10.
The words seemed to echo around the room. I didn't mean to. Sherlock stared at the girl lying helplessly in her hospital bed.
"You didn't mean to what?" he thought to himself out loud, not expecting an answer from her.
"To…." She mumbled forcing herself with all the strength left in her to say what she so desperately wanted to say.
Sherlock sat forward in his seat, holding the foot of the bed with both hands as if to steady him.
"You didn't mean to what, Emily?" he asked again, this time much sterner.
Emily opened her eyes slightly. "To kill anyone…" her whispered voice trailed off as the drugs she was given began to kick in and knock her out.
Huh, of course you didn't, Sherlock thought to himself, sitting back deeper into his chair. People always say things like that. They claim to be innocent to hide the obvious truth. Does she really think I'm that stupid? Or that I have… feelings? I should think not.
"Err, Mr Holmes?" the nurse who offered him tea had come back for round two.
"The doctor would like to speak with you, sir." She stuttered.
Sherlock observed that since her last visit she had changed her hair slightly, put on a fresh coat of mascara and some lip gloss. Sherlock smiled to himself. She was just like Molly was; desperate to attract his undying attention – only this girl looked slightly on the manic side. He thought about making one of his usual, 'I can pretty much read you like a book' type of comments, but decided against it after what happened with Molly.
"Where is he?" he asked, an unaffectionate smile on his face.
"Oh, just out in the hallway." She said, slightly dazed.
"Thank you." Sherlock said, squeezing past the girl whilst attempting not to touch her. It was no use. She was pretty much blocking any chance of an easy escape. Cringing inwardly, the detective placed his hand on the girl's shoulder and apologised gentlemanly.
"No," she said, a shocked tone in her voice, "I'm in the way!"
Yes, you are Sherlock thought,
"It's okay." He replied. Sherlock wasn't in the mood to be cruel to idle, flirtatious young women.
The detective went out into the corridor and saw the doctor stood by a computer on a stand a few metres ahead of him. He heard some giggles behind him and turned to see the young nurse trotting back to her two friends, waving her hands excitedly and smiling; typical.
"Ah, Mr Holmes, I presume?" the doctor pondered, his accent; German.
He was an elderly gentleman, probably in his late sixties, perhaps early seventies. Sherlock studied the man in his head and thought to himself,
'This man is probably divorced or at least unhappily married due to the indentation around the bottom of his forefinger where a ring has been removed. His steady hands indicated he was a very well-practiced surgeon at one point but now tends to work on the wards, perhaps as a form of retirement. The watch he is wearing is an old model but very clean. Obviously he cares about it enough to keep it safe. He must be in his second marriage. Since he treasures his watch so much it must have been a gift; a gift from his first wife. Usually people wouldn't keep things from ex-partners but no, this one was special. Perhaps she passed away, yes, the scars on his eyebrow and on his forehead and cheekbones look older. It was a car crash. This much damage to the head must have been a pretty hard knock, well, hard enough to kill her. So, who was to blame? Was…'
"Mr Holmes?" the doctor asked, frowning slightly.
"Oh, sorry." Sherlock said in his un-amused tone.
"I must speak with you about Emily."
Sherlock looked gravely at the doctor. He knew Emily's injuries looked severe as soon as he set foot in the ambulance and saw the pool of red blood staining her clothes. He braced himself once again for the horrifying news.
"Did you know that you're daughter was taking drugs?" the doctor asked, keeping his voice low for privacy's sake.
"W…what?" Sherlock was somewhat relieved but still shocked at the news.
"Yes," the doctor continued, "we don't know what yet, but it has been enough to actually cause quite a bit of harm to her. Luckily we have managed to separate what we could from the blood stream, and hopefully the body will eliminate what it can from the system… manually."
Sherlock's eyes were wide and his mouth was gaping and speechless.
"I know it is a lot to take in, but we will help with whatever further treatment she may require in due course.
From out of a little room, a small man in a lab coat came scurrying over to the doctor.
"Ah, thank you Timothy. You can go now." The old man dismissively waved his hand away, and, like a trained little dog, Timothy scuttled back into his room.
The doctor examined the papers Timothy gave to him. His face folded into a mass of confusion and bewilderment.
"Err," he began, clearing his throat.
"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked equally confused.
"Well, it seems that your daughter has been taking, lysergic acid diethylamide, or more commonly known as LSD. It is a very potent hallucinogenic and is one of the most potent mood-changing chemicals around. It is made from the lysergic acid which is found in ergot, a fungus that grows on rye and other grains."
"How toxic is it?" Sherlock asked, his heart beating faster. With his degree in chemistry, Sherlock knew perfectly well what would happen to Emily, and he also knew that if he told John, he would know perfectly well too, but something about the situation made Sherlock feel almost like a child again; not able to do or say anything to help the current predicament so just went with the general train of thought that most people would catch onto.
"The effects of LSD depend largely on the amount taken. LSD causes dilated pupils; can raise body temperature and increase heart rate and blood pressure; and can cause profuse sweating, loss of appetite, sleeplessness, dry mouth, and tremors." The doctor began to rub his hands anxiously; this was a first in his type of work.
"Oh," Sherlock started, "so how much have you found inside her?"
The doctor sighed as if he had already anticipated the question.
"More than enough." He said.
Sherlock's hands became clammy and sweaty. He didn't want to show his nervousness and so casually wiped them on the inside of his pocket.
"These hallucinogenic substances have been used in the past by certain groups to… well, control people's actions. I fear that she has been used by these individuals to perform, you know, crimes of that magnitude."
"I understand." Sherlock said sullenly. "Keep me informed, about her… progress." He turned to go.
"And Mr Holmes," the doctor added, "you don't want to go after these people. They're dangerous. You have a strong girl here Sir. If they can control her, they can control anyone; including you. Please keep that in mind."
The detective turned up his coat collar, walking briskly down the corridor and to the lifts. He pressed for the ground floor and looked straight ahead of him. He didn't care what the doctor said; he was going to catch those manipulative psychopaths if, well, it killed him.