Chapter Thirty Four: Stubborn
"Stubborn and ardent clinging to one's opinion is the best proof of stupidity." Michel de Montaigne
November 23rd. Eighteen months after the Fall at Saint Bartholomew's Hospital.
Despite the fact that Sherlock had emerged from the coma with his intelligence still intact, there was no doubt to anyone that he didn't get through the ordeal unscathed.
The various infections that continued to plague him kept Sherlock from receiving any visitors other than John and Mycroft, and the fluctuations in his body temperature continued, although it was nowhere near as bad as it once was.
Still, it was bad enough for Sherlock, who would be sweating profusely one hour and then be shivering under mounds of hospital blankets the next hour.
But the nightmares were the worst.
Sometimes, Sherlock had a difficult time believing that Moriarty was really gone, and he sometimes woke up from unspeakable nightmares, convinced that Moriarty was still alive and was planning to revenge himself on Sherlock by going after the people he worked so hard to protect.
At other times, Sherlock seemed to have forgotten the events of the past year, and would wake up in a state of confusion and panic before he remembered that his name had in fact been cleared, and he had nothing to fear from the local authorities anymore.
There were also a few memories that seemed permanently erased from Sherlock's hard drive. In particular, he was surprised that John somehow had his dog tags back, as he deduced that he had somehow lost them during his confrontation with Moriarty, and he had felt guilty for losing them in the first place. After John explained that he had gotten them back from Claudette Bruhl, Sherlock tried to remember if he had deliberately left them with Claudette, or if he had forgotten about them entirely in his haste to confront Moriarty.
As the presence of the dog tags would have almost certainly have gotten John involved in an investigation into the attempted kidnapping, Sherlock was inclined to think that he had simply forgotten about them in the chaos that occurred outside the hotel.
The fact that he, Sherlock Holmes, would forget something like that was bad enough. But his inability to recall, in exact detail, what he was thinking about at the time was almost tramatic.
There were other things that were noticeable too, especially to John, who maintained his bedside vigil. Sometimes, Sherlock would start at the sound of his own name, as though it was unfamiliar to him. Also, the constant flowers and gifts that were being sent to him seemed to put him in a state of melancholy, so John did his best to put them out of Sherlock's range of vision.
Finally, Sherlock decided that sleep was not helping matters, so he informed the hospital staff (via text, courtesy of a small cell phone that Mycroft brought for him to use to communicate) to discontinue his pain medication.
This did not go down well with the Army doctor.
"Bloody hell, Mycroft! I told you this would happen!" John muttered angrily.
Mycroft sat calmly in his chair as he watched John pace up and down the hall. "It has only been a few days since he woke up, John. These things take time."
"Mycroft, just shut it, ok? You run the government, and I deal with people's health! I think I am a little more qualified than you in this area. If I need to bomb a third-world country, I'll consult you!"
"There is no need for hostility, Doctor. I know my brother's condition is deteriorating, as the result of his stubbornness, again." Mycroft pointed out. "I may not have always been at his bedside like you are, watching him whither and thrash around. But that doesn't mean I don't see it." Mycroft finished, his voice edged in steel.
John looked back at Mycroft, his face softening. "I know you see it, Mycroft. Hell, I bet you have the entire room under video surveillance." John paused in front of Mycroft. "I know you care for Sherlock."
"Then we are in agreement something must be done before Sherlock tears himself apart mentally."
John glared at Mycroft. "That Dr. Morrison that you brought up reminds me so much of my former psychiatrist. Neither one of them have the sense that God granted to a grasshopper's behind!"
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "That is a methaphoric phrase that I have never heard before!"
"I can't take credit for it. I heard Clarky say it once." John confessed, blushing slightly. "But that's not the point. I know Dr. Morrison is good. I know he has a degree in psychiatry and specializes with patients who suffer through a personal trauma. But if you agree to his suggestion, then I can guarantee you that Sherlock won't get better any time soon!"
