Chapter 11
John's mouth formed a round 'O' of surprise, as he spotted the growing crowd at the end of the street. "W-what's happened?" He asked one of the passersby.
The young woman bobbed her head sadly. "They just found someone lying in the street…a suicide the nurses said. I think they're taking him into St. Bart's to see if they can bring him around."
"Ta." John muttered, pushing through the crowd, shoving people aside roughly. "Excuse me, let me through, I'm a doctor." John pleaded, closing his eyes as he saw his best friend lying on the ground, the side of his head bleeding profusely. "Oh…Sherlock. Why?"
He turned to one of the nurses who had been bending over Sherlock's limp form. "Don't worry, I'll take over…just get a gurney…" He glanced up as he spotted Greg in the background. "Thanks for getting me out of that hell-hole. I just don't understand what-what could have happened? Sherlock was stable the last time I saw him…" John coughed, as a lump formed in his throat.
Greg nodded soberly, and laid a hand on John's shoulder. "Don't worry, John. Everything's going to be okay. Sherlock must have had a reason for this, I doubt he'd let himself go like that." Greg reminded.
John nodded, as he slowly loaded his friend onto the gurney for the second time that day. He glanced up as he heard hysterical crying behind him. He didn't even turn around. Tears, were something he could afford to shed on a later date.
xxx
Sherlock flinched, as someone shone a pen-light into his eyes. He squirmed uncomfortably, and gasped at the pain in his rib-cage.
"Whoever is doing that, just STOP IT!" He commanded, ending with a rough cough.
"Sherlock…calm down." John muttered, relieved that his friend was still alive and kicking. "You just survived a 60+ foot fall from St. Bart's, you know that."
Sherlock groaned. "Yes. And I've broken some ribs, and possibly my collar bone, along with my shin bones. Really, Sherlock you could have been a little more optimistic." He chided himself sarcastically.
John chuckled, and grinned as he noticed his friend opening his eyes. But still, the question of why his friend had jumped at all, was prodding him. He stared at the toes of his shoes, and shifted uncomfortably. "Why did you do it?" He asked.
Sherlock shook his head, and winced. "Do what? You mean, take a high dive off of the roof of St. Bart's? For pleasure, John. For pure pleasure." He responded cryptically.
"D'you want an overview of your condition or not? No don't answer that, you need it anyway. It'll bring you back to reality." John snapped. He was in no mood for Sherlock's puzzles. "You were right about the broken collar bone and shins, but I'm afraid that you also have a bit of a collapsed lung, so don't be surprised if it's hard to breath for a while."
Sherlock snuggled into the pillow behind his head, and closed his eyes. "Yes…quiet obvious…and boring. How's Molly?" He said, trying to change the subject.
John rolled his eyes, "Worried sick. Just lie still, and you'll be fine. I'll let Molly and everyone else in, after we get you patched up." He heaved a deep sigh, as he glanced at his friend. That had been a near miss, and he certainly didn't want to have to go through with that again.