So, good news: As of this moment I've finished writing this story. Six chapters left you guys! (Including this one.) Now comes the time-consuming part: editing. Lots of stuff happening so stick with me for the last few chapters!
Oh and to everyone who's read/reviewed/followed/favorited-I tip my hat and offer you a round of drinks! Well, maybe not the drinks...but you're wonderful and thanks for being so kind!
Sherlock wasn't one to admit love, but he knew he loved John. One of the reasons being that when John was in an emergency, he jumped to action and didn't waste time asking questions or blabbering on about how irresponsible Sherlock was. That would all come later, of course, either over tea or with a swift fist to the jaw. But now, John was immediately responding to the problem at hand, and that was keeping the girl on the bed alive.
"I need to know what she's been given," John demanded, Sherlock throwing the documents into his hands. "Are you kidding?" he mumbled as he looked through them. "Oh, good God. Sherlock," John addressed him, exasperated, "I need you out of here. Get out."
Sherlock did as he was told, the irony not lost on him of the many times he ordered others out of his work space. Alone he walked to the kitchen and pulled out the bottle of amaretto from the top cabinet. He screwed off the cap and took a swig. If anyone else was in the room he would have simply sat or stood or perhaps even paced. But no one was here now, he was out of cigarettes, and his nerves were shot.
The door opened and slammed shut as John stormed out. "Where's the original? The drug you tried to wash out with this rubbish?"
Sherlock opened his case and removed the vial with the half dose. "This is all that's left."
John snatched it from his hand and ran back into the room, once again slamming the door behind him.
It seemed like ages until John emerged, bag in hand, a petulant look on his face.
"She's fine, then?" Sherlock asked him.
John seethed. "No, Sherlock. No. She's not fine."
The horror of the situation materialized on Sherlock's face and he felt his resolve weaken. He took a seat in the chair beside him.
"She's subdued. She's still under the effects, that gives me a little under 20 hours to find a way to detox the substance...properly."
Sherlock exhaled in relief. "She's alive."
"Barely." John paced, starting sentences but too angry to finish them. Finally he managed to spit out, "Sherlock. I'm not even going to begin to lecture you on what went on here, but I cannot believe you would ever risk someone's life this way. I have to go," he sighed deeply, "she'll be awake soon but she cannot move from that bed, and you," pointing squarely between the detective's eyes, "will not give her anything. You will not even lay one finger on that girl until I'm back. It's a bloody miracle she's still breathing after what you did to her." He meant to add something else but just shook his head and left.
Sherlock sat there, feeling the weight of the situation fatigue his shoulders. He couldn't understand what went wrong, he had done all his tests properly. The one thought he kept pushing to the back of his mind kept creeping up: He could have killed her. She would have been dead because of his curiosity and her willingness to play a part in it. For the first time, Sherlock truly felt like the psychopath others had relentlessly called him. Was he a man of science, like he had always convinced himself? Or was he simply a man after his own ego?
Posy felt her eyes open and realized she was staring at a ceiling. Her mind was a fog, her body felt heavy and sore. She saw an IV hooked into her arm and heard the beeping of a monitor beside her. Was she in a hospital? Her eyes kept on the ceiling. This must be the most disgusting hospital she's ever seen.
"I'm not sure if you can hear me," she heard a familiar voice to her right. The smooth baritone helped her relax, she felt like it was ages since she last heard it. She closed her eyes to savor the sound. "Please forgive me."
Her eyelids fluttered open at this phrase, everything feeling sluggish and slow. She meant to turn her head and acknowledge him but couldn't find the energy. She wiggled the fingers on her left hand slightly, confirmation that she was awake and able to move.
"I am what they say I am, Persephone. I'm a monster. As you so eloquently pointed out... a man made of metal. I put your life at risk for the sake of knowledge and it was the wrong thing to do." She could feel him run his hands through his hair. After an exasperated sigh, he continued, his tone tight and defensive, "I don't feel like normal people feel. I think. My mind never stops, it barrels on and out of control. My emotions are different. They are stagnant, apathetic. You said that a metal man with a brain must have a heart, but you were mistaken. A human being with the capacity for a heart wouldn't have done what I did to you so easily."
She knew he believed her to be in some state of unconsciousness. There was no way he'd be so open and vulnerable if he thought she could hear him. As he continued, she realized, it was more for his sake than her own.
"At times I do wish I was better. When it gets to be too much, a part of me wishes that I could be a little less clever and a little softer. But my purpose remains for deducing human flaws, I lack the ability to fix my own. Sherlock Holmes, the man, is a myth. I'm only the shell of a man that houses a hard drive of information. I hurt you, and for that I am-" his voice broke slightly, "I am sorry."
She heard him rise and leave. Silly tin man, she thought, if you were unable to feel you wouldn't have apologized to me. If you didn't have a heart, it wouldn't feel guilt or pain or in this case, sorrow. She exhaled and tried to stretch, every movement aching in her body. She felt awake for the first time in days, but still not fully herself. And there was still this itching below her skin.
The footsteps returned and the mysterious consulting detective came back as she was testing out her limbs. He seemed surprised to see her moving. She smiled at him and his face was alarmed. She patted the side of her bed indicating for him to sit. He did.
"I've still got it, haven't I?"
"Yes," he answered slowly. "The fail safe did not work. You had a lapse and almost flat-lined."
She nodded her head in agreement. She did not remember much but felt the pain of her experience echo in her chest.
"John saved you. He's still saving you. Apparently the drug modifies something in the body so that its absence causes it to fail. I thought it was simply a modifier, but it seems much more parasitic."
"So I have to stay on it until John figures it out?"
"You have around 15 hours before you go into withdrawal again. How do you feel?"
"Terrible," she chuckled. "But, I think you look worse."
"John is angry with me, as he should be. We never should have done this-"
"Did you get evidence?"
He looked surprised at her question and sighed. "Yes. One last piece of the puzzle left. Unfortunately I only discovered the cause of death after our experiment went awry."
"And what is it?"
"Shock followed by acute hypothermia. Once the body is off the drug its temperature plummets and becomes a hypothermic state. Once the body develops a relationship with the drug, it mimics that of an amphibian. The body craves light in order to keep its temperature normalized. Once the drug is removed the body forgets how to stabilize energy and the temperature tanks."
"Wow. That would have been good to know beforehand, huh?" Her tone was light and playful.
"You're still on the brink of death. It was irresponsible and a major oversight on my part."
"I would be dead now. I was going to take it myself. I'm not a child. You may have given me the opportunity, but you weren't the one who created this."
They heard the door open and John appeared looking disheveled. "Hey," he said warmly when he saw she was awake. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I partied way too hard last night." His smile was tight at her response. "Do you have good news for me?"
"Yes," John said, removing items from his bag, not saying a word to Sherlock. "I think I've found a solution but in order for it to work I have to put you under."
"I trust you. Just get this shit out of me."