"And what would you have me do, Doctor? Only this morning, Sherlock has instructed the hospital staff to discontinue the pain medication. He is also refusing to sleep."
"Can you blame the man?! Every time he does, he wakes up shaking from nightmares! And now Dr. Morrison wants you to send him to a facility to 'get help' in dealing with his experiences!" John said, looking thoroughly disgusted. "Why don't we just take Sherlock outside now and push him off the roof again? Put him out of his misery faster!"
Mycroft rose angrily from his chair. "How dare you…"
"You know what I mean, Mycroft!" John shot back. "I care about Sherlock too! He's like a brother to me! I want Sherlock to feel safe again. And he doesn't! That's the problem!"
"Interesting." Mycroft said, slipping behind his mask once more. The anger he allowed to show through earlier receded. "Would you care to elaborate?"
John took a deep breath. "Look, I'm no psychiatrist. But I understand what it is like to go through a bad situation. Remember when you told me that I missed the adrenaline rush from the war?"
Mycroft nodded.
"Well, you're right. The only way I made it through Afghanstan was because I lived off the danger and the excitement. When I came home, I lost my identity as a soldier and a doctor. Your brother gave me that, and thus helped me reclaim my life. Well, the way I see it, Sherlock is going through the same thing. Can you imagine being cut off from your own life, Mycroft? I can't."
"And what exactly do you want me to do, John?" Mycroft said mildly.
John took a deep breath. "I can't believe I am saying this, after spending so much time in the past trying to convince Sherlock to stay in the hospital to recouperate!"
John paused for a moment as he thought about what he wanted to say. "Look, I think, as Sherlock's doctor, that he would be more comfortable and would recover faster if he was back home. He's anxious, and I think it would be good for him to be in a place where he feels remotely safe. He needs to feel like Sherlock again. I'm a doctor, and I know what to do in something should happen. Also, it will be easier for you to secure one flat than it would be to secure an entire building where people enter and leave every day! We have been incredibly lucky that the press hasn't found out where he is yet. But if they do find out, then we are going to have a security nightmare on our hands."
"I see." Mycroft said. "Your idea certainly merits careful thought, Doctor. But what about Sherlock's doctors who urge that he remain in their care for the next two and a half weeks?"
"One, Sherlock will get bored and probably end up discharging himself in a few days anyway, regardless of whether he is fit to leave or not. Being at Bart's already has him stressed. And then he will end up right back in the emrgency room! You know how much Sherlock hates hospitals."
"Two, while the doctors have the best intentions, Sherlock is suffering mentally as well as physically. And being around a hospital, especially Bart's, of all places, is not helping him right now. However, moving him to another hospital isn't the answer either. I think Sherlock needs to be around his friends and come to terms with what happened."
"Three, I am also considering Sheri's emotional state right now. Remember that we are also dealing with a little girl who is tramatized about hospitals in general. She doesn't get much sleep, and it takes all of Ms. Hudson's and Mary's efforts to get her to eat anything!"
"You are certainly very persuasive in your reasoning, Doctor. Have you given this matter a lot of thought?" Mycroft inquired neutrally.
"Not really." John lied. "I'm merely stating the facts, Mycroft. Ignoring them won't make your brother get better."
Mycroft smiled thinly as he rose from his chair. "We needn't make a decision just yet, Doctor. However, I will take your recommendation under advisement. I will probably drop by later tonight, and we can discuss the matter further then." Mycroft replied.
"Just don't do anything without letting me know, Mycroft." John answered, his voice holding a slight warning.
"Very well. I need to make a couple of calls and see to a few matters. I will see you later on, John. Just watch over my brother until I return."
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
Forget it, John. I'm not going to sleep.
John glared at his friend after reading the text. "You haven't slept in, what, twenty-four hours?" John asked.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
Twenty hours, twenty-four minutes, and seventeen seconds.
