Waiting Rooms

It was a good thing the ambulance had room for two patients. Sherlock rode in the ambulance with them, sitting in between the two stretchers and carefully watching the paramedic as she dealt with Lestrade. Mrs Hudson was holding his hand, offering him moral support, despite her own troubles. The paramedics had confirmed that nothing was broken, but they were taking her in for scans anyway. Lestrade on the other hand would be going straight into emergency surgery.

"It was very brave what you did, standing to protect him from the sniper like that." The paramedic told him, with a thick cockney accent. She met his worried eyes with a smile.

"I knew he wouldn't shoot me." Sherlock said monotone, his expression not changing.

"I don't see how you could. Who could possibly understand a madman like that?" She said, dismissing his modesty.

"I could." He said softly.

The paramedic didn't have a response to that one. She just gave him another smile, albeit a slightly nervous one, then returned to her work.

Once they reached the hospital, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson were both taken in different directions, leaving Sherlock torn as to where to go. The Consulting Detective wanted to go back to Baker Street to investigate, despite the fact he knew Moran would have easily slipped away again by now. The other half of him, the emotional side Molly had drawn out of him, insisted he should stay with his friends. Lestrade would be in surgery for hours probably, but Mrs Hudson would probably be seen to quite quickly. He decided to follow her. Once he found the appropriate waiting room he took a seat, pulling out his phone.

I assume the second flat has been searched by now. Find anything? – SH

He sent it to Sargent Donovan, having also seen her on the crime scene.

How did you get this number? She text back. He could hear her crabby voice in his head as he read it.

Nevermind that, what did you find? – SH He texted back impatiently.

We know he got in by picking the locks, but that's about it. Looks like he just went in, took the shot and left. Reminds me of you like that.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. She had been better to him since his return after the fall, having been forced to recognise that he really had solved the crimes, not committed them. But there was still a mutual distaste under the surface of their relationship, and she would still throw in the occasional jibe, just out of habit.

How is Greg?

It surprised Sherlock that she would ask. He knew that despite her tough act she did have a soft side underneath, but for her to let it show was a rare thing.

In surgery, will be a while yet. Keep me updated and I will return the favour. – SH

Satisfied with the deal he'd made, Sherlock sat back to think and to wait. Over the next hour he received several updates from Sally, such as:

Forensics have just been in. No fingerprints, and the boot prints appear to have been obscured somehow. Anderson thinks shoe covers like ours or plastic bags. Either way you'll get nothing from them.

And

Ballistics are here. Just dug the bullet out of the wall. Now would be a good time to replace that horrible wallpaper.

To both he replied with a short, simple; Thank you. Nothing to report - SH

Finally Mrs Hudson came back from her scans. In a wheelchair. Sherlock stood as she was wheeled out, impatient to hear the results.

"No need to look so worried, Sherlock, this is just a precaution. They want me to take it easy for a few days." She told him cheerfully. Not that his impassive face would come across as worried to anyone else, but Mrs Hudson knew him well enough to read it in his movements.

"The diagnoses?" He asked the male nurse pushing her.

"She's just jarred her back and hip a bit, and it'll bruise, but there should be no significant or lasting damage done. She does have a fairly bad concussion. We've given her an icepack to be used on and off for the next few hours. She'll need someone to stay with her for the first 48 hours, in case any more serious symptoms occur. And she shouldn't do any strenuous activities, she needs rest."

"I understand. Did you want me to take you back to Baker Street, Mrs H?" He asked, taking control of the wheelchair as the nurse dismissed himself.

"Oh I doubt I shall get much rest there, all those policemen milling about. I hope they don't make too much of a mess. Any word about your friend?" She asked, turning slightly to look at him, then wincing and deciding against it.

"Still in surgery." He told her.

"Well then, that settles it. We'll stay here." She said decisively.

Sherlock nodded, even though she couldn't see, and changed direction of the wheelchair to take them to another waiting room, closer to Lestrade.

They sat in silence for a while. Sherlock was deep in thought, occasionally interrupted by updates from Sally. After what felt like hours, he broke the silence.

"This is taking too long." He sighed, his leg jiggling impatiently.

"Surgery always does." Mrs Hudson tried to reassure him.

"I wasn't talking about that." Sherlock said, shaking his head "I mean the case. I should have got this guy by now, he should never have been on the streets long enough to take those shots today. I've been lazy, waiting for him to come to me rather than going after him."

"But you've had no way to find him to go to him. Don't blame yourself, love, you've done everything you can. You saved our lives." Mrs Hudson told him kindly, reaching out to take his hand.

He pulled away, not wanting her comfort. "Your lives wouldn't have needed saving if it wasn't for me! It's my fault you're all in danger. You'd all be much safer if you never knew me!"

"Well I don't know about that, dear." Mrs Hudson said, rolling her eyes slightly at his brewing tantrum. "You forget, Lestrade is a police officer, he was already putting himself on the front line for crime, long before you showed up. And John, he was a soldier. Okay he wasn't by the time you met him, but he would have found something else, probably just as dangerous. He lives for it. And if we'd never met I'd probably still be living with an abusive husband, dragging me into all kinds of trouble with him."

"And what about Molly? What excuse do I have for ruining her life?" Sherlock responded softly.

Mrs Hudson stared at him in shock for a second, then gave him a hard smack on the leg.

"Ow!" Sherlock protested in shock.

"Don't let me ever hear you say anything like that about yourself again, because it's not true! Molly is just like the rest of us. Danger doesn't find us because we're with you, we find you because we are attracted to the danger."

That bought a smile to Sherlock's face.

Suddenly the door opened, and the doctor arrived, announcing that the surgery had been successful, and Lestrade had been moved to one of the recovery rooms, where they would be able to see him, although he would still be unconscious for a while yet. Sherlock sent off a quick text to Sally, to let her know the good news, before going in to see him.

It was weird, seeing the Detective Inspector so debilitated. His face was pale from the blood he had lost, wires ran up his arms to the machines monitoring his condition, and the hospital gown didn't do much for him either.

"Oh, the poor soul." Mrs Hudson muttered, sitting forward in her chair to fuss with the sheets and tuck him in better.

Sherlock stared at him gravely, then pulled out his phone, selecting a different number to the one he'd been texting.

John, bring me my revolver – SH

Sherlock, I'm still on my honeymoon. In Greece. Came the response.

Sherlock could practically see the eye-roll. He snapped a picture which encompassed Lestrade in his hospital bed and Mrs Hudson in her wheelchair next to him, and sent it. The reply was instant.

Right-hand side of the bed. Top drawer. I'll be on the next flight.