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Immediately after the door clicked shut, it burst open again and hit the wall. Both men started. Sherlock strode in, John jogging down the hall to catch up with him. Lestrade swore under his breath.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock, we can't just come in here," John protested. "We're not allowed to be in a private ward."
"Of course we aren't," replied Sherlock. "But how can they deny me a visit to my dear friend and my darling injured brother?"
Lestrade and John choked.
Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "I know that you didn't come for me, Sherlock," he replied. "However, I'm glad that you've decided to take the case."
"I wasn't planning on it, but it seems to be getting interesting, don't you think?" he said.
"Now there's an understatement," said Lestrade. He glanced at the clock mounted above the door. Only a minute had passed. The blood test results wouldn't be coming back anytime soon, especially given their contents.
"Jesus, Sherlock. They're in the hospital," said John. "Can't it wait?"
"They're fine," said Sherlock dismissively.
"All right. Just get on with it," sighed Lestrade, massaging his forehead. The quicker they made it, the more likely it was that they would leave before the doctors came back with the blood test results. He could probably find some way to keep Mycroft from hearing, but he definitely wouldn't be able to evade all three of them.
Sherlock said, "I already know the background of this case, so we don't need to go over it. My first question is for Lestrade." He turned to the DI, who was still in his pajamas. "Detective Inspector, why were you there?"
He looked at Mycroft, unsure what he was allowed to disclose. Mycroft replied, "I have mentioned the strange behavior of my bodyguards. To prevent any of them from amassing too much confidential information, my personal staff, with the exception of a few key members, rotates every May. This year, it was at the time the deal was enacted. I began to notice small acts of sabotage from my new staff. Thus, I suspended most of my staff while I investigated the matter and meanwhile sent out a request for a new live-in bodyguard not directly employed by the government."
"That's me," said Lestrade.
Sherlock frowned. "You took the job? Why?"
"I needed money."
"How charming," replied Sherlock. "It's little wonder that you can't earn a living, given your detective skills."
Lestrade sighed. John mouthed "sorry" behind his back.
"I had taken him for a brief interview when Detective Inspector Lestrade noticed that there was a car pursuing us," Mycroft said. "When we attempted to evade it, it began shooting."
"And then you just ended up in the Thames?" asked John.
"We had to get out of the commercial district to avoid injuring any innocent bystanders," said Lestrade. "We went out to some bridge and our driver got shot. They shot at us two more times, and so I deliberately drove into the water."
"I assume they fled when they saw the police vehicles and helicopters," said Mycroft.
"Did you recognize the vehicle, Mycroft?" asked John.
"I did not," he said. "However, whoever was driving that car was familiar with government vehicles or had access to my garage. My car's windows were bulletproof."
"Two possibilities, then," said Lestrade. "Either they created special bullets that could break your windows—"
"—or someone in your garage changed your windows to regular glass," said Sherlock. "That much is obvious, Detective Inspector, and goes without mentioning."
Lestrade usually would have snapped back at him, but today, he was too distracted watching the clock. John spoke for him.
"Jesus Christ, Sherlock," said John. "You don't have to be pissy to everyone just because of this situation."
Four minutes had passed since the doctors left with his blood. He had about eleven minutes left to get rid of the pair, go find his doctor, and speak to her privately before she announced the news for everyone to hear.
Lestrade looked back at John. "Has he been going on about it all day?" he asked. His fingers drummed on his mattress.
"Pretty much, yeah," said John, with the long-suffering expression Lestrade had previously seen on soldiers fresh from discharge. "He can't believe he actually has to help his brother."
Lestrade sighed and turned to the younger man. "Well, Sherlock, the car is at the bottom of the Thames now. If you want to investigate this case, that'll be your next step."
Sherlock stepped towards the door, and he hoped that Sherlock was miraculously taking the cue and leave the room. However, he turned around abruptly and walked back, pacing the length of the room. Lestrade drew in a breath.
"Lestrade, how could you have driven the car into the river?" he demanded. "That is the most definite way to completely remove or destroy the scant evidence there is."
"My God, Sherlock," said Lestrade, his voice flat and devoid of anger. "What should I have done? This maniac was chasing your brother and I down this bridge heading right into a busy city center and sending bullets through our windows."
"Your brother and me," corrected Sherlock.
"Your brother and me," Lestrade said tiredly. "If we went any further down the bridge, we would have been bringing this shooter into a densely populated area. Is that what I was supposed to do?"
"Of course you were," said Sherlock. "It's what they planned. They were testing how willing you were to risk the lives of British citizens. Your driving into the river showed them that you were willing to sacrifice your own lives to protect those of civilians, which was exactly the wrong thing to indicate."
"And why is that?" asked Lestrade dully.
"Because they now know that they can use the lives of citizens as chess pieces," replied Sherlock. "Isn't it obvious?"
I'm dying and I have to deal with the fact that you're all about to find out, he wanted to say. Nothing is obvious to me anymore.
Mycroft opened his mouth. However, at that moment, they heard footsteps down the corridor. Sherlock and John exchanged a glance.
"We'll continue this discussion later," said Sherlock. He pulled John by the wrist towards the window. The two of them concealed themselves behind the curtain just in time as the doors opened.
Lestrade stiffened as a doctor walked in, a sheet of paper in hand. However, he turned not to Lestrade, but towards Mycroft.
"Your blood sugar is looking a bit high, but otherwise, you're completely healthy," the doctor said. "You are at mild risk of diabetes. Would you like to discuss lifestyle changes and possible dietary changes?
Lestrade could just hear the laughter behind the curtain.
"No, thank you," said Mycroft firmly.
"Anyhow, our specialist would like to have a quick discussion with you to address any questions you may have," the doctor said. "If you would come with me, please?"
Mycroft bit back a sigh and rose to follow the doctor out the door. Lestrade heard a murmur behind the curtain, followed by a quiet, "Shut up."
The door opened. As Mycroft followed his doctor out of the room, Lestrade's doctor came in with a sheet of paper in hand. He knew from one look at her expression what she had to discuss.
Lestrade considered somehow revealing Sherlock's and John's presence in order to get them expelled from the room. He knew that he couldn't do that to them, though. Mycroft was gone. It was the best he could hope for.
His hands clenched at his sides. His doctor stepped up to him. Her brow was furrowed.
"Before we proceed with your blood report, I'd like to ask you a question," she said.
He glanced back at the curtain, then looked back up at her. "Go ahead," he said, drawing in a deep breath.
"Your platelet count is at an alarming level. Have you already been told what that means?" she asked.
He nodded, struggling to maintain eye contact. "Yes. I have." He nodded again. "I already know."
"All right," she said. "I will give you the report. You can look over it."
"Thanks," he said, taking it from her. His heart felt tight and heavy. He had known exactly what she would say. However, he still somehow hoped that she would tell him that everything was normal, his platelet count had checked out, it had all been a mistake.
"There are no other issues, besides that one," she said. It sounded ridiculous to both of them. He could tell by the way her face scrunched up slightly, causing her glasses to slip down her nose.
"Well, thank you, ma'am," he said.
"Of course," she replied. She turned and walked out of the room. The door shut behind her.
There was silence behind the curtain. Lestrade sighed.
"Well, out with it," he said, turning to face the window. "I want to get this over with before Mycroft arrives."
Super random question to y'all: do any of you know a Sherlock in real life? If so, how the hell do you deal with him/her/them?
