A BEATING HEART

John goes to visit his Uncle James in hospital after his heart attack.

John walked down the hallway and tried to remember the last time he had visited someone in hospital for something other than some kind of casualty of chasing criminals like a gunshot wound or professionally, as a doctor.

Today, though, he was here to check up on his Uncle James. He didn't really want to. He didn't like the man, and his uncle clearly felt even more strongly about John. After all, it was talking to John (attacking, really) that had caused his heart attack in the first place. But still, John couldn't turn his back on a relative on whom he had personally performed CPR—no matter how he felt about him.

If he was being honest with himself, he would admit that he didn't like him, either. His Uncle James was small-minded, pompous, and openly antagonistic toward him. John could forgive his uncle for not liking him. He could even understand it, since John had come from nowhere to 'steal' Ian's money from the nephew James preferred.

The fact that said nephew was in prison for kidnapping and attempted murder was something James preferred to gloss over. And anyway, he seemed to feel that—if Andy wasn't going to get Ian's money—it should have gone to Ian's 'real' family … a family which decidedly did not include his illegitimate son.

Little though he had seen of it in his life, John could understand family loyalty … except James went well beyond trying to protect his family. What irked John was that he was so obnoxious about it. And hypocritical. The money he was trying to protect wasn't even his, after all. It was Ian's, and his brother had worked hard for that wealth. So far as John was concerned, that meant Ian could distribute it as he liked. Nobody had the right to dictate to him—especially his brother.

Yet here he was, anyway. Visiting like any concerned relative (who'd had a hand in saving his life). He'd just make this as quick as possible. In and out. A polite glad-you're-still-alive visit and then he was out of here.

He was rounding the corner to James' room when he was almost bowled over by a person coming in the other direction. He grabbed at her arms to steady her as she said, "John! You're here!"

"Gretchen, it's good to see you again," he said, recognizing his cousin's girlfriend. "I gather if you're here, that …"

"Mark finally told his father about us? Yes," she told him happily. "Before the heart attack, mind you. He took it so much better than Mark thought he would. I think you helped there, actually."

"Really?" John couldn't keep the surprise from his face.

She grinned as she said, "I believe the exact quote was, 'at least you're really family and you're not in jail."

"Heart-warming," John said, matching the grin. "But really, I'm happy for you."

"Honestly, I think he was gratified that Mark reached out to him—so you did help. Which is good, because you should be happy, too. With Mark no longer worried about his father's reaction, we're moving out of your cottage."

"Oh please, you probably just didn't want to pay the rent," John said, teasing. Really, though he was delighted. He had so liked what he'd seen of the house, it had been disappointing, not getting to stay there.

By Gretchen's face, she knew what he was thinking. "Just don't forget that mobile reception is dreadful. We were planning on being out by the end of the month, but now, with Mark's father…" Her voice trailed off as she looked down the hallway.

"How is he this morning?" John asked. It was why he was here, after all.

"The doctors are very encouraging. Apparently," she accented the word, "He received treatment so quickly at the scene, there wasn't time for much damage."

John nodded as he followed her down the hall. "Good, that's good. I was worried."

She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Go on in and see him." Another smile and she turned back to head wherever she had been going. John smiled to himself, though. She obviously didn't know that he'd all but caused the heart attack in the first place by getting into a fight with him. Well, if you could call it a fight when one man verbally attacks another with no provocation and then drops to the ground unconscious. A bit one-sided, really.

No, he really didn't like his uncle very much, though it was good to hear he'd been generous with Mark. And it's not like John had never visited people he didn't like in hospital before. Checking the room number, John summoned up years of bedside experience, tapped on the door, and stepped inside. "Hello? How are you today?"

At first, it seemed like the room was crowded, but then he realized there were only three people other than himself and the doctor. He greeted his aunt and cousins, and nodded to the doctor. "I can come back, if you like."