"And you are going to pass out any moment!" John muttered angrily.
Sherlock looked up briefly at John, then silently sent another text to John's phone. As he was currently unable to communicate verbally, this was the best way for him to talk to John.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
I won't pass out, John! I don't need pain medication. And I won't take them. It's my choice!
"Sherlock, are you completely insane?!" John asked, feeling both shocked and outraged at his friend's obstinance. "You can barely move without pain as it is!"
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
They are going to push medication on me soon enough! Dr. Morrison will see to that!
John's eyes widening in sudden understanding. "Is that what you are worried about? That you are going to a private hospital?"
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
Oh, a 'private hospital.' Wonderful choice of euphimisms, John!
John shook his head, debating the medical ethics if he chose to smother Sherlock with his pillow until he lost consciousness. He finally decided against it. "Well, just so you know, as your doctor, I advised Mycroft that such a move would be detrimental to you." John said. "I told him you would recover better back at the flat."
Sherlock looked up, his face hopeful. He typed a new message on his phone.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
You did?
"Yes, Sherlock. I did. I just hope Mycroft listens to me for once. I tried to convince him it would be in your best interests to be discharged as soon as possible." John remarked evenly. "Of course, you can't be discharged until you are well enough to leave, and this sleep deprivation is not going to help you get better any time soon!"
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
You don't understand, John! I need to stay awake!
"Sherlock." John said softly. "You are talking to a man who has been haunted by nightmares about his wartime experiences." John left it unspoken that he also suffered terribly from lack of sleep after Sherlock's alleged suicide.
John watched Sherlock's face fall, looking like he had been slapped. He paused momentarily before he typed and sent the next text message.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
I know you have suffered, John. And I regret that.
John froze. This was the closest they had gotten to breaching the topic concerning Sherlock's deception when he faked his death and gone after Moriarty's empire a year and a half prior. John wanted to wait till Sherlock was in a position to talk about it.
Now was not the time.
He needed to get off this topic. "Look, Mycroft will be here soon. If he sees you like this, he's liable to listen to Dr. Morrison's advice."
Sherlock looked back at him, then glanced over at the table beside him, eyes lingering on the cup of water that John got for him.
John sighed in defeat. Sherlock was changing the subject, which meant he wasn't going to budge on the matter.
Reaching over to the table, John retrieved the cup of water and a straw. He held the cup while Sherlock took a sip.
Sherlock coughed after he finished the water, then made a face as he typed on the phone to send a new text message.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
It's cold! And it tastes funny!
John rolled his eyes in amusement. No "thank you, John!" No "I appreciate you getting the water for me, John!"
It had to be a complaint!
"Sherlock, you have barely had anything to eat or drink in who-knows-how-long! Your taste buds are so rarely used it's a wonder you can taste anything at all! Just so you know, I got some ice from the ice maker down the hall and put in it earlier. And you're welcome, by the way!" John explained, setting the cup back down. "Aren't you going to even try to rest a little before Mycroft gets here?"
Sherlock pouted and shook his head slowly.
John chuckled. Sherlock looked too much like a petulant child who refused to go to sleep at bedtime. "Keep telling yourself that, Sherlock! When you finally make yourself pass out, don't say I didn't tell you so! Now, if you will excuse me for five minutes, I am getting a cup of coffee. Can I get you anything? More water? Some common sense how to treat your transport and what its limitations are?"
Sherlock looked over at John, his eyes betraying some concern. Feebly, he typed another message.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
Keep an eye on Mycroft! Don't let him give me anything!
"What?!" John said after reading the text. "Why?"
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
Because Mycroft will try to come up with a way to drug me! He wants to try to outwit me, so he will try to drug me against my will.
John looked back at Sherlock. "Aren't we being a little paranoid?"
Sherlock shook his head in frustration, which caused him to start coughing suddenly. Gasping, he winced as each cough ripped through his ruptured throat.
