CHAPTER 10. FEVER DREAMS
John thought he was done dreaming, hoped he was awake, but all that was out the window when his flatmate made his entrance wearing the gray and black uniform from earlier.
He was arguing with General Mycroft and Captain Lestrade, well that's no good.
"S'ppose to listen to superiors officers." John thought his tongue was heavy, and his throat felt dry and raw.
"John?" Sherlock frowned.
"Sssh. Now dear get some sleep your supposed to be resting." John wished his vision wasn't so blurred. The hands that combed through his hair were soft and carried a scent of coffee and biscuits. He thought if he was lying in the desert it was alright, the sun wasn't so punishing although he was warm all over his skin felt tight.
He could hear a fight someone was yelling he thought, was it a fight. He tried to get up, thinking his flatmate was at it again.
"It'll be a definite Court Marshal if he hits the General."
"The General?" Captain Lestrade asked, John knew even though his face was quite blurry his brow wish creased with a frown and he was rubbing the stubble on his chin.
"I think he means Mycroft." Mrs. Hudson not the housekeeper said softly.
"Captain." John greeted his friend, he found his arms were too heavy for a salute, but he nodded just the same.
"Uh, Captain." Lestrade sounded uncomfortable but nodded in reply.
"They shouldn't have gotten this far!" Sherlock's voice raised. "And I wont let you use him as bait!"
"Not here." A familiar female voice snapped.
"Ssh Johnny, here drink." John could see Harry perfectly, she was wearing her school blazer, her blond hair in a high pony tail the pink streaks bright against the blond.
"Mum's going to murder you for that pink." Harry hushed him, putting a straw to his lips.
"We'll she got used to it after a bout of yelling remember." she colored her hair pink years ago, how could he remember that, he was six at the time. He had sat quietly watching as Lily attempted dying Harry's blond strands, they managed to get dye staining the counters and their skin. Johnny was no exception; he was sitting on the counter holding the box reading the words he could spot. "A, the, is, pink, kkkeeep ouh ouat out of reach." He had scrunched up his face giving up almost right away. He had put his action man on the counter and both were watching her with their heads tilted to the side.
"Mummy is going to murder you Harry." he sighed pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Probably but then you can have my room." Harry was holding a towel around her wet head, pink staining the white material, she laughed seeing the smudges of pink on John's cheek and hands.
"I don't want her to murder you." He sounded so genuine, his blue eyes wide and pleading.
"Then I guess you cant have my room. And don't worry about her I know how to handle her and dad." She stuck out her pierced tongue and he only gave her a doubtful look.
"You can sleep in my fort if you need to hide out." He offered anxiously.
"Johnny I'm not going to fit, besides you're six. Stop worrying about me. Like I said I've got this."
Now in the hospital room, Harry concentrated on her brothers breathing steadily, how did they get this far apart. She didn't want to stay and had every intention on going home but for some reason leaving just felt like running away.
"He'll be alright dear. It's just the fever and the medication." Mrs. Hudson promised.
John tried to focus but everything seemed so fuzzy and the shapes blurred in and out. The dreams that threatened to pull him under were dark and cold he could hear the distant cries of the dying and the whistling of bombs and hum of tanks.
Sometimes he would be standing in an alley dressed for combat next to a bored Sherlock. Others he could hear Captain Lestrade and his officers talking to him from the other side of a thick wall. He tried to follow the sound to locate a door but no matter how hard he tried, it was just crumbling buildings and the distant sounds of gunfire.
At times Sherlock would reappear to convince him everything was fine. How could he think that? The sun was hot, he wished to pull his heavy armor from him, the helmet giving him a headache it blurred his vision. And then Sherlock would leave again. The city was empty on this side of the wall, he needed to help the others.
Finally Harry appeared, he found his sister hands on hips, wearing her gray school uniform, pleated skirt and all. Standing in the middle of the empty city, looking worried.
This reminded him he was indeed dreaming, especially when she spoke to him gently.
"Johnny, easy now. Just breathe. You're alright."
She would try to get him to follow her, to stay down, to breathe slowly. Easy for her to say she wasn't wearing heavy body armor, and a helmet that felt as if it was squeezing his skull.
The sounds of officer Stone and Officer Clarke's voice broke through from behind the wall he refused to move away from. Stone and Clarke were good men, still young they had wives and children. They needed to be safe, they shouldn't be here, and somehow he knew it was his fault that they were.
~0~
Sherlock hated Mycroft's plan, but he had to admit it was the best option open to them. It would lead to the capture of the cartel's Butcher the man had sworn an oath of vengeance against John. Apparently that was the man's favorite nephew. Well serves him right trying to kill John in some alley near the docks. Cliché really, predictable and boring. Mycroft allowed the information to leak that John was alive after a long debate over his friend's safety, he gave in.
Even that witch Harry had agreed it was something to just get over with. Instead of John being gun down at work or on the street. Mycroft just wanted the Butcher alive for interrogation purposes. Sherlock didn't care if he was alive or dead, he wasn't getting anywhere close to his friend. The man didn't deserve to breath the same air.
John was still battling a fever, the Doctor's were certain it wasn't too serious an infection, according to them it could have been worse. After a Lapraoscopy they declared his bowels were uninjured. A relief because John didn't need that kind of infection or complication.
Sherlock waited, and observed, officer Clarke and Stone took position in John's room at the door, a precaution, no one expected the butcher to make it to the top floor the other henchman had tested security and he was caught in the elevator by Mycroft's men. Something infuriating to Sherlock, how the hell did they get this far? He had given Mycroft all the necessary information to bring down the cartel but some how his men bumbled the operation allowing the one man to get away.Don Macellaio the Butcher.
Clarke and Stone had volunteered and Mycroft's PA had them wear vests and both men were given tasers and would be wielding their truncheons at the ready.
As further precaution a decoy room was set up, so John was safely out of the way. In fact he was safely on opposite wing that the decoy room was set on.
It was just a waiting game now, and the younger Holmes found patience to be one of his greatest enemies. That's what he had John for, to keep him grounded to remind him to be still and wait.
He darkly thought of John's sister. He wanted her to go but she decided to stay with John, and of course refused a vest.
He didn't know if he should feel irritated or relieved that she would stay, not about the vest. He could care less the woman was spoiled and self centered, he wouldn't have thought twice if she never came to visit. Except he knew it was what John wanted, sentiment. That and he remembered vaguely reading somewhere that being surrounded by loved ones and by family accelerated the healing process.
Yes, John needed to be well enough to come home. Sherlock knew his friend hated hospitals he would feel more comfortable recuperating on the couch watching crap telly. Listening to Sherlock complain about Lestrade. Well at least Sherlock would be at ease as soon as John returned to the flat and did all those things. It felt so cold and empty without his friend, this emptiness reminded him of the three years exiled from his friends-and even Mycroft.
His eyes snapped int focus, pushing his thoughts of John back into a room in his mind palace. Instead he found it, there it was the detail anyone would easily miss, the orderly bringing up a cart of supplies, he wasn't wearing the correct shoes and Sherlock's keen eye observed wrinkles in the center of the man's scrub top. Ah, a fight, one that ended in this man taking the scrubs off another. The Game was on.