A visit to the hospital
"Where were you, that night? I thought you were supposed to be at the ball." June was leaning forward, resting her elbows on the broken brick wall, smoking a cigarette as she looked out at the muddy water in the pond below her. It was in the middle of January and grey clouds painted the sky, filling the air with a light but cold breeze.
Timothy was stood to her left, also leaning on the wall and looking down at the water. He stared at his sisters reflection in the water as a couple of light raindrops fell into the water. He cleared this throat and spoke as the wind blew.
"Just because my clique was attending, it doesn't necessarily mean that I have to."
June breathed out a puff of smoke before looking at her older brother. She offered him her cigarette and he took it gratefully. There was a long silence around them, except from the busy life of London in the distance and the buzzing of the wind. Only a few feet behind them was the back entrance to the hideout.
Timothy started to laugh quietly. "Look at us," He chuckled. "Two siblings going undercover with our dead mother's maiden name," He looked at June. "If I wanted to I could tell everyone that we're in fact Harris descendants. But for your sake I'll leave that to you. Seeing as you're so eager to save Sherlock's life."
June sighed. "Well I found the link between your murders and what they spell out to."
"I heard," There was another pause as Timothy took another drag and passed the cigarette back to June. "Where is Sherlock now?" He eventually asked.
"At the station with John and Lestrade, I think." June replied and then looked at Timothy. "Have you ever thought about turning yourself to the police?"
"Every day." Timothy breathed.
"Then why don't you do it then?"
"Why don't you turn me in? You've caught me. You can easily hand me over now, Judith."
"Because you're my brother, that's why!" June shook her head. "No matter what you've done, Timothy, I just can't bring myself to do that to you," She let out a sigh. "And please don't call me Judith."
"Why? It is your name."
June flinched and for a split second, Timothy looked a little guilty.
"I won't turn myself in yet because Sherlock isn't dead. I'll turn myself in to the police once he is."
June frowned as she felt her phone vibrate in the pocket to her leather jacket. As she drew it out, she saw that it was Greg calling her. June looked up at her brother with her eyes who was watching her.
"Go on then," He nodded as he reached his hands into his trouser pockets. "Tell Lestrade you've got me. Turn me in. I dare you."
June looked back at her phone before answering the call and holding it to her ear. Greg spoke first before June could say anything.
"June, you might want to come down to the hospital immediately," Greg's voice shook as if he was in shock and fear. "It might be a bit of a shock to you, June but-"
"What's happened?" June asked. The feeling of dread flowed through her.
Greg took in a deep, uneven breath, almost hesitating. "Sherlock and John have been taken to hospital because Christopher Burke and some of the clique members broke out at the station and attacked them."
"What?!" June shouted.
"You'd better come to St. Bartholomew's now, June. I'll explain when you get here." With that he hung up the call.
June remained on the spot for a while as she looked at her phone. She shook her head. "Sorry," She muttered, trying to force her voice out of her throat. "Sorry but I need to go." She took a few steps back.
"Because Christopher started to attack your beloved Sherlock?" Timothy sniggered.
June hovered on the spot. "You knew!" She shouted. "That's why you wanted to meet up with me today because you knew they would visit your clique members so they could be attacked!"
Timothy shrugged his shoulders and grinned cheekily. "I like to have a little bit of fun with you, Judith. You should know that by now."
June turned and sprinted away from her brother and the hideout as Timothy let out a loud roar of laughter. June ran as fast as her legs could go and once she was out by the main road, she screamed for the taxi that was coming her way. It halted suddenly in front of her and she clambered inside, ordering the taxi driver to take her to St. Bartholomew's. She twiddled her phone in her hands, chewing on her bottom lip in an attempt to stop herself from screaming out in horror or cry. Her patience started to grow thin whenever they had to stop at a red light or were caught behind a careful driver.
June's hands shook with fear and she could feel sweat forming on her forehead and the back of her neck. She was terrified and worried immensely on how Sherlock and John were. She had a little bit of hope that they were okay with no serious injuries. Yet Greg's shaking voice was enough to convince her that she was being too hopeful.
The taxi parked near the front doors to St. Bartholomew's and June leapt out of the door. She ran through the doors and into the reception. Lestrade was standing by the main desk and a few other police officers were dotted around the room. Greg turned to see June as soon as she rushed into the room. His face was white and very solemn. He forced a weak smile onto his face but it faded as quickly as it appeared.
