I will simply never find the right words to truly express how grateful I am for every alert, favorite, and review I get in "Bloody Surprise". Really! It's what keeps me updating. Guys, I seriously adore you (like that's not creepy at all). Once again, I'll be sending my love to you all this moment :D Hope you receive it. It's supposed to feel nice and warm hehehe. (You're all probably sick of reading me repeat this every single chapter :-P Get on with it! You must be thinking.) ANYWAYS haha.

I want to include more characters in this story, somehow…. Not entirely sure how I'm going to add them to the plot, though…

Reviews are welcome! ^_^


Things were going fairly well those next few days.

John was recovering rather rapidly, and a more recognizable energy and sense of humor were gradually returning to him. The only thing that put him off at times was when he felt the chest pains (due to the semi fractures) and sometimes –though very rarely- the itchy almost-healed-up cuts.

But things weren't looking so bright for Sherlock. Everyday only made him feel more miserable. Why? Not only did his brain deflate and rot in his head from a lack of things to challenge his mind (strangely there had been no cases), he still hadn't told Watson about the emails. Not a word. And even though he'd never thought he'd live to see the day, guilt was killing him from the inside out. But he didn't want his friend to worry needlessly; well, it wasn't the time for it anyway.

Sherlock and Watson still had around another week before they could really start panicking. But the detective kept mentally reminding himself he had everything under control, which was not entirely true, but he was trying to convince himself nonetheless.

Moriarty was making the detective dance again. That bastard.


It was around 4 in the afternoon when Dr. Williams knocked on the door and, after Sherlock opened it, casually invited himself in.

It was another visit out of the many he'd done in the past six days. But instead of giving his patient an expected medical report, he said something new.

"Congratulations, I should say, Mr. Watson, for making it through these six days. I am glad that you are finally in healthier conditions, and therefore reached a state where you're allowed to go home. In about an hour or so, a nurse will come by and help get you on your way to the lobby. Then you'll just sign some release forms and be on your way."

John, for the first time during his stay at the hospital, genuinely smiled. He would finally be going home, and properly this time, not collapsing by the door as he'd done in the past. The thought of it made him shiver a little.

"Thank you, doctor, really. It was all thanks to your medical work." Watson said, as he adjusted his bed with the remote control to stay in an upright position.

The doctor chuckled heartily. "No, no. It was all due to your steel body, and the support of your friend."

Sherlock frowned, and it took great discipline from his part to not say anything that would ruin the moment. John could notice that and he smiled internally for the effort of his friend.

The doctor walked closer to the white bed and offered his hand, which John took and gave it shake that was still naturally weak yet more steady than before. "Was nice having a sturdy man like you as a patient. I would say until next time, but no one wants to hear that from a doctor, do they?"

Watson chuckled quietly. "No, I don't think so. But for the sake of politeness, yes, until next time."

Next was Holmes' turn for the cheesy goodbyes and 'see you laters'. Those were over in a quick minute, though both men never lacked friendliness and diplomacy.

As Dr. Williams headed out the door, Sherlock felt something in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was a good time to tell John about those emails… Sherlock mentally berated himself. At least wait until you get back home… Imagine how awkward the car ride will be.

"Sherlock?" John's voice interrupted the detective's thoughts. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Sherlock answered as casually as he could. "Just wondering why the nurse will bring over a wheelchair to take you to the lobby when you can perfectly walk there on your own."

John shrugged from his bed. There had been a small scar over his left eyebrow… The lost bullet. "Hospital policy, I guess. And a precaution so that I won't fall on the way out and sue them."

They laughed.

But then John remembered something. "Oh also, on the first day, well I was out cold during most of it-" He mumbled. "When we arrived at the hospital, did you-"

It didn't take much of Sherlock's deduction skills to know what that was about. "Yes I signed all of the paperwork for you. The doctors allowed me to take care of it. You're welcome." Sherlock said. John sighed in relief.

"Right. Thank you, Sherlock." John Watson said, giving the other man a nod.


The nurse that Dr. Williams was talking previously came over in exactly one hour and twenty-one minutes after the doctor's departure. Sherlock counted out of boredom. He had also gotten his and Watson's stuff back into the bag while they waited for him.

The detective wasn't really surprised when he found out that the nurse was a young, clumsy, blonde male. He deduced from the color of the kid's uniform that it couldn't have been more than five days since he started working at the hospital, which gave him the constant expression of nervousness. Yet strangely, such an ungainly guy reminded Sherlock of the more elegant Moriarty. The detective immediately decided to dislike him. Gay. He thought.

The nurse, who introduced himself as Robert, had come in with the wheelchair, but set it aside to help John get dressed –much against the military doctor's protesting. "I can do it on my own," he would say. Robert consented that he'd change by himself and waited for him outside the bathroom, feeling uncomfortable as Sherlock stared him down.

"Why do I need a bloody wheelchair if I can change myself without a problem?" John said once he was out of the bathroom in his own clothes that he had missed oh so much. Next he –without any help- sat himself down on the aforementioned wheelchair and Robert pushed him out of the room with Sherlock following close behind with his bags over his shoulder.

Robert, after successfully delivering John to the lobby, said his goodbyes and left both men there in order to get on with his job (and to get away from Sherlock).

So, the military doctor filled out the hospital release forms and Sherlock took advantage of the moment to go call a cab.

John barely remembered what happened in the next moments: finally getting out of that hospital, smelling fresh air, getting help from his friend into the cab, feeling the texture of leather under his fingertips and finally, an explanation.

An explanation.

Sherlock had found the car ride a perfectly convenient time to tell Watson about the emails, about everything.

And John was in fact, at first, rather curious to listen. But as things progressed, his curiosity began to deteriorate.

"Shit." Was all he said, and it was all Sherlock expected from him.

John suddenly felt the urge to go back to the hospital, to stay in that white room, under the white sheets of a white bed.

Shit.

He was the heart.

Why the hell was he the heart? Was he really the great Sherlock Holmes' weakness?

A man like… him?

Now Moriarty will kill me for sure, John decided at that moment. Shit.

Sherlock cleared his throat, feeling that weight slide of his shoulders and unfortunately onto John's. "I'm sorry." Was all he could say.

Sherlock finally fully acknowledged that not everything was under his control. And he hated that deeply.


A bit of an angsty ending, don't you think?

Hmm, well, it's not my favorite chapter, but at least I finally got Watson out of that blasted hospital haha.

Next chapter will be updated soon! -D