A Worried Mind (Chapter 7)
*I made a slight adjustment to my story. It was the note in chapter 3, so if you didn't see it, I'll put it here too. So, Lestrade and Molly are married, and they have a daughter named Isabella. The change is that Molly is nine months pregnant with their second girl, named Lila. Molly is due in about a week and a half. That's the only difference.
John's head hit a hard surface as a figure lifted up from where he was sitting. A throbbing pain passed through his head and he sat up, rubbing where his head had hit the bench. He grit his teeth in pain and felt a soft hand land on his shoulder. He heard a faint voice whisper in his ear.
"John…?" Are you okay?" John rubbed his eyes so he could see better. Of course he understood when Sherlock stood over him and he was sitting on the bench in the hospital.
"Yeah," he replied, shaking his head one more time to extract some more pain. He blinked a few more times so his vision could become completely clear again. Sherlock offered him a hand and nodded his head towards a doctor who'd just come out from Hamish's room. John took Sherlock's hand and helped himself to his feet.
"Sorry…" Sherlock mumbled to his husband, pressing his graceful hand where John had bumped it. John flinched slightly and his hand automatically snapped up to his head. Sherlock looked worried and put his head down in shame. He decided not to help John anymore, because it would only hurt him more.
"So," he said nervously, his head raising quite quickly, now speaking to the doctor, "Can we see him?"
"He's on the verge of sleep," the doctor told them, "but you can still go in and see him. He's very tired. He'll need to sleep soon, but he deserves to see his parents first." The doctor motioned his arm towards the door, but then stopped himself before they could enter. He pulled the door closed without a noise and turned back to them.
"We just want to let you know that he's going to need surgery on his cheek. Well, not really. He'll just need some stitches to patch up the cut. That will take place in a few days time. He should be able to leave the hospital in about two week's time. We think some sort of virus got into him and that's what caused him to act like he did." Sherlock and John caught each others' eyes, then turned nervously to hear the rest of the conversation.
"As long as we stop the virus now, the blood will return to normal in his cheek and he won't be harmed in any serious way. He should be recovered in about a week, but he'll need to stay for a second week, just so we can make sure he's completely healed."
"Now," the doctor continued, "if one of you or both would like to come and keep him company during the operation, you're more than welcome to."
"Thanks," Sherlock said, before John could open his mouth, "but I think Hamish will be able to handle it on his own. He'll be fine."
"Suit yourselves," the doctor confirmed, and he let the door swing open so they could step in.
The hospital room was a decent size, with a large window completely covering the opposite wall. Hamish was sitting up in his bed, dressed in a hospital gown, staring out the window. When he heard the door open, his head jerked violently.
Sherlock had Hamish wrapped in a hug the moment the door swung open. He saw his son for a split second, resting on the bed in the left far corner of the room before his feet carried him over towards his bed. John took some time for them to embrace each other before he too approached the bed. The door snapped closed after him and the three of them were alone in the room.
"Father…" Hamish's head barely poked over Sherlock's shoulder. He spoke in a whisper and looked down at the floor. "I'm fine…" Hamish's caught John's eye from across the room, who stood near the window with his arms crossed.
"Father, I'm fine…" Hamish said, a little louder this time so he could hear his son. Sherlock loosened his grip on his son, and Hamish slid out of the tiny hole of his father's arms. Hamish could see when his father backed away from him that tears had sprung from his eyes. Hamish reached out his arm and his long fingers, just like his father's, ran over Sherlock's face and wiped away his tears. Sherlock couldn't help but give his son a little smile. Sherlock's arms grew weak and fell onto the hospital bed. The mattress was soft and squishy as Sherlock lowered his body onto the bed next to his son.
It was John's turn to make sure his son was alright. He didn't rush to the bedside, but took small strides towards the bed instead. When he reached the bed, his body gained speed and he stared at his son with wondering eyes. John opened his mouth to say Hamish's name, but he couldn't come to do it. He looked his son up and down, and Hamish was confused. John's hands managed to slowly crawl up to Hamish's face. He tried to look into his son's eyes and find some kind of happiness.
John's hands skimmed the smooth surface of Hamish's cheeks. He tried to ignore the mess of red that weaved all over it.
"John…?" Sherlock placed a hand on his husband's shoulder, thinking John lost his memory of Hamish or something. John didn't move for a long time; he just kept staring into Hamish's brilliant eyes.
John face suddenly changed expression and he let out a sort of sigh of relief. "Hamish," John let out a deep breath and hugged his son. Some sort of feeling had passed over John and he couldn't believe for some reason that his son was alive.
"Dad…dad, it's okay." Hamish tried to comfort him with a tiny hug. John jerked and shook his head violently over Hamish's shoulder. Losing control of himself, John let Hamish's unravel his arms from his dad and John lifted himself from the bed. His feet carried him over to the far corner of the room.
"Sorry…" John said as he went, his voice cracking because tears were on the verge of leaking out of his eyes. He did a sort of motion with his hand indicating that he didn't know what to say. He stared down at the floor and ran his hands through his hair. Sherlock looked from Hamish to John, asking his son with his eyes if he knew what was wrong. Hamish just shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what was wrong with John.
John managed to pull himself together and find words to say. "I just…didn't want to lose you Hamish. I already lost your father, or thought I did years ago, and I didn't want to lose you too." He took a long paused to inhale and exhale multiple times. "I'm just…glad I didn't lose you. Both of you. Otherwise, I'd be here alone. But that didn't happen, because friends protect people." He sank into one of the chairs next to the window.
Sherlock rose from the bed and examined all the machines lingering in the room. There were a couple wires attached to Hamish on his wrists and one Sherlock read one machine telling him his son's heart rate was normal. The upper half of the bed had been lifted up so Hamish could rest his back against it while he sat.
