1 Message Received
She smiled and opened her Inbox.
How is he?
No signature. Not surprising, he hadn't signed his text messages in years.
Unconscious. They can't find what's keeping him out. No head trauma. No drugs. They're running further tests now. - Molly
She sent the text and counted to five. Sure enough, her text message ring tone sang to her.
Going to check it out. Keep an eye on him. D.A.R
Molly rolled her eyes, but smiled as she did so.
Of course and yes, I will DAR. Please keep me posted.
And with this her phone remained silent. She did as was asked and deleted after reading (DAR)
Molly returned upstairs after her shift was over and talked with , who was still seated next to John, but had taken up a pair of knitting needles and was knitting a scarf. It was for John, Molly was certain, as not only would that be the sort of thing Mrs. Hudson would do, but John had, in the past, frequently worn knitted attire. The two remained and chatted by his bed side till visiting hours were over. The two ladies then left, promising to meet sometime tomorrow and have some tea before coming back to the hospital.
Days came and went the doctors of St. Bart's were completely stumped as to how someone, with no head trauma and no drug usage, could have slipped into a coma like state. Test had concluded that was no cerebral hemorrhaging or aneurysm. Neck injuries had also tested and ruled out.
Mycroft, fearing that the doctors of St. Bart's were not held to a high enough standard, had his own set of medical professional come in for a second opinion.
Sadly, they too were at a loss as to what was keeping John Watson in his coma like state.
Days passed into weeks.
Eventually the visits became less and less from Mrs. Hudson, who was fearing the worst for her John, but she was sure that her collection of sweaters and scarfs would be finished for when him, should he wake up.
Molly, ever at the hospital, had made a point to peak in at least twice a day to check in on him.
On the fourth day of the third week, the guards placed outside the door were conversing with one other, both rather unsure about why there needed to be such security for a comatose patient when a nurse came running up to them.
"Can you please help?" she said slightly out of breathe
"What's the matter?" one of the officer detached from the door and walked up to her.
"There are two men fighting outside and it looks like they might actually hurt each other!" She waved for him to follow her as she spoke. The officer looked to his partner who gave him the nod just as the sound of a gun went off. Yelling and panic soon ensued as the two men bolted for the exit and were out of sight.
A few moments later Molly rounded the opposite corner walking hurriedly with a tall, spectacle wearing Doctor. His hair was pulled back into a short nub of a pony tail, but some of his straight hair seemed to escape. He was rather scruffy looking, his heard patchy in some places. The two walked up to the door of the hospital room and walked inside carefully.
When the door shut, the man besides Molly zipped like a bullet from a loaded gun and was besides John. He threw the covers off the man to expose the man, lying perfectly still, breathing calm and steady, in his hospital gown.
And there it was.
It was just one moment. One passing fleeting moment. It would have escaped anyone who wasn't paying attention.
Molly had a knack for paying attention.
The doctor had paused for a just a moment at the sight of the patient. He looked...the moment was gone and he began to exam him. Starting at his feet and working up.
Molly walked to the other side of the bed and gave him a look. She knew better than to speak. The look said "Anything?"
The man ignored the look for the time being, but soon the silence was broken when the phone began to ring besides the table.
The man seemed undeterred by it, but Molly looked concerned. The man noticed her look. It said "Who would be calling? She walked around the bed and took the phone off the receiver after it seemed like it refused to stop ringing.
"Hello?" she asked timidly and at this the man looked at her from the corner of his eye.
Molly was silent for a moment, listening to the words of the caller, before handing over the phone to the man. The look on her face told him everything and, placing a glove over one of his hands, he grabbed the phone and placed it to his ear. He said nothing. He didn't need to.
"I've taken the liberty of running your brothers surveillance system on a loop of some past footage of . You should be more careful, " Male. Baritone. Russian Accent. Not trying to conceal the accent. Age between 35 - 45. Smoker.
"Who is this?" the man with the glasses finally spoke. His voice was calm, yet demanding.
"Didn't he tell you, ?..."
Molly had been holding her breathe, John slept undisturbed, the sounds of the hospital continued outside the door, the bustle of the streets below continued on.
In that moment, only heard this
"...that he'd burn the heart out of you?"
