CHAPTER 4: Hospital
For a while, there is nothing; then, what seems like moments (but is, in reality hours) later, Sherlock opens his eyes, wincing at the blindingly bright hospital walls.
"Sherlock?" John sees his friend's eyes flicker and open, squinting against the lights. John dims the ones in the room, returning to the bed and holding Sherlock's hand. "Thank God, oh Jesus Christ, thank God, you're ok"
The detective blinks hard several times as the room comes into focus. If the sterile white walls, harsh lights, and beeping machines aren't enough to tell Sherlock was in a hospital, the look on John's face is. "Why?" he asks, his voice hoarse.
"Samuel gave you cocaine mixed with prescription drugs, at least 3 syringes worth. It's a wonder you're alive. I thought-" John stops and breathes, "I thought you were going to die all over again. They tried to make me stay in the waiting room, but you're in luck that I happen to be a doctor. I didn't mention our...relationship or give them your real name. No worries there. I told them you were a distant cousin who got attacked. And you're leg is fine. Stitched up perfectly now and should heal just fine." John adds as an afterthought.
"Oh," says Sherlock simply, his mind still not quite working at its usual pace. His memory is clouded, but he decides it's because of the vast amount of drugs he's had in his system. "Thank you."
"Of course." John squeezes the detective's hand gently. "They're going to keep you here for a few days, tests and such. I-I told them you had a slight history with cocaine, so at least they can plan. The withdrawal hasn't been pretty so far."
"How long have I been here?" he asks. His head pounds, and he shakes slightly. "It was cocaine you said?"
"A day and a half, and yes, I did."
"A day and a half?" asks Sherlock with a slight frown.
"You went through the major stuff within the first 12 hours, but then you weren't waking up." John chokes, feeling Sherlock's tremors. "All the monitors said you were fine, but...I thought-" John breaks off, fighting back tears to no avail.
"I wouldn't leave," he says quietly. "You can be upset, you know."
John nods. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I'm not used to this." Then "Can I kiss you? I think some part of me still needs to know you're here. All the years of being apart, you know."
Sherlock smiles slightly. "Of course," he replies, his voice gentle.
John stands up, bracing himself against the bed as he leans over, caressing Sherlock's lips with his own
Despite the wires, the pain, the shaking, Sherlock can't remember ever feeling quite so happy. "And you're all right?" he asks, leaning away from John, studying him. "I can't recall if I've asked, but I need to ask again, I suppose."
John smiles, studying the detective, fingertips brushing his cheekbone. "You did, actually, as I carried you out of the building. You didn't ask about the men or yourself, but you asked if I were fine. I am, by the way. Because right now, you're alive, we're safe, and I'm with you."
"Don't remember asking, but glad I did just the same. It goes without saying that I'm quite glad you're fine, as well." He pauses, a particularly violent tremor running through him. "How long, do you think?" he asks, hands clenched.
John's brow creases. "Not long I should think. Like I said, most of it happened in the first 12 hours, and it's been 36 now. I won't go anywhere. Promise."
"Good. Thank you." He stops a moment, listening. "Lestrade and Mycroft are here, too, I suppose," he says, nodding at the door.
"Yeah, well." John grins, really grins this time, "I wish you could have seen them when they first arrived."
"Oh, God, why?" the detective asks, smiling.
"Because they had so obviously finished shagging each other's brains out from relief that Lestrade was ok. Lestrade still had bedroom eyes, and Mycroft looked like he wanted to drag Lestrade into the nearest closet and do him again."
Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Glad I missed that. You just had to share your suffering, though, didn't you?" He pauses, smirking, as he calls out, "If you're quite finished snogging out there, you could come in and actually talk!"
There's a thump and a curse on the other side of the door. "Sod off, Sherlock," Lestrade calls. There's a long moment where John and Sherlock share very smug grins before Lestrade and Mycroft enter, finally seeming to realize that Sherlock is awake.
Sherlock laughs as the two come in, smiling at Lestrade's response. "Lovely to see you again as well," Sherlock says with a roll of his eyes.
Lestrade glares, his face flushed; Mycroft, as always, looks like there are multiple pastries stuck up his arse. "And how are we today, little brother," he sneers, his concern for Sherlock barely concealed beneath his snide manner.
"Oh, better, I'd say," answers Sherlock, his voice dripping with sweetness. "Perhaps you could pull one of your government tricks and allow them to release me a tad bit early," he suggests with a slight smile.
"Only if you are clean," Mycroft replies, deliberately not looking at Lestrade. "As soon as we get your most recent blood tests back, we shall see."
Sherlock snorts. "I think that, since I am not the one who administered the drugs, that it shouldn't count as not clean." He glances at Lestrade, asking with a hint of teasing in his voice, "All right then, Lestrade?"
"Sod off," Lestrade repeats, face flushing once more. Then he turns to Mycroft. Big mistake, he
almost can't speak. "You really should release him. John will care for him, right John?"
"Oh, yes, of course, absolutely." John fights back a snicker, managing at the last second to turn it into a cough.
"'Sod off'? Not, 'oh, thank you so very much, Sherlock, you're the world's greatest consulting detective'? I'm disappointed, Lestrade, I expected better of you," Sherlock can barely keep from laughing hiself. "However, I suppose I'll forgive you if you can convince my brother dearest to have me released."
Lestrade swallows hard before saying, "Yes, of course, thank you!"
John and Sherlock burst out laughing at this as Mycroft has chosen this precise moment to brush up against Lestrade, clearly squeezing his bum through his trousers.
"All right, that's it, I demand to be let out of this place immediately," Sherlock says through fits of laughter. "I can't take this place any longer, can you John?"
"No, I can't. And unless the head of the British Government wants some pretty serious blackmail, he'd better let us out."
Mycroft grins at Lestrade before turning back to Sherlock and John, expression sobering while is eyes remain light. "Yes, fine, all right? I'll go speak to the doctors immediately." He sweeps out of the room, Lestrade following, trying not to look to eager and failing miserably.
This just makes John and Sherlock laugh harder.
"They're terrible," says Sherlock with a shake of his head. "I pity you for having to have seen them a few hours ago."
"Don't, it brightened my day to see Lestrade so embarrassed. Took my mind off your condition for ten seconds."
After a few minutes, Mycroft enters the room again, along with a few nurses.
"Thank you so very much," Sherlock says with a smile.
Walking out of the hospital, Sherlock is still a little unsteady on his feet, gripping onto John's arm as they leave.
