A.N.- See. I told you I had two. I just had to wrap this one up. Tomorrow night I'll be posting my reactions to the new episode on SnapChat as it happens, so if you liked last week's (some of you thought my crying face was- thanks) follow me jade-author. Also don't be afraid to snap me, I am a very lonely person and always snap back.
Hopefully this will keep everyone's spirits up. RIP Mary.
The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch 10
As soon as she got back, Madeline phoned John and Mary.
"Sherlock's been shot." She said as soon as the line connected. There was silence on the other end until she heard a small giggle.
"Aun Ma? Dada is in loo." The voice said.
"Amy," Madeline said, trying and failing to sound cheerful. "Please take the phone to Mummy or Dada."
"Dada is-"
"I know, Amy." There was some more silence until Madeline heard a door open and heard John exclaiming things until his voice appeared on the phone.
"What is it, Madeline?"
"Sherlock's been shot." She repeated. She honestly hoped Amy had already left the room by the time John started swearing.
"Again? Who did it this time?" He said lowly. Madeline shook her head, then remembered that she needed to give him a verbal sign.
"I- we- don't know. We were ambushed by Bart's, jumped into the Thames, and a bullet hit his leg." She explained quickly. She raised her eyebrows at John's sigh of belief.
"At least he's not shot in the chest again. The stupid bastard probably did something to provoke someone." He mused angrily. "Hold on, I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Bring Mary too!" Madeline said quickly.
"She's out right now, but I'll text her." John affirmed before hanging up. Madeline dropped her phone in Sherlock's chair and paced, almost like he tended to do.
"He's done it again, hasn't he?" A smooth voice asked. Madeline truly wasn't surprised to see Irene in her doorway, leaning on the door handle like she'd been there the whole time. She straightened up with a smirk and sashayed into the flat.
"Did you do this?" Madeline hissed. Irene didn't bother feigning innocence, she just rolled her eyes.
"Oh please. I wouldn't try to kill him. Emotionally damage so I can get close- maybe. But this isn't me. Besides, he told me this was all in his plan." She said in a breathy voice. Madeline's eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
"Your Sherlock, fool." Irene replied in a voice that showed her exasperation. "Or didn't he tell you?" A smirk slid onto her face and Madeline had to fight the urge to look for Sherlock's gun. Irene took it upon herself to sort through the kitchen cupboards for food.
"I'll let him tell you when you inevitably visit him to apologize and reinstate your engagement and blah, blah, blah." A cabinet door blocked Madeline's view, but she could tell the other woman was smirking.
"You two aren't subtle. Not at all. The distaste between you two or the urge to reconcile or whatever is almost palpable." Irene added, "Almost anyone can tell your engagement's off." She daintily wrinkled her nose at a fuzzy and molded item she had pulled from the depths of the shelves. Madeline wasn't sure what to say, so she stayed quiet and waited for the next move.
"Your flat is a mess," Irene said in disgust. "It's a wonder you haven't been smothered under all this rubbish." She pulled a few cloudy glass jars off the shelves and set them aside, then gave up on finding real food. "If you and Sherlock don't get back together, do I have your permission to move in?" She added coolly. Madeline felt her eyebrows draw together.
"No you may not. And the flat is fine- it's organized chaos, thanks very much- and there is food here somewhere; but I wouldn't serve it to the likes of you. And you'd damn not be telling every criminal you've slept with that the engagement is off. You're here because Sherlock asked you to get the word out about this stupid wedding, and that's all you're going to do." She said furiously. Irene looked unimpressed and a little amused at the tiny outburst.
"Fair enough," She replied kindly. "But I'll remind you of something- I'm here because I owe Sherlock. So wrack your tiny mind and do your best to figure out what he did for me to make me owe him." Madeline angrily opened her mouth again, but Irene held up a manicured hand to stop her.
"You're already over thinking it. He could have turned me in multiple times but didn't. Don't give yourself a conniption." She said with a roll of her eyes.