"Where are they?" June cried as she tucked her hair behind her ear.
Greg sighed. "Sherlock is fine. It wasn't anything serious, just a small case of concussion and a cut on his throat," Greg swallowed hard and lowered his voice. "John's been stabbed. In the shoulder. The same shoulder he was shot in while in Afghanistan."
June stared at Greg for a while before nodding. He squeezed her arm before turning back to the receptionist.
A few minutes later and June found herself walking down the corridors, passing many different wards to find the one where John was. Once she had reached it, she hesitated by the door, taking in a deep breath before walking in.
In the centre of the ward was a bed with John sleeping restlessly. The sight of John motionless with tubes connected to his arms and his life support machine beeping at his side made June's knees tremble with terror. She opened her mouth in horror but quickly shut it again. Gathering all the courage she could muster, June slowly approached the bed, looking from John's lifeless face to his wounded shoulder which was covered in thick bandages, yet blood still stained the outer layer. The silent ward petrified June, and her seeing John in that state upset her vastly.
Once she stood by his side, tears filled her eyes as she gripped hold of the railings on the bed. Her limbs shook with anger, fear and heartbreak. She couldn't take it.
"I'm sorry, John," She whispered, her eyes fixed on John's face. "I'm so sorry," She pulled a chair from behind her and sat beside him. "I've lied to both you and Sherlock. And you're spending your time covering for me just because I'm just so foolish enough as to get myself into a position like this!" She sniffed as she leaned forward and clasped his hand. "I should've just stayed at the café instead of running off with Sherlock. I'm getting in the way, making you an easier target for the clique." June's voice broke as she squeezed his hand and burst into silent sobs. She remained there, clutching onto John's hand until a nurse walked in to inform her that her visiting time was up. She needed to be reminded twice before she found the motivation to get out of the chair. She left the ward, followed by the nurse, without looking back.
The corridor seemed full of life as doctors, nurses and visitors passed up and down, some casually and some in a hurry. There was the sound of chatter and people crying in the distance as well as the continuous sound of footsteps, but everything seemed so muffled in June's ears as she walked across the corridor. The nurse closed the door to the ward behind her and offered June tea or coffee, but June didn't respond. She had her brother's playful and manipulative voice ringing in her ears and she suddenly wished that she did turn him in to the police when she had the chance. Yet at the same time she didn't want to be the one to do that.
Finding her way across the corridor, passing other people walking up and down, June rested her hand against the wall for balance as she felt herself choking on her own tears. Tears continued to fall down her cheeks as she turned and leaned fully against the wall, yet her legs were unable to hold her body weight for much longer, so she let her knees collapse as she slowly slid down the wall till she was sitting on the cold floor. She wanted to scream aloud for a long time but she had no voice to do so. Only silent sobs escaped her lips. Her shoulders shook and June felt a searing pain through her chest.
It felt like a lifetime before anyone stood by her side. The familiar deep, almost captivating voice that she had fallen in love with soothed her to some extent, yet there was a falter in the voice as if he too was suffering from shock.
"Don't ever get into thinking that this is your fault, June," Sherlock said. "It wasn't. Even if you were there at the scene, there wouldn't have been a way for you to stop it."
June looked up to her left to see Sherlock towering over her. There was a dark shadow over his face and his eyes, which usually were piercing, were suddenly downcast. It was clear that he too was in a state of shock over John's wound. There was a dark purple bruise under his left eye, dried blood under his nose and his bottom lip was split. There was a bandage covering the right side of his neck.
"John will be fine," Sherlock managed to say with some difficulty. "I promise you that." Sherlock remained eye contact with June and a great wave of sympathy overtook June's feelings. Sherlock had relied on John greatly in the years they worked together and he looked a little lost without having someone to stand by. Sherlock Holmes had always come across as someone who could do everything his own way without concerning others, but June knew he always needed someone there by his side to keep him sane.
Sherlock reached out a hand to June and after a little hesitation, she took it. He pulled her up off the floor and they slowly walked back down the corridor, hand-in-hand. They ignored Lestrade as they passed the reception and clambered into the first taxi to take them back to Baker Street.