"No," his Aunt Samantha insisted, "Please stay. It's thanks to you he's even here. Doctor, this is my nephew, Dr. John Watson. He's the one who saved James' life last night."

"Dr. Watson? Pleased to meet you. Dr. Hubert. I was just telling your uncle that it's thanks to your quick actions that the damage is so minor. Not that it wasn't a significant event, of course, but unless the tests show any differently, we should be able to manage this with medication and proper diet and exercise." He turned back to his patient. "If you don't have any immediate questions, I'll leave you to your visitors. I'll be back later if you've thought of anything."

He left the room to a murmur of thanks, and then John was left alone with his family. He had met his Aunt Samantha, of course, and Mark, but this was the first time meeting his other cousin, Joseph. He was about to introduce himself when his aunt was on her feet and then clinging to his neck. "Thank you so much, John. If you hadn't been there … I can't bear to think what might have happened."

He patted her back awkwardly. "It's okay. I'm glad I was there, too." He met his uncle's gaze over her shoulder and blinked, trying to identify the emotion he saw there.

Saving James' life seemed to have endeared him to his aunt, though, and Mark was already there for a grateful handshake. "I saw Gretchen in the hall," John told him. "Glad you've worked things out."

"So are we. She told you about the house?" At John's nod, he added, "She said it wasn't right for us to stay there, all things considered. Have you met my brother Joseph?"

John shook this new cousin's hand. Joseph looked to be around 30 and already had lines in his forehead and lips thinned from habitual tightening. He was going to look exactly like his father before he was 40. John gave a polite "Pleased to meet you," though he could tell already this wasn't going to be pleasing in any way.

"Indeed," was the cool reply. "We are certainly very grateful."

Oh sure, that sounded like real gratitude. "I was happy to help," John told him politely, then turned to his uncle. "I'm glad to see you looking so well this morning."

James' lips tightened (the resemblance between him and his eldest son really was remarkable). "It was kind of you to visit," he said. "And, er, I should thank you for your help last night."

"I'm a doctor, Uncle James. It comes with the territory." He shrugged, trying to look casual, as if saving lives was a daily occurrence.

James just looked at him as Samantha gushed again, and then his eyes narrowed. "I want a moment alone with John, please." The words were polite, but the tone was an order, and John was impressed at how quickly the room cleared.

He stood his ground calmly, unfazed. After the army and the Holmes brothers (not to mention Moriarty), his uncle didn't frighten him in the slightest, no matter how nastily he glared.

After a staring contest (flaring with dislike on one side, calm patience on the other), James finally said, "I don't like you. And I don't trust you at all."

"Fair enough. I don't like you, either. Though we barely know each other," John said, voice calm.

"I still don't believe my brother kept you a secret all these years. I find the timing of your … appearance … very suspicious."

John stifled a laugh. "I'll just remind you that I wasn't the one who stepped forward. Andy's the one who instigated all of this." He saw the beginnings of bluster and held up his hand. "Remember where you are and mind your blood pressure. I'm not accusing him of anything. I'm just saying—I was as much in the dark in all of this as you were."

Uncle James shook his head stubbornly. "I don't believe you."

"I can't force you to. You can't prove a negative, so I can't prove that I didn't know any of this until a month ago." John sighed. He really didn't want to get into this discussion again, but then, having just saved his life, he'd probably never have a better opportunity to make his case. "However, I'm telling you I did not, and considering how many people tell me that I'm a terrible liar, you're going to have to believe me. I never knew about Ian and my Mum, and I certainly never wanted any of his money. I did not deliberately take any money from your children."

"No, of course not." James' voice was sarcastic and angry again and his color rising. "You found out Holmes didn't have as much money as you thought. You used Andy's attack on your friend to convince Ian, somehow. I can't believe any of this is true. It's all your fault, somehow."

John stepped forward, holding out a hand and trying to be soothing. "Breathe. Relax. You're going to have another heart attack if you don't calm down.

