Flashback: Aya wagged an admonishing finger at them, and then pressed the finger to her lips in the universally accepted gesture for silence. John's jaw dropped open as a loud shush grew about them in an ever increasing volume, before tapering off into the type of silence where you could hear yourself breathing.
Chapter 21- The petition
Everyone inside had naturally gravitated to the entrance of the tent to investigate the unnatural silence, but Sherlock wasn't surprised when the ex-army doctor took him by his arm, and drew him into a quiet corner.
The half incredulous, half horrified manner in which John had looked at him as the eerie quiet descended all around them, had said it all.
Fortunately though, Sherlock could truthfully look John in his face and categorically state that he had never done anything that made him uncomfortable during the month long span of their friendship. Apparently, being forced to give up his beloved cigarettes, didn't make the list of behaviours which John was contemplating.
(Pity).
Eventually, John abandoned his questions and just stared at him in a somber, anxious fashion with all his feathers starting to lightly puff around him in a wide semicircle, reflecting his unsettled state of mind. Mycroft wasn't helping matters at all by hovering in an aggressive manner, as though afraid to leave his brother alone with the doctor.
The most logical step now, was to carry out some sort of experiment to try and get repeatable observations. Sherlock was therefore surprised when John turned white as a sheet, and Mycroft immediately shot down the suggestion.
'Absolutely not!' Mycroft had cried out.
'John, won't hurt me,' Sherlock had declared with a ugly sneer in his brother's direction, to which the ex-army doctor had demonstrated his thanks with a watery smile.
It was true that he wasn't exactly his usual waspish self around John but that wasn't necessarily a strange thing, was it? With his above average intelligence, and hunger for new experiences, ideas and adventures, John just didn't aggravate him as much as the others say like the narrow minded Anderson and even on occasion, the much too slow Lestrade. And really, how could his starved spirit not be drawn to someone who insisted that he was brilliant at least twice a day?
In the meantime, at the medical team's request , John returned to bed but disturbingly the man chose to roll over and turn his back on the entire room.
It was a dreadful moment, and everyone glanced pityingly at Sherlock as the tall Englishman stood there upset and silent, all alone in the middle of the medical tent.
One of the embassy guards handed John a pack of playing cards and after several minutes, Sherlock crept a little closer. He was relieved when his friend turned to face him, and Sherlock dragged up a chair to the side of the bed.
'You sure you want to come so close?' John muttered despairingly as he pillowed his cheek under one hand.
It was with difficulty that Sherlock restrained from rolling his eyes. 'you are not controlling me, John.'
'How can you be so sure?'
'Well I can't, seeing that you don't want to experiment,' he said sourly, 'but your memory is strangely patchy, today.'
'Is it?' John said wistfully as if ready to grab hold of any glimmer of hope that Sherlock offered. The detective saw the look and began to relax.
John wanted evidence?
Ha!
That was his specialty.
'Recall,' Sherlock said pompously, as he counted on his fingers. 'I refused to grant your request to repay me for a new suit of clothes at the hospital...
John raised an eyebrow.
'...I would not be dissuaded, when you pleaded with me not to be part of the operation to draw out the smugglers at my house in the country...
...I refused to come down from my flying when you called for me...
Your attempts to increase my nutrition intake while I was ill, although admirable and appreciated...'
John raised a hand to cut him off. There was a reluctant smile hovering around his lips, and the lively gleam had returned to his kind blue eyes. In the midst of the kidnap and rescue and all of that, John had definitely pushed these more annoying memories to one side.
The doctor wasn't wholly convinced, but felt reasonably reassured to deal Sherlock a companionably game of poker, as if the incident of Aya had never happen, and that 500 hundred or so men outside, were not now quietly sitting on the lawn resting or softly chatting to each other.
Sherlock wasn't complaining as he re-arranged his hand of cards. Anymore of these emotional scenes, could cause him to max out his quota of allowed sentiment for the week.
It was possible that their new dark winged friends just liked Aya, which would explain their eagerness to follow her instructions.
The story of her tremendous courage and resilience under fire, had spread through the Winged contingent, first in German and then rapidly translated into every other language there. In spite all that she had seen and experienced though, the sweetness of her sunshiny spirit still shone through as she smiled and waved tirelessly at each new face that peered at her from the window, as if she was greeting long lost friends rather than strangers.
Even Sherlock, who had no interest in children whatsoever because they were boring and smelly, felt a corner of his heart soften when the small girl had finally fallen asleep, nose to nose with her mother in a cot not too far from John. Mother and daughter were like two peas in a pod, except for the wings of course.
Now as far as Sherlock could remember, he was sitting in one of the low camp chairs, peacefully observing John and Aya rest. So he couldn't understand why in his next coherent moment, he was laying flat on his back with an IV in his arm, and a note taped to his front.
With a scowl, he ripped the paper off his chest and quickly scanned through the message.
I will give you a bar of dark chocolate if you keep your IV line in. It is not medicine, it is vitamins- John
Sherlock sat up carefully then and quickly noted the diminished activity all around. There was one duty nurse in the corner but other than that, it was just John on his bed and Aya on another with her mother. A flash of movement on the left, caught his eye.
Aya's father was sitting in a dim corner off the side, waving a coffee pot invitingly at him.
Sherlock glared at his IV anew and was sorely tempted to make a face at, but he kept his mind focused on the promised sugary reward as he gingerly rolled off the bed, and wheeled his IV pole alongside him.
