Dun Dun Dunn. I hope I am not moving too fast here, but if I am, I am totally blaiming it on all of you for not giving me more imput about it. Hmpft. And all recognisable content belongs to its respective owners. Obviously.
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"She is awake?" I try to encourage Mycroft "that is a good sign. These things can be tricky and completely temporary. Seriously" I put all my authority both as a doctor and as a captain behind the words, but he merely nods, looking broken.
Sherlock and I go there the next day, offering to do it to maybe give her some more familiar faces, helping her remember. Mycroft doesn't seem very hopeful, yet a little relieved. Being a Holmes, anything involving sentiment doesn't come easy to him, and this would be difficult even for someone far more accomplished in understanding - and acknowledging - their own feelings.
She is sitting up in her bed as I enter, Sherlock lurking behind me, as nervous as his brother. Oh, these Holmeses and their inability to express emotions like normal people.
"Hi" she smiles at me naturally as I enter, then frowns, puzzled "I know you. I feel like you're my brother or something... but I know you're not" she blinks at her own words "I... don't know why I said that, I'm sorry. Or.. how I know that, either. You could be, after all - we're both blond. And you're not one of the doctors. Although of course you are, really" she silences, staring at me, obviously surprising herself greatly with what she is saying.
"Hello Hen" I smile at her "you have called me your brother before, yes, but I am not, no. An I am not one of the doctors here, though I have been your doctor in the past". She instinctively touches an old scar at her wrist at my words, then looks down, blinking "oh. You... stitched that, didn't you?" She looks up again, trying to read my eyes. I nod. "What was it?" "You cut yourself on a gardening tool" I explain, just as Sherlock enters and she bursts out "little brother!" surprising all three of us, both her and Sherlock going dead silent in shock.
"That's right" I reply, trying to diffuse the situation. "By marriage, yes. Do you remember his name?" She shakes her head. "No... but you're best friends... that's how I know you" "Yes", I agree, as Sherlock is still frozen, looking as if he is analysing. "My name is John. He was the best man at my wedding, and we both were at yours". She grimaces at that "to the man I cannot remember". I merely nod in affirmation, not wanting to push.
She seems to struggle for a bit, then she mumbles "Sherlock and John - and you're a doctor. He is... a consulting genius for... eh..." she blushes, changing the subject "how is your daughters, John? And... eh... I do not remember... you have a wife, I... know that, somehow... but... I do not remember her". "She will not mind" I assure her, trying to sound reassuring. "Her name is Mary, and we have three little girls, baby twins called Celia and Shirley, and..."
"Emily" Henerietta suddenly cuts in, smiling in frank adoration "she is wonderful. I... I cannot remember her face, but... I remember that she is wonderful. Maybe I will remember her when I see her?" "Very likely" I agree "you seem mostly to be in shock, frankly. I don't think the memory loss is very bad. It doesn't seem like it". She looks down at that, biting her lip "except I cannot remember my husband". "Don't worry about that, he is annoying enough without remembering him" Sherlock suddenly cuts in, and she laughs, honestly so, though there's still tension in the sound.