CHAPTER 4. The QUIET COMPANY OF FRIENDS
The drugs started to take over he thought he was dreaming again when Mycroft entered the dimly lit hospital room wearing a military dress uniform, he kept his voice low. John only grinned amused, what a funny dream.
"Should I have my PA and some of my men collect her?"
Who? John wondered.
"No, John would never forgive us if he thought we mistreated the wench in any way." Sherlock placed his hands under his chin in his usual praying manner.
What wench? Did people even use that word anymore?
"You spoke to her then, did you explain to her the circumstances of John's condition?" Mycroft in his dress uniform looked displeased, John almost felt sorry for who ever they were discussing.
That and he never realized just how soft the light felt on his skin, could light feel soft and sparkly. He tried to listen to the two brothers. Those two were so funny sometimes. Wasn't it just so warm in his bed.
"Yes." Sherlock hissed, "The harpy said if he wasn't dead then he was fine without her. Selfish b-"
"Sssh-" Mycroft cut his brother off pulling him further from John's bedside.
John wished the beeping of whatever machine next to him would shut up so he could hear the muffled conversation in the corner. The steady beat was somewhat comforting once he gave it more thought, his mind suggested it meant he was alive and fine. That was a relief, maybe slipping off into a sleep wasn't so bad.
But no wait, wasn't this the dream? Glassy blue eyes scanned the corner where both Holmes brothers still in military garb were looking quite put out.
Yup, it's got to be the drugs. John fought to keep his eyes open, his medically educated mind warned this strained conversation off in the shadowy corner was all illusion. Sounded right. The pain medication was playing tricks with his senses.
Right on cue, he could feel the welcoming darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision. He almost gave in, until the familiar gravely voice of Lestrade, the DI, Greg his friend, interrupted something General Holmes was saying.
When did he get here, was it a mission-er uh a case?
That thought sobered him a fraction but only enough to snap the dark back to the corners of an increasingly fuzzy vision. Why did it sound so distant?
"I could send some boys over to pull her over?"
Who? John wanted to ask.
"No deal boss, I already ran her name she doesn't have a car. Just leave it to me. I have an idea. I'll get her here, even if I have to drag the little-" she dropped her voice, the group huddled together in the corner, shot worried glances over in the drugged up John's direction.
He only smiled easily from under droopy lids, how nice that they are holding up the walls, the walls did look like liquid.
Ah, there it was again. This wasn't real and neither were they, but it was a comfort to have them all there. Even more so dressed in fatigues, well except Mycroft because a dress uniform was more his style.
"He's really more than a bit out of it." Captain Greg whistled.
"A bit." Prvt. Sherlock replied irritably straightening his black and gray combat jacket
"Let us deal with Miss. Watson." Captain Greg gave a stiff nod.
John held back a snicker, everyone was in military garb. Why should that be comforting?
Sherlock did look foreboding in the gray and black fatigues, foreboding and mysterious. John would have rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness, well if he wasn't completely certain his eyes wouldn't get stuck.
Mycroft looked comfortable, at home in his General's uniform, ever so thoughtful and stern.
"Fine. The Doctor would consider your intentions and methods in a more positive light, than he would mine or my dear brothers."
Donovan laughed softly. "Yeah. I wonder why?"
Mycroft shot her a dark glare, dark enough that she took a step back. Sally stood with her arms crossed over her chest, oh the ever so somewhat loyal Sergeant Donovan. She should know better than tease General Holmes.
John wanted to tell the group to shut up or speak up, either way if they were going to keep him up with their mumbling the lease they could do was make it so he could at least hear what they were saying. Or maybe he should tell them to piss off.
Before he could start to figure a way to make his mouth form words,his efforts were halted by soft fingers lightly brushing back the hair on his forehead.
Did he need a hair cut? For a moment he thought his mother was petting his head. No she was gone. A long time now. Whoever was reassuring him smelled of fresh biscuits and warm tea.
"You don't worry now dear boy, you need rest." Mrs. Hudson smiled affectionately and John knew better then to argue with the landlady especially when she was wearing her red cross uniform. So he drifted off on the waves of a dream, one that promised running, joking, the thrill of a hunt and a solved puzzle.