All things considered, he was feeling much better now than he had been for the last couple of days, even though both his arms trembled sporadically; strained from the long flight carrying a man of John's weight to safety.
Mr. Mueller obligingly pulled up another canvas camp chair for him to sit.
'It is seven less fifteen in time,' the man offered in halting English. The man was pleased when Sherlock answered him in flawless German.
'Are you feeling any better?' the older man asked kindly, relaxing back into his seat.
'Why? Was I sick?' Sherlock asked in surprise.
Aya's father smiled in a friendly way as he handed over a steaming up of new coffee, watching in amusement as Sherlock dumped in a gallon of sugar in his Styrofoam cup.
'You fell off your chair,' he replied.
It had taken everyone by surprise. Sherlock was dozing with his head back, thin hands folded neatly on his stomach and his long legs sprawled comically in front of him, when he had started titling to the side. If John hadn't woken up then and jumped in, Sherlock would have most certainly cracked his head on the ground. The ex-army doctor had effortlessly scooped Sherlock up in his arms and carried him over to an empty cot after which, he frowned darkly as he used some of the medical instruments and took readings.
'I am glad that you are awake though, because I need to talk to you,' Mr Muller said, 'Can you manage it?'
Curiously, Sherlock nodded as he stared at the clipboard in the man's hands. The father handed it over so the detective could have a look.
Sherlock flipped through the pages. 'It is a petition.'
'Yes, it is,' the man said tightly, 'your Queen has offered her aircraft carrier to relocate your "colleagues" in one large group, rather than hazard a series of small military flights, but they want Aya to come with them at least part of the way so they can get to know her better.'
Sherlock glanced at the man's distressed face.
'What do you want me to do about it?' he felt right in asking.
Aya's father sighed and slumped over. 'Don't get me wrong, I am very grateful to you and everyone's help in getting my daughter back, but where are we really going with this? If Aya falls on the playground, are these fellows going to swoop down like Batman on her position. What sort of life is that for my baby to have? Truthfully, I just want to take a plane and my family, and go home and start putting this whole incident behind me. This petition has really blinded sided me!'
Sherlock just nodded, as he glanced around the tent vaguely, searching for inspiration. This really wasn't his area. What was he supposed to say?
'And I really think with John volunteering to come to Germany for a fortnight, my Aya would be able to find her feet again in no time at all,' the father tacked on. 'She's doing so well, isn't she?!'
Mr. Mueller was so wrapped up in his contemplation of his sleeping daughter that he didn't immediately notice Sherlock, visibly wilting at his side. When the man finally returned to his coffee companion, the detective was glaring at him with a hateful expression.
'It's a nice room, with a big window so you can fly in and out!' Mr. Mueller said coaxingly, distressed that Sherlock wasn't more open to the idea of a visit.
Sherlock's wings snapped open so fast, the sharp gust generated knocked over several items, 'I am invited?!'
Aya's father fought his instinctive reaction to cringe as Sherlock's dark wings fluttered around and over him. Mr. Mueller had watched the contingent from a distance, and in his head he knew how big they got, but he had never been so close to one before. Sherlock easily out-spanned him by a metre! He could easily believe now all those stories about how frightening they appeared in their past role of protectors, "blocking all light" as he read in one colorful description. Although to the German man, the bunch outside seemed more playful and loud, than menacing and fierce.
In the meantime, the clatter of falling cups and pens, had unfortunately awoken one of the sleepers. Aya rubbed her eyes vigorously with one small fist and glared at them with a grouchy look. The two men watched as the little girl marched over to John's bed, with her lavendar nightie trailing behind her on the ground. Like a sleepy cat, she then crawled up on to her friend's bed and burrowed under John's warm blankets.
The blanket covered lump grew quiet.
'Of course, you are invited!' Mr. Mueller said automatically, continuing their conversation. John had stated he was bringing Sherlock in such a matter of fact way, that he thought the visit was already decided between the friends. 'John said he could find a hotel since it was the two of you, but I insisted!
Sherlock wasn't listening.
He was just so pleased not to be thrown away like yesterday's newspapers, he didn't care much about anything else. Eagerly, he began sorting through the neatly stacked folders in his head, trying to pinpoint if there was anything interesting going on in that part of the world.
Best to do something useful while they were there!
Sherlock rubbed his hands excitedly, relishing this reprieve where he could enjoy John's companionship almost exclusively. In his mind's eyes he was already picturing the three of them, John, Aya and himself, going for a lovely stroll which just happened to take them in front the local constabulary.
'You've got a petition too, by the way,' the older man said quietly, interrupting Sherlock's pleasant day dream of happening upon a robbery, kidnap or perhaps a severed toe in the German streets. 'John was still asleep when it came in.'
Astonished, Sherlock took the large envelope and cracked the seal to reveal the clip board within. Mr Mueller leaned over and as he suspected, it was worded almost exactly the same as his petition.
We the undersigned, do hereby request that you allow Dr. John Watson to travel home on board the HMS Ocean. It is our wish to become better acquainted with the doctor. With respect etc.
Sherlock immediately dumped the whole thing in a bin.
'Is that a no?' Mr Mueller asked tentatively, not needing to be a genius to deduce Sherlock's present state of mind.
The detective's feathers rattled together in annoyance.
'I think this is one of those times that anything I say is going to come out wrong,' Sherlock seethed in a low voice.