"You rubbish idiot!" I yelled as I ran into the hospital room. It had probably been the longest week of my life, and all of it thanks to Moriarty and his little game with Holmes. Now I get a call from Lestrade, saying there was another bombing and My brother and Holmes were lying in a hospital bed.
"Excuse me miss, but-"
"Oh sod off!" I growled, looking at the two men in the bed. I froze as they were both smirking, Johns head was wrapped up as was Holmes's upper body, showing lean muscle and pale skin. I glared at them, John looking away, smirking, as Holmes was on his cell phone with an arrogant smirk as well.
"So, there is some English in you." Holmes said, typing away.
"Wha'?" I asked, shaking my head as anger got to me.
"I told you." John said, looking over to Holmes.
"It was a long shot anyway. A loss not wasted though." Holmes said, sighing as he looked over to John.
"Wha' in the bloody 'ell are ya talkin' 'bout?" I hissed, them both looking to me with a smile.
"I made an assumption that, being you only left London at the age of 15, you would still have an English accent. Now, John told me it only comes out when you are angry, I, on the other hand, presumed it would appear when sad." I blinked, staring at him.
"I hate you guys. So. Much." I said wearily, flopping down upon the seat as I calmed myself down. "Just… Tell me what happened. " I said with my eyes closed. Holmes told me of how he met up with Moriarty, the gay man we had encountered in the lab during the first case of the bombing. Then, talked about what happened, John being attached to a bomb, and how he was able to get it off of him.
"So, seeing as I'd rather not see a man like that walk around, I pointed the gun at the bomb in front of him." He said, brows together as he typed something. I had to admit, sadly, it was kinda hard to look away from his chest and arms. I really didn't expect him to have so much muscle, for someone so damned skinny.
"What happened?" I asked as he didn't continue. He looked up at me, brows hitting his hairline.
"Hm, what? Oh, yes, right. I shot it." I blinked as he smiled that sarcastic smile, going back to his phone.
"And?" I prompted, only to have him sigh.
"Obviously I knew it was not a real bomb. The man wanted to play, so he couldn't afford me dieing. So, as I shot it, I was able to push John into the wall, the sniper missing his head." he lifted his head up, eyes still on the phone. "He hit his head on the wall, and I got shot a centimeter away from my kidney." He said, pointing to his left side. It was slightly tinted pink, meaning it was still bleeding. "So, as this occurred, Moriarty got away and we were taken here." He snapped his phone shut, looking to me with raised brows. I looked between them, brows together.
"Wait… Doesn't this mean I have too…."
"Take care of us? Yes, I believe so." Holmes said, that stupid smug, sarcastic smile upon his face again.
"Oh… Dear God…"
"Stop moving!" I hollered at Holmes, who groaned, finally holding his arms up as I began to take his old wraps off. "Great, tore the stitches. What in God's name where you doing?" I asked as the wrap was completely off, showing the stitches on his side, two of them broken and the gash bleeding. I also couldn't help but notice he had pale abs and no body hair. How is this even possible? This man never dose anything but loaf around the house!
"I was trying to measure how far I can stretch out before I ripped them." He muttered with a sighed as I began to sop up the bleeding.
"Well, don't do it again! It's bad enough I have to take care of you guys without you making it more difficult!" I muttered as I pulled out a first-aid spray.
"But it is so boring to lye around! My mind needs stimulation! And you provide not- OW!" He hissed, dropping his arms and glaring at me. I rolled my eyes, dropping my hands. "That. Hurt." He growled, venom in his voice as his icy blue eyes locked with me. I raised a brow, the only thing his stare did was make me hot… Wow, I need to get out more.
"Of course it hurt. I have to disinfect it before I re-stitch it." his head shot to me then, as he was looking out the window when I began to talk.
"What?" He asked, looking to my hand that now held a needle, then back to me with narrowed eyes. "No." He went to swat it out of my hand but I grabbed his wrist, smirking.
"Stop being a brat and hold still. I was a medical officer for a year mission." I let go of his wrist, and he slowly put his arm down. "Good boy." Another icy glare made me smile. I propped up his left arm on my right shoulder, and bent down as I began to re-stitch his wound. "What did he say to you?" I asked softly.
"Oh, you know. Normal villain stuff. Burning me, having fun with me, ripping my heart out. Boring." He said with a sigh. "Men have no sense of imagination anymore." He winced as I pulled the needle through. I couldn't help but notice how his muscle moved as he inhaled and exhaled. There was a pause as I did the last stitch. "He also told me to give you a message." I froze as I was sitting up, looking into his eyes as he slowly turned his head to look at me. "He said he saw what you did." Holmes said, brows together as he tried to figure it out. My eyes turned stony as my insides turned aflame. I was terrified, but I refused to let him see it. I went to the aid-kit, taking out some wraps as I began to wrap him up, face blank. I felt his icy stare on me, and I could almost feel his brain reading mine. "Obviously had to be back in the war…"
"Holmes…." I growled, much more sinister then I ever thought I could be. He raised a brow as I didn't look at him, just finished his wrap.
"Fine. I'll find out sometime though." I dropped his arm from my shoulder and stood from the table, locking eyes. He smirked, as I rolled my eyes.
"Shut up, take your pills, and go to sleep." I said, throwing him the bottle of Oxycodone. He caught it, smiling, but when he shook it, frowned.
"There are three missing." He looked to me and I at him.
"How can you tell?" As I said this, he gave me the famous Sherlock look. I only smiled as I turned my back to him, holding my hand up, a pill between each space of my fingers, not including the space between thumb and index finger.
"Four? Always something!" He grumbled, making me smile as I went into see how John was doing.
"Maybe babysitting him won't be too bad…"