"Madeline I'm here, John's a few blocks-" Mary stopped short when she saw Irene in the kitchen and a bitter look crossed her face. Try as she might, Madeline couldn't remember if the two women had ever met each other; but from their expressions, they obviously had.
"Oh look, it's Moran." Irene commented in a cool voice that steamed with underlying viciousness.
"It's time for you to go, Irene." Mary said stoically. "We have things to discuss that you don't need to be privy to." She stepped back to reveal a clear path to the door for Irene. She stalked past Mary with her head held high and didn't even give her a scalding retort, she just left and went back to 221C. Madeline raised her eyebrows at Mary when she slammed the door shut after Irene.
"Not friends."
"Seeing old… friends of the trade is always rough." Mary said bitterly. Madeline watched her friend's face and decided not to press the matter, as curious as she was. Mary's phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket like she'd pull a gun. The comparison made Madeline shiver.
"John's bringing Amy to Barts, we'll sit her with Molly or switch off with her while we visit Sherlock." Mary said surely, pocketing her phone and heading to the door. Madeline admired the other woman's swiftness, as well as her aloofness and poise when dealing with Irene. Madeline didn't bother grabbing anything other than her phone and keys before leaving for St. Bart's.
. . .
Sherlock was fine. In fact, he looked very smug and pleased with himself. When Mary and Madeline arrived, the detective was sitting up in bed with a huge grin as he shook a rattling bottle in John's face. The doctor wasn't having any of it, though. As soon as his wife arrived, he stood and went to retrieve Amy from Molly's care.
"He thinks he's so clever since he survived being shot again. And this time it was on purpose." John muttered to Mary as he left. Madeline thought back to what Irene had told her and stepped up to the bed. Sherlock's face lit into a grin that dropped when he remembered their current romantic situation.
"Did you get shot on purpose?" Madeline asked him flatly. The detective regained his smirk and shook the bottle. Mary easily took it from him and frowned at the lone bullet rolling around in the bottom.
"You did, you git." Mary said with a hint of admiration. "You needed a bullet to examine."
"Well of course," Sherlock said, pushing himself up on the bed with a grin. "I couldn't just pluck one from their guns, so I made myself a bigger target by spreading out in the water like this." He spread out his arms and legs, looking like a wounded and bandaged starfish. Madeline wasn't impressed.
"That was stupid." She snapped, "How did you know the bullet wouldn't hit you in the arm, the chest, or the head?" Sherlock folded his arms in an engaging motion rather than a defensive one. He looked eager to show off.
"I noticed that the tide of the Thames was receding and heading East, as I suppose you did too. So applying the light tug of the water to the trajectory of the bullet means that a shot will hit, and move forward almost imperceptibly. But that makes it so that the bullet is technically moving in a direction. Quickly downwards; but slowly forwards. Slowly but surely, mind you. Like a parabola on a graph. So I made sure to angle my more vital body parts farther downstream towards the East, because one- my legs were a closer target, and two- if the bullet came in my direction aided only slightly by the pull of the Thames at the round's top speed, it would be more likely to hit me in the lower body instead of somewhere important." He finished with a flourish of his hands, and sat back in the bed.
"I didn't get half of that." Madeline told him, looking to Mary for an explanation. She seemed to understand every word, and was slightly nodding her head in agreement.
"And how did that work out for you?" Madeline said a little roughly. Sherlock blinked at her.
"Well. Obviously. Quite well. I got the bullet out of my leg." He nodded to the bottle Mary held and frowned slightly. "I was hoping it would go through the meat of my calf, not my thigh, though. I was erroneous with my plan in regards to the placement of the shot on my leg." He said, almost like he was musing to himself.
"What did the doctors say about recovery?" Mary asked with genuine interest. "Even though this is a small caliber bullet, you know it's going to take time to recover." Sherlock pursed his lips as he thought.
"John was spouting something about physical therapy and the like; but I wasn't listening." He admitted shamelessly. "And besides, this shouldn't impact my work."