John's watery eyes glanced outside the window. They weren't incredibly high in the air, considering they were only on the second floor. Hamish's room did however have a dazzling view of the city. London was all lit up by street lamps and shop signs, and it was still abuzz with many people coming home late from work. Tiny figures far away were moving in the distance.
The sun had already sunk behind the tops of the buildings of London, and the sky was turning a luminous shade of navy blue. The stars sparkled in the sky and reflected in the corners of John's eyes. John felt a hand resting on his shoulder and went to grab it. When he clasped it tightly in his own, he realized it was Hamish's hand because it was tiny and delicate. Hamish's hand could fit snuggly in the palm of John's.
John craned his neck around to get a better look at his son. He'd gotten out of bed and was standing inches from his dad's knees. Hamish's eyes gave off such a strong feeling of sadness that John couldn't stare into them for very long. He pulled his son in close and gave him a kiss on his forehead. Directly after Hamish pulled away from his dad, Sherlock scooped him up into his arms so his legs dangled over the side. Hamish let out a little giggle, and John shook his head and stood up to join them.
John's arm fixed itself upon Sherlock's opposite shoulder and they stood together in a family hug for what seemed like a long time. All three of their head met in the center of their bodies, Hamish still resting in his father's arms.
Sherlock peeked around Hamish's stomach to check the time on his watch. "Well!" he said, cheering up a bit and turning his head towards Hamish, "You, little detective, need to get some sleep." He swung Hamish around a few times while striding towards the bed, and Hamish couldn't help but giggle and squeal slightly at his father's awkward behavior.
"Father!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck for support, "You're acting silly!"
"Who says I can't once in a while?" the detective asked, placing Hamish carefully back onto the hospital bed, giving his son a smirk. He pulled the covers up over Hamish's body and tried to find the latch to lower the bed.
"You don't have to," Hamish told him. "The doctor is coming back in before I can sleep." Sherlock understood and stopped his search. He sat on the bed and placed one hand on either side of Hamish.
"You sleep well tonight, okay? Just think of being back home in 221B." He reached in to give his son a kiss on the cheek.
Hamish smiled as his father backed away from him. "I love you," he said.
"I love you too," Sherlock told him, stroking his hair and moving aside to let his husband say goodnight. John lowered himself onto the bed and breathed a deep sigh.
"I'm sorry about earlier," he said, telling his son what went on in his head. "I just sort of lost control. But I mean it. I don't want to lose you. Because I love you so much." He outstretched his arms and Hamish accepted his invitation. Hamish's head rested in the space of John's shoulder comfortably.
John kissed Hamish on the side of his head and let go of him. He turned toward his husband and led him over to the door. Before he could turn the door handle, he was stopped by Hamish's voice from the corner.
"Will you come back tomorrow?" he asked, curiosity in his voice.
"Of course we will. We'll come visit you every day if you'd like."
"I'd like that very much," Hamish said, smiling. "I love you."
"We love you too," both Sherlock and John said as they opened the door. The brightness of the lights outside in the hallway blinded them slightly, so they let their eyes adjust before continuing towards the stairs. There was no sign of the doctor who'd spoken to them earlier.
Sherlock held the door open for John and the two husbands held hands while descending the stairs. There was no one in sight on the first floor either. Even the woman who was behind the desk when they first arrived wasn't there. The automatic doors pushed aside for them and they proceeded to the main road.
Sherlock flagged down a taxi and pulled open the door for John to slip inside. "221B Baker Street," he told the cabbie. The two of them sat in silence the entire ride home. When Sherlock hopped out of the cabbie at their apartment, he asked John, "Do you have your key? I forgot mine, because of…you know…"
John nodded and reached into his jeans pocket. He pulled out the tiny gold key and inserted it into the lock. Sherlock felt himself growing tired with every step he took up the stairs. The events of the day had happened so rapidly, and he could've slept with John outside room 207, but he'd refused to.
He had trouble standing while he pulled on his pajama shirt. His legs slipped into his pajama pants and he nearly fell over because he could barely keep his eyes open. John caught him before gravity pulled his entire body down towards the floor. He hooked his arms under Sherlock armpits and hoisted him up, bringing his long face within inches of his own.
"John…" Sherlock's voice came in a whisper. John stopped him a pressed a finger to Sherlock's lips. "It's okay," John assured him, "Hamish will be fine. He's strong. He can handle it. We'll be back to see him before you know it." His hand fell to his side and he lifted up higher on his feet to share a kiss with his husband. Sherlock didn't deny it, but pulled John in closer around his waist.
The same warm, happy feeling when John always kissed him filled his heart. His mood lightened up and he turned his head to check the time on the clock sitting on the bedside table. It wasn't very late. The blazing red numbers on its' surface read 10:34 P.M. He patted his hand on John's back and strode over to his side of the bed.
He let his body flop onto the covers and he slipped his feet under the sheets. The mattress was remarkably comfortable compared to the hard bench in the hospital. John lifted his arm up and flicked the switch off. Instant darkness surrounded them. Still thinking of Hamish, Sherlock's hand searched under the covers to find his husband's.
His fingers intertwined with John's and he felt John's hand squeeze his own. Sherlock's hair was flattened when his head hit the pillows and sank deeper into them. John's free hand softly stroked his husband's cheek. Sherlock felt one more heart-warming kiss before drifting off to sleep. His nightmare that night was terrible, and he woke up to find John sitting looking worried because Sherlock had squeezed his husband's hand so tightly that John lost feeling in his fingers.
Sherlock began to think later that the nightmare wasn't a nightmare at all. Flashes and images of Hamish kept crossing his mind. When he saw them again and again, they became clearer with each vision. A figure of a mysterious man could be seen lurking behind Hamish, an evil grin spread wide on his face.
Jim Moriarty.