He looked back and forth between the monitors and his uncle's face, but didn't say anything until he was satisfied with what he saw. "I could say that I resent that insinuation about my motives and my character. I could even say your timing is less than ideal since I saved your life last night, but I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. You haven't had a chance to know me. You don't know what kind of man I am—I could be as unprincipled as my brother, that nephew you seem to love so well."

Eyes still on the older man's face, he continued, "Believe me when I tell you that money has never been one of my primary motivations. As long as my basic needs are met, I'm happy. I've got—this is important, so pay attention, uncle—I've got more important things to worry about. I've been a soldier. I am a doctor. I help catch murderers on a weekly basis. I deal with life and death situations every day. As long as I don't have bill collectors pestering me while I'm trying to relax during my precious few off-hours, I. Don't. Care. About. Money."

The older man stared at him, still obviously angry, but unable to find anything to object to. "You expect me to believe that? When you just came out of nowhere?"

John moved to the foot of the bed and glanced at his uncle's chart as something to do. "Considering my press coverage these last five years or so, I don't see how you could say I came from nowhere, Uncle James. Besides, you should count your blessings. Ian didn't plan on telling anyone until he was dead. We all would have found out from the lawyers—and then we would all have had heart attacks." He looked up with an encouraging, hospital-visitor smile. "You were lucky in yours, by the way. These numbers are excellent."

James was still staring at him, but a lot of the heat had gone. "Why did you tell Mark to call me?"

John blinked. "Because it was the right thing to do, and because you're his father. You have the right to know what's going on in his life. He's a grown man and he has the right to make his own decisions, mind you. You can disagree and fight about them, but you at least deserve to know.

He took a deep breath. "Believe me, Uncle James. Not even counting our own little family drama lately, I see the ill effects of keeping secrets every day. If I had known about Ian and my Mum when I was younger, things would have been very different with my Dad. I wish I'd known about this secret weighing him down. I also regret not having had a chance to know Ian better."

The look on James' face was still skeptical. "Naturally. And the money would have had nothing to do with it."

John sighed again. "I told you, money is not important, Uncle James, but family is. Keeping faith with the people who care about you is. Secrets hurt—believe me, I know that better than anyone."

His uncle was considering him, and for the first time, John saw thoughtfulness there, rather than anger. "You're talking about Sherlock Holmes now, aren't you?"

"Partly."

"When I heard about Andy kidnapping him—before I had heard about Ian's will—I looked him up, you know, trying to figure out why Andy would attack him and that other woman, your sister. It made no sense to me. But when I heard from the lawyers that you were the intended target, and why, it made sense to me. As much as I love him, Andy's never been rational when he's felt threatened. In that way, he takes more after me than he ever did with Ian."

John watched his uncle. That was probably the closest he was ever going to come to an acknowledgment of recent events, much less an apology. "Understood," he said. "Anyway, I'm glad you're talking to Mark again. He and Gretchen seemed quite nice when we met them."

"You didn't kick them out of the house," James said. "Why?"

John just smiled. "I may not have grown up in the most stable home, Uncle James, but even I know how you treat family."

"I still don't like you," his uncle finally said, "But I appreciate what you did for my son."

"I don't like you either," John told him. "But I'm glad you're still breathing."

He gave him another nod and then left the room, pausing briefly in the hallway to exchange niceties with his aunt and cousins. He had no doubt this moment of mutual accord would be short-lived. His cousin Joseph was obviously just a younger version of his uncle's worst faults, and that was obviously going to make things difficult. But still—he was glad he had come.

His phone beeped.

-Have you changed your mind and killed your uncle yet? SH

John chuckled, and sent back.

-No, he'll live to see another day.

-Don't tell me he apologized? SH

-Not exactly, but he's talking to Mark again. M & G are moving out of the cottage by the end of the month.

-Didn't want to pay the rent? SH

-That's what I said. Home soon.

-Good. We need milk.

John pocketed his phone and smiled. He wondered if he could convince Sherlock on another road trip in a few weeks. But for now, things were good.

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