A/N Heya! So this story came in second on my poll (excluding the "other" option, which was really votes for two different stories), so I decided to update this next! Random Flyer gave me a few brilliant ideas to continue, so thank you! I'm continuing my accidentally-given plot on this and just turning it into a meeting-as-kids fic, so the status will soon be "in progress." And now I need to change the summary.
Oh, and I am no Doctor John Watson, by the way. Therefore, this may be slightly inaccurate at points, but I did look up a few things.
Plus, if you don't mind checking it out, I have a poll questioning preferences for a RotG school AU. Please check it out, fellow RotG fans! Only two people have voted, one of which being my brother because I asked! Remember, choose three! One relating to Jack and the Guardians, one relating to Pitch and one related to Nightlight!
Anyway, hope you like it!
John's POV
The next day, when I woke up and rolled over to see the clock, it said 8:30 AM. I nearly rolled back over to go back to sleep, remembering it was Saturday, but then a thought forced it's way through my groggy brain:
SH!
I gasped, those two letters reminding me of the events of yesterday and launching me out of my bed and to my dresser- I don't know how, but somehow I ended up with mismatched socks on my ears before I put them on right... Still mismatched, though.
I nearly sprinted out of my room, but slowed when I got to the stairs, to avoid both tripping and suspicion. I didn't want anyone to know what I was planning.
My parents looked surprised to see me up so early (well, early for me, anyway), and exchanged glances, but thankfully didn't comment. So after I finished a bowl of cereal (eaten again only to avoid suspicion) I turned to them and asked, "Can I go out and take a walk?"
"Where're you going to go?" My mom asked.
I shrugged. "Just a random walk."
My dad gave me a curious look. "This early? John, it's barely past 8:45! You're normally not even up for at least another half an hour."
I shrugged again. There was an uncomfortable length of silence in which my parents alternated glancing at each other and staring at me, and I switched between the clock and them.
Finally, mom answered, "You know what? Sure, why not. As long as you have your phone with you."
I grinned and ran to the door, grabbed my phone, nearly ripping the charger cord in the process, and put my shoes on as quick as possible. "Thanks!" I called before I sprinted out the door and down the sidewalk, making my way to the hospital where it had been reported that the kid who had been shot had been admitted; Bart's.
The hospital wasn't far from my house, and about 10 minutes later, I was running up to the door.
I skidded to a halt as I caught sight of a sign reading, "Visiting hours: 9:00 AM to 10:00 PM."
I took my phone out of my pocket and hit the top corner button to get to the home screen.
It read 8:55 AM.
I sighed and slid down the wall by the door to wait.
Longest. Five. Minutes. Of. My. Life. I spent most of it staring at my phone, watching the minutes tick by slowly.
Finally, finally, I heard a click as the automatic lock unlocked. I leaped up as though burned and flew through the door, forcing myself to walk through the halls of the hospital and keeping an ear out for I-don't-know-what.
Finally, I heard what I was subconsciously listening for as I passed two nurses going the opposite direction.
"How's that 6-year-old kid with the shoulder gunshot wound doing? What's-his-name... Sheldon?"
"You mean Sherlock Holmes? Yeah, we think he'll fully recover, but for now... he has some tough times ahead of him. The kid was lucky, though. It was a rather small gun and the bullet amazingly missed any bones and major arteries; it was more to the side and hit only muscle. The surgery went off without a hitch- let's hope his recovery does, too."
My eyes widened. SH, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft's brother.
Surgery, bullet hit muscle equaling hopefully temporary, but certainly painful, muscle damage.
Only six-years-old...
My mind connected it together almost instinctually in what seemed like milliseconds, and I nearly ran down the hall- actually, that's a lie. I nearly ran over to the nurse and shook her yelling, "What room is he in?!"
But I didn't, and forced myself to keep going at a slow pace.
When I got to the waiting room, I walked up to the desk and tried to get the person's attention. Nothing worked until I yelled, "Excuse me!"
I heard someone jump and, within moments, the face of a bespectacled young woman with pulled-back light brown hair and bright, friendly blue eyes stared down at me.
She blinked, then smiled and asked, "Hello! What can I help you with?"
I attempted a smile. "I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes, do you know which room he's in?" I was surprised at how familiar the admittedly odd name felt on my tongue, but it told me I was probably right; Sherlock Holmes was the mysterious SH.
The young woman frowned slightly.
"Sherlock Holmes, yes, let me see." She responded, then sat down, unfortunately out of my sight, and I heard her typing quickly.
She peered back over the counter at me, slightly skeptical. "Are you a family member or friend?"
"I'm a friend." I responded without thinking or hesitating even slightly, and she nodded, bringing her smile back up.
"Right. He's in the ICU, room 221. Do you need some help getting there?"
"Yes, please." Might as well take less time, right?
We walked down the hall in silence, and she dropped me off at room 221 with, "Try to be quiet, ok? We don't want to wake him up."
I nodded and she smiled gently at me and left.
I must have stared at the doorknob for another five minutes as I summoned the courage to go in... Which is what I couldn't figure out. I'd never met the kid; I didn't know anything about him except that he was 6-years-old, had a 14-year-old brother named Mycroft who happened to tutor my sister, his name was Sherlock Holmes, he went to a private rich-kid school, indicating his family was probably rich, had saved a girl by taking a bullet to the shoulder at a shooting at aforementioned school the day before, and had curly black hair.
But... At the same time, I somehow knew so much more. He played the violin. He was smarter than his typical age group and had skipped a few grades. He was bullied by his classmates, ignored by his parents and brother, and had a social awkwardness problem that bordered on being a sociopath; he wasn't quite all the way there, he still felt although he did his best to hide it. He loved mysteries; mainly real-life ones he found and solved himself. Wasn't to keen on actual mystery novels or movies. He often escaped into something he calls his "Mind Palace".
But most of all... He was lonely. He didn't show it; in fact, he had an appearing tendency to push people away, but was really looking for the person who stayed anyway.
I wanted to be that person.
With that thought hardening my resolve, I opened the door. -
A/N Hey! So, this was supposed to be longer, but I figured I've left you long enough. Plus this was hard to write and when I found a good stopping point, I took it.
Anyway, the last few paragraphs were done on my phone during an all day VPA rehearsal, so sorry for mistakes.
Speaking of which, reason for future update delays on this; other stories to update (which has increased from 11 to 12 published because I made the mistake of putting up another oneshot and a few people want more), VPA (largish part= more rehearsals), confirmation class, parent/teacher conferences, SCHOOL IN GENERAL, new books, watching/reading my fandoms, and packing to move in less than three weeks. I seriously only have about 5 posters down and... That's it.
Oh, did you like how I made Sherlock's room be 221? And how John's thoughts sort of showed a natural instinct for doctoring? ;)
'Till next time, and thanks again to Random Flyer!