"Here." John said, reaching for the water. "Drink this."
Sherlock took another, longer sip of water, then leaned back against the pillow, exhausted.
"I think the pain is making you delusional!" John said, annoyed. The idea that Sherlock believed that his brother was somewhere plotting on ways to trick him into taking pain medication was ridiculous. "If you tell that to Mycroft, I can guarantee that you won't be going home anytime soon. You are losing it, Sherlock."
Sherlock glared up at John, then typed another text.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
Mycroft's devious, John. He'll drug you the second your back is turned!
John wanted to laugh. He really did. But Sherlock's warnings made him slightly apprehensive.
After all, didn't Mycroft have him drugged a few weeks ago?
Of course, admitting that to Sherlock was not going to help matters.
Sherlock glanced at John, a slight smirk set on his features. Smugly, he typed a new text message.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
So he did it to you already! When was this?
"I have no idea what you are talking about!" John grumbled.
Sherlock shook his head and sent another text.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
You're lying, John! You are shifting your weight from one side to the other, and you are subconsciously hiding your hands in your trouser pockets. You only do that when you are trying to hide something. Thus, I deduce that Mycroft probably drugged you at some point, and you don't want to tell me about it!
John growled as he read the text message. "Fine! You're evil brother had Not-Anthea drug my coffee! Are you happy?"
Sherlock nodded, his slightly glazed eyes lit up in merriment. For some odd reason, he looked a little giddy, and in less pain than he was in earlier.
John shook his head in annoyance. "Glad to see you laughing at my expense! Now, stay here until I get back! If you move a millimeter from your bed, I'll put you out myself! Do we understand one another, Sherlock?" John asked, his voice echoing the commands he gave out during his tours to Afghanistan.
Not that he wanted to be harsh, of course. But knowing Sherlock, he would probably try to crawl on his hands and knees if it meant escape from the hospital, and John knew that from past experiences.
Sherlock sighed in defeat as he typed his next text.
To: John
From: Sherlock
Topic: No!
I'm not planning on going anywhere anytime soon, John. Go ahead and get your coffee. I'll stay awake until you return.
Five minutes later, John was pacing the hallway and muttering under his breath. Only four days back in the land of the living, and John felt ready to beat some sense into Sherlock, if he wasn't so afraid that his friend was too fragile at the moment.
Mycroft should be arriving soon, John reflected.
Hopefully he can make Sherlock see sense and rest before he had a complete mental breakdown. Maybe they could even threaten him enough to where he would stop this pointless strike concerning his pain medication.
He knew Sherlock really wanted to go home. Bloody hell, he wanted to go home too! But Sherlock needed constant care, and they didn't have the medical equipment set up at the flat.
Sherlock didn't seem to pay any heed to these arguments. Not only was he in a hospital, of all places, but he was at Bart's! Wasn't it bad enough for him to be held hostage only a few miles away from home? Did it have to be at the place where he jumped to his "death" too?
John couldn't help but sympathize with Sherlock's plight. Bloody hell, he didn't like Bart's either!
And as for the lack of medical equipment, surely the British Government could take care of that, right?
John only hoped that Mycroft would agree to keep Sherlock here for a few more days and then allow him to recover at home instead of sending him to another hospital or treatment facility.
Because Baker Street was where Sherlock needed to be.
John told the truth earlier when he spoke to Mycroft. Sherlock needed to come home, for all the reasons John laid out to Mycroft.
But there was another reason as well. A reason John could never admit aloud.
He needed Sherlock to come home.
Somehow, although he wasn't sure how, exactly, just having Sherlock back at 221 B Baker Street would make it more real for John. That his friend was still alive. Sometimes he woke up at night and needed to look over at Sherlock to assure himself that he was not dreaming, that his friend was still living.
Then maybe they could all truly heal from the wounds of the last eighteen months.
He only hoped that Mycroft would see it his way.
