She awoke to the sound of John's voice drifting through the door to her room. He was talking to Dr. Hastings about Sherlock.
"He made it through the night, but his condition is critical. We're keeping him in an induced coma for now," the doctor's voice was hardly recognizable without its usual sunny tone. Their conversation continued softly for a few moments more before John finally entered her room.
He smiled at her, "Hello dear," he sighed, "How are you feeling?"
She nodded slowly, then drew her brow up in concern.
"Me?," John sat at the foot of her bed heavily, "I'm fine. Worried about Sherlock. Worried about you. You know me."
She smiled warmly and reached for his hand; he gave it to her thoughtlessly. She gave him a reassuring squeeze before bringing his large, warm hand to her cheek. She pressed a delicate kiss into his palm, and then let it return back to his lap.
John clenched his fist tightly, "I've been thinking, we should give you a name until we find out your real one. How do you feel about Belle?"
She thought for a moment before nodding. She liked it. Had a nice ring to it. Ring. Belle. A small laugh escaped her throat before she could stop herself. Even the small vibration it caused sent an aggressive pain through her throat. Her pained expression gave John a worried one.
"Are you alright?"
Belle half nodded and then shook her head, pointing to her throat. Without a word John lifted himself from the bed and was gone. He returned with a nurse holding a small syringe of clear fluid.
"This will help," the nurse said before injecting it into her IV.
The fluid did it's job quickly, and before John had the chance to sit back down, the world had already begun to leave her.
"You look a bit gone now," he said smiling.
She tried to nod. Did she nod? She wasn't sure. Consciousness fell out from under her before she could figure it out.
Sherlock's eyes fluttered open, the light in the room blinded him. He felt as if he hadn't opened his eyes in days. He looked around, the room was crisp and white. A soft beeping filled his ears. He recognized the sound of his heart beat. The rhythm was slow; lazy even. Dark shapes passed the small window in the door. Where was he? He blinked in an attempt to clear the fuzz from his mind, but it persisted. He knew where he was. He did. He was.. the word passed right through his mind. He was.. Oh fuck it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It didn't matter where he was or why he was shot in the head. Shot. In the head? His eyes snapped back open. Of course. A hospital. The beating of his heart quickened at the realization. Who would shoot him? He was sure he knew. Who? Sherlock tried to sit up, but the sudden movement made him light-headed. Perhaps he would save that for later. He forced his mind to slow. Who shot him?
The image of a small woman standing across a street flashed passed his eyes. Her brown hair floated around her face, framing it in such a way that hid her small mouth. She was beautiful standing there; haloed in the sunlight. She brushed the hair away from her mouth, revealing a soft smile. She reached a hand toward him, her smile widening. Widening. Widening. Until her face was gone and it was only her mouth; lips peeled back away from her teeth, revealing purple, bloodied gums. Sherlock flinched at the sudden change. The mouth opened and opened until it was gone. In its place sat a stone castle. It was enormous. He walked towards it, suddenly driven by an intense need to be inside it. He couldn't help but feel he belonged there. It was his.
The closer he came to it the larger it became and the clearer he could see it. What he had thought were large slabs of stone forming the walls of the great fortress weren't stones at all, but soft, pink brain matter. The entire castle pulsed with life. If he listened he could hear a heart beat. The castle was his brain. He stood just in front of it now. Huge gates of flesh stood between him and whatever lay inside the building. It called to him.
Sherlock rested a hand on the door. It was warm, wet. It shuttered at his touch. The castle knew he was there. It knew he had been coming. He knew it knew. It had been waiting for him. In response to his touch, the doors began to open slowly. Sherlock stepped back and watched, the anticipation of what lay beyond the doors made his hands shake. Somewhere in his mind he was aware that the castle was pulsing faster now, erratically. The gates swung open; a bright light seeped out from inside, stinging his eyes.
"Sherlock," the light whispered softly, "Help me." He recognized the voice as the voice of the small woman he had seen before, "Sherlock.." She appeared before him. She was even more beautiful now, dressed in a white gown; her hands folded across her front. The light was emanating from her. He took a cautious step towards her.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, taking another step.
"Sherlock.." she beckoned.
Another voice cracked through the light, "Sherlock. Don't!" it cried. John. Sherlock turned sharply to see John behind him, "Don't listen to her."
Sherlock turned and ran towards John, "John! Where is this place?"
"We're in your own mind," John answered, his voice quiet and ghostlike.
"Who was she?" Sherlock asked, now standing in front of John.
John smiled sweetly, "Salvation."
The air cracked with electricity. Sherlock turned to see the Castle begin to crumble on one side. Electricity cracked again, "What do you mean, John?" He turned back, but the air was empty. Crack. The light in the castle door flickered off and on. Sherlock was running now, as fast as his feet would carry him. Crack. The light stayed off longer this time before returning. The great gates began closing slowly as he got close. Crack. Even longer the light stayed off before returning. This time when it returned he could see the figure of the woman hanging in the air. Her body convulsed and twisted. Crack. A blood curdling scream came from the darkness that followed. The doors were nearly closed completely as he reached them. Without hesitation Sherlock threw himself between them and into the darkness just before they crashed shut. But the light was gone, and so was the woman. He was alone.
Crack.
