Hello. I realise it's been a while, but I genuinely haven't had the time. With coursework and revision, it's been stressful. I've also had a somewhat family tragedy, so I'm a bit all over the place. This chapter is dedicated to my friend benedictstalker as a thank you for being an amazing friend during this difficult time, listened to me and comforted me when I've been upset, coming with me to see National Theatre's Frankenstein...three times, and just being you. Please read and review, it would make my day.
I do not own anything, only in my dreams. Sorry if this chapter is bad! I promise I'll do better next chapter. I think I know where this will go, I'm just hoping you'll like it!
Hospital
Despite being early in the morning, the hospital was buzzing with activity. Everyone had heard about the explosion in London, doctors and nurses were working overtime, and the press were crowding outside; most of them having guessed which hospital the casualties had been taken to.
Lestrade, Sarah and Donovan walked briskly through the corridors, having already been told where one of the casualties was. The woman at the reception wasn't happy that all of three of them wanted to go into the room at once, but once Lestrade flashed his badge, she quickly told them where the room was. Sarah had refused to stay behind, wanting to be there so badly.
Nurses and doctors were rushing by, engrossed in patients' files, talking to the others, or going from one patient to the next. The patient they were looking for was in a private room, having been taken there straight after casualty. All of them were anxious walking closer to the closed door. A nurse was hanging around, a clipboard in her hands.
"Excuse me," Donovan ventured. She wanted to ask the nurse about the injuries, before walking in. Sarah, her anxiety becoming unbearable, simply walked past Lestrade and Donovan and opened the door to the private room.
...
He was lying there, looking paler than the white sheets which were tucked beneath his arms. Cuts and burns covered his arms, and a few vicious looking scars were lined on his face. Sarah took a sharp intake of breath and the figure in front of her stirred. Lestrade walked in and stood beside her, just staring at the figure moaning on the bed.
"Is he waking?" Lestrade whispered. He could hear Donovan talking to the nurse outside, and he tried to eavesdrop in order to find out the full extent of his injuries.
Sarah cautiously walked towards the bed, careful not to make too much noise with her footsteps. He opened his eyes, looked at Sarah, before scanning the room for someone else; he barely looked at Lestrade.
"Shouldn't bother asking how you're feeling, right?" Lestrade asked, trying to lift the mood in the room. He wanted to ask so many questions, but was worried that he'd upset the man lying injured on the bed. As Sarah gave him a reproachful look, Donovan entered the room.
"Well the nurse couldn't tell me a lot because I'm not family, but she did give an overview. A few broken ribs, cuts and bruises, concussion and slight damage to the lung-due to the water that they had to pump out of it. They think he hadn't been in the water very long, and he should make a full recovery in a few weeks." Lestrade and Sarah listened intently, while the patient started to come round. "He came round a little while ago, and went back to sleep. It doesn't matter if we wake him now; they need to check on the concussion anyway. He might not be able to tell us much, he's slightly disorientated. But that's better than nothing, right?"
"Yeah, I guess," Sarah muttered. As a doctor herself, she knew his injuries weren't serious. But she needed answers now; the worry was taking over her.
"Whe-...where's...where isssss..." He was short of breath.
"John, don't struggle to speak, take it slowly, mate," Lestrade strode over and put a reassuring hand on John's shoulder. John's face turned into a wince, just as Lestrade remembered John had been shot in that particular shoulder in Afghanistan.
"John, its Sarah. You're fine, you're in the hospital."
John tried to shift upwards as if to sit. Three pairs of hands shot out to help him.
"Don't try and overexert yourself, John," Donovan ordered. He took her advice and slumped down. His eyes became more focused, and he turned towards Lestrade immediately.
"Where...is..." he coughed. "Where's Sherlock?"
All three of them looked awkwardly at each other, wondering what they should say. They all knew, but wondered if it would upset John in the state he was in.
"Can you tell us what happened? Anything you can tell us will be good. But don't worry if you can't, just do what you can," Lestrade assured him. "We'll tell you about Sherlock later."
John was becoming more and more present, but the fact that no-one told him about Sherlock agitated him.
"Sarah can...you tell me?"
"Later, John," she tried to stay calm and caring. "Tell us what happened first, I swear I'll tell you afterwards. I promise you." She squeezed his hand, and John sighed.
"Fine, fine. You're...more diff...difficult than Sh-sherlock."
Donovan let out a strangled laugh, before turning silent again. This wasn't the time.
"It started when I-I left Sherlock to go...to Sarah's."
A/N Short, I know. But I promise the next one will be longer, with what happened in the pool house. Hope I left you guessing to who the patient was. So, if John is one of the patients...who are the two dead bodies that Lestrade and Molly recognised? And who are the other two casualties? Stay tuned!