"You forget that you're getting married next week." Mary reminded him sternly. "And while you're recovering, the best person to lead you around would be Madeline. To keep up this public farce you've got going on." It was Madeline's turn to purse her lips, and she did so so intently that the corners of her lips turned white. Mary noticed her reaction and gave her a soft look that promised that they would talk later. John reentered with Amy pulling on his trousers to keep herself upright. She tottered to Mary with a happy cry and let her mother pick her up. Mary passed the bottle to Madeline, who squinted at the small bullet in the bottom.
It really wasn't big, with the girth of a baby carrot and the length of a grape. It was a dark color; but Madeline couldn't tell what it was made out of. John sighed as Mary planted kisses on Amy's chubby cheeks.
"I'm at my wits end with him. I'm ready to strangle him with the bedsheets so I won't have to hear him complaining about his leg in a week." He groused. Sherlock rolled his eyes and rubbed at the bandages wrapped around his thigh.
"I won't bother you, John if you see me as such an inconvenience. But when I get gangrene and die of an infection, my death will be on your head because of your neglect." He said tartly. John laughed.
"That's a good try, Sherlock. But you have Mrs. Hudson, Madeline -not to mention your parents to-"
"Oh my God, your parents!" Madeline interrupted. "They still don't know about this!" Sherlock fiddled with the buttons on his hospital bed, reclining and raising the headrest at will.
"Mycroft will have explained it to them. He'll probably say something about a boating accident." He said a bit sourly.
"You don't get a bullet wound from a boating accident, Sherlock." John growled.
"You don't know that." Sherlock snipped. John clenched his hands intermittently and Mary could hear him quietly counting to ten. She took it as her cue to escort her family out before Sherlock and John traded physical or verbal blows.
"Get well soon, Sherlock." Mary said. She shifted Amy on her hip, and the girl waved her hand furiously to make sure Sherlock saw her.
"Feel good, U'a Sock!" She said. Sherlock inclined his head to her and she smiled as John and Mary bid Sherlock goodbye. Madeline made to file out after them; but Sherlock stopped her.
"Miss Carver." He called. Madeline tensed at the formal hailing. It was a reminder of their new status with each other, as well as an indicator about how the detective must feel. Madeline spun on her heel and leaned against the door.
"Yes?"
"Do me a favor and analyze that bullet." Sherlock instructed, "I want to know its make, caliber, and the type of gun it was fired from." Madeline frowned.
"Why? John and Mary know more about guns, let them-"
"No," Sherlock interrupted. "That's another thing; I want you to keep that bullet away from the Watsons." Madeline raised an eyebrow at him.
"Why?"
"Does it look like I'm in the position to explain it right now?" Sherlock snipped irritably. "Just take it somewhere and get it analyzed." Madeline fiddled with the bottle in her hand before making her decision.
"I won't; but I'll take it to Molly or Lestrade and see what they can do." She said finally. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Be glad I'm doing this; this isn't even my field." Madeline reminded him.
"That hasn't stopped you from analyzing hair, nail, skin, and blood samples. I daresay you've become very good at finding things for me." He had meant to offhandedly compliment her; but from the way Madeline pressed her lips together Sherlock gathered that he'd only caused offense.
"I'll let you know what we find." Madeline said curtly. "Get better soon, Sherlock." She turned and left, leaving the door to Sherlock's room slightly ajar.
"Miss Carver, be sure to shut the door so I can think." Sherlock called after her. She didn't respond. "Miss Carver! Come back and shut the door!" He waited for a second; but Madeline was gone. Sherlock reached for the heart monitor piece clipped onto his finger and disconnected it. The monitor beside him let out a flat hum, and nurses rushed to the room. Instead of finding a dying patient, they found an irritated man with his arms crossed who demanded that they shut his door.
A.N.- He really is awful. He can't just press the call button; he fakes going into cardiac arrest to make the nurses get there faster. I mean, that's not OOC I guess… remember that I'll be livestreaming/Snapping tomorrow's episode of Sherlock, so feel free to follow me on SnapChat jade-author to see me get royally emotionally devastated.
And if you want more snippets of the characters/ MadLock I have a compilation of challenges, edits, or deleted scenes that you can find on my profile.