A/N: Written a few days ago but internet and health prevented posting. As always, your reviews never fail to enrich my days. Thank you!
Disclaimer: The Usual. Additional warnings apply for sentiment, love, etc. in this chapter.
Chapter 11: Falling Waters
To the casual observer, the tall, slender man with the dark hair seated in a wheelchair in the hospital corridor, was either sleeping or extremely dull witted. Sherlock was neither. Underneath the hooded eyes, he was keenly watching every detail of hospital routine.
Rachel, his nurse, for example, was the eldest of six siblings. She owned two cats, an orange tabby and Russian grey, judging by the hairs on her socks. She was quite obviously between relationships at the moment. As far as nurses went, Rachel was one of the least annoying.
One day, when his lunch was served, he discovered a very large, and very realistic, spider. Sherlock smiled after the initial startle.
"Never could resist a touch of the dramatic, Mr Holmes," Rachel confessed later when she came to collect the dishes. "Perhaps you could call it, Moriarty." Her eyes twinkled. "I figured you couldn't be too turned off by creepy creatures given the snake incident."
Sherlock feigned innocence.
Rachel just grinned knowingly. "Ok genius, hand over your right arm. I need to take your blood pressure."
He complied. As the cuff tightened and huffed to deflation status, Sherlock looked up at Rachel. "You know, you could just talk to him. He's interested too. Although I myself do not dabble in the ancient chemistry of love and passion, and, in fact, consider love to be a chemical defect on the losing side," he smiled apologetically, "I cannot fail to notice the wasted pheromones and synergistic signals between you and Ryan. As a potential mate, he makes logical sense – of stable mind, sound body, and symmetric face – all of which point to an evolutionary advantageous genetic code."
Rachel stared at Sherlock and her eyes grew wide. "But how?"
"Blindingly obvious even to the most obtuse river otter. Simple statistics."
"Huh? Math shows that I like Ryan?" Rachel was confused.
"Statistically impossible, given your separate jobs and schedules to just "happen" to run into each other in the halls, the break-room, the hospital parking lot….I suspect even the gym." Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.
Rachel was silent for a few moments while she finished recording Sherlock's vital signs. First, she fought back the urge to punch the arrogant man. Not very professional, she concluded, wouldn't go down too well on her next employee evaluation. Strangling also crossed her mind. Again, not so professional and likely to generate an onerous amount of unnecessary paperwork. At last she simply accepted it.
"You're correct, Mr Holmes." She leaned at the end of his bed and let out a long sigh. "Not matter how obviously you think I'm alerting everyone to my romantic interest in the man, he's never going to notice me. I've tried. I'm not his type, I guess." She straightened up.
"Well, I don't need to unburden my personal life on my patients, least of you, Mr Holmes – self-proclaimed antagonist of all things sentimental and irrational."
"Well," Sherlock made a wry face, "I might sometimes make small adjustments under certain circumstances…"
Rachel laughed. "Anyway, Mr Holmes, he's not going to notice me and well, like you said, I'm wasting my time and efforts on the man. I need to move on." She turned and strode out. "I'll check on you later."
The cold logic machine with pale grey eyes shifted uncomfortably. Somehow he felt a faint trace of sadness for Rachel. It was rather disturbing to note this. "Stupid sentiment", he grumbled to himself.
The detective spent some time exploring certain options. He knew Ryan always passed through this portion of the hospital wing at four thirty on his way to finish up charting before heading home.
With a flourish worthy of a magician, Sherlock pulled the paper from out beneath the cups full of water on his bedside table. He'd almost forgotten this little prank he'd pulled more than once with either mummy or Mycroft. The time out afterward was worth it. He smiled to himself. Timing was everything.
"Nurse, nurse," he pressed his call button urgently.
"Yes, Mr Holmes?" Rachel stepped back into his room. "What do you need?"
Sherlock looked at the clock. Perfect!
"Rachel, it's these dishes over on my table. Please, take them away!" he whined petulantly, his lower lip pouted slightly and his pale eyes turned a mercurial hue. "I want to put my papers there. There's simply no room in this minuscule cell of a room." He huffed in exasperated angry frustration. "It's bad enough being cooped up inside all the time, the least one can do is make sure my space is cleared of extraneous materials – of which these two cups are clearly prime culprits."
Taking a deep breath, after all, Rachel was used to dealing with irate sick patients in the hospital everyday, she stepped into his room over to the side table. "Ok. I'll take the dishes. Just calm down. It's not good for your healing, remember?"
Sherlock only glared from the bed.
Rachel reached for the cups, and too late – the glasses, carefully turned upside down filled with water and appearing empty – released a miniature waterfall cascading down the legs of the table and forming a minor lake on the floor.
"What?!" Rachel was first of all shocked. "Mr Holmes!" she turned accusingly on the irritating patient in the bed who thought to play a practical joke on her. "Why you…"
She was cut short by a finger raised to the detective's lips. "Shhhh.." he motioned urgently. His demeanour completely changed from two seconds previously.
"Ryan, is that you?" he called loudly from his bed to the figure passing by his open room door.
"Good evening, Mr Holmes, just headed home."
"Oh wait, before you go, please, could you help us clean up this minor catastrophe I've just created." He put on his best apologetic expression. "Please."
Ryan sighed but turned back and entered, prepared to help with the calamitous mess. "Just bring those towels hanging by the sink over there, would you?" Sherlock directed.
Ryan grabbed the towels and hurried over to the opposite side of the bed where Sherlock was anxiously peering. "A disaster… all my fault…" he kept shaking his head.
"Oh!" Rachel let out a surprised exclamation when Ryan bumped into her as she reached under the table to sop up the liquid. "Be careful. There's broken glass too."
Carefully, the two medical personnel cleaned up the water and sharp shards. "Thank you so much," Rachel gushed. "You didn't have to help but I really appreciate it." She blushed.
"Turned out to be less tedious than I'd originally thought," Ryan smiled back. Completely ignoring the patient watching them with a bemused expression on his lips, the handsome physiotherapist continued. "How about I take you out for a drink after work? We could practise holding a glass without spilling it." His eyebrows arched with friendly humour.
"I'd like that," Rachel replied.
As the couple trotted off to finish wrapping up their work and being their evening plans, Rachel suddenly stopped and looked back. "We'll toast to your good health, Mr Holmes." She laughed.
Sherlock shrugged and leaned back into his pillow. His eyes closed for a short rest before his next escapade.
A/N: Interesting, Sherlock's starting to crack – he's getting all-sentimental. A good sign or something to be worried about?