His head started hurting slightly, and he messaged his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pain. He was getting a stress headache. Although it was no wonder, considering he had been arguing with two Holmes all day!
He should probably get a medal.
He cautiously opened the door to Sherlock's private room and looked inside. "I'm back, Sherlock."
The room was completely silent. Sherlock didn't raise his hand to greet him, like he normally did when John stepped out of the room for a few minutes. Instead, he seemed to have buried himself under the blankets again.
Odd. Was Sherlock sulking?
Or did he finally pass out from the pain?
Quietly, John walked over to Sherlock's bedside. Sure enough, Sherlock had managed to twist the sheets around him again, so that only his head and his mass of unruly locks were visible. His friend's eyes were closed, and he was breathing evenly.
John smirked as he saw that Sherlock finally succumbed to his exhaustion and was getting some much-needed rest.
So much for his promise to stay awake! I knew he wouldn't be able to fight it much longer!
He had hoped that Sherlock would remain awake until they could talk Mycroft into letting him go home to finish healing there, but in light of Sherlock's paranoia earlier when he thought Mycroft was plotting on ways to drug him senseless, it was probably not a good idea.
Sherlock would just convince Mycroft that he needed to be on psychiatric medication.
Earlier, John felt agitation towards Sherlock and was afraid he would lose it and say something he would regret. This stupid refusal to sleep or take pain medication almost made the doctor want to run out of the hospital screaming.
Didn't Sherlock see how much pain he caused John every time he didn't take care of himself?
But, then again, if Sherlock's nightmares were even half as bad as John's had been, then maybe he had a good reason for not wanting to go to sleep.
Smiling to himself, John reached over and pushed a strand of hair away from Sherlock's face. While he did that, his fingers brushed against Sherlock skin.
It was cool. A far cry from the slight flush Sherlock had earlier.
John stopped. Surely not. Frowning, John gently reached over and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up."
Nothing.
No response whatsoever.
For some reason, alarm bells went off in John's head. Maybe it was because of what Sherlock had said earlier. Or maybe because he himself was a victim of Mycroft's drugging attempts.
And didn't Sherlock seem slightly off, earlier, when he was teasing John? Didn't he seem more relaxed and in less pain?
But surely he was not serious!
Or was he?
As carefully as he could, John reached over and pulled back one of Sherlock's eyelids. The lights were on overhead, bathing the room in a bright florescent glow.
Sherlock's pupil had shrunken to the point where it was almost non-existant. Given the light in the room, they should have dialated the moment they came into contact with the light. So something was definitely interfering with Sherlock's normal ocular functions. He still didn't respond to anything going on around him.
There was no doubt about it.
Sherlock had been drugged.
"Ah, John! Good evening. I do hope Sherlock is feeling better than he was earlier."
John whirled around to see Mycroft at the entrance into Sherlock's room. The government official was wearing a heavy, expensive black coat to dispel the chill from outside, and he was smiling broadly. He seemed unsurprised to find the Sherlock was asleep.
Was it coincidence?
John looked at Mycroft, studying his face. He recalled what Sherlock said earlier, and his suspicions grew. "Mycroft, please tell me you didn't stoop this low!"
"Whatever do you mean, John?" Mycroft said innocently.
"Someone drugged Sherlock!" John said, his shock melting into irritation.
"But John, you are the only one who was in the room with Sherlock." Mycroft said as he settled himself into a chair. "None of my people have been in the room, I assure you."
"Then how…" John paused.
Hold on a moment. Sherlock said that the water tasted funny earlier.
Frowning, John picked up the cup and opened the lid. He sniffed. Twice. Nothing smelled out of the oridinary. Cautiously, he brought the cup to his lips while watching Mycroft out of the corner of his eye.
"It would be unwise to do that, John, unless you feel the need for rest yourself." Mycroft said serenely.
John glared at Mycroft, livid. "Sherlock was right?! You actually spend time trying to poison him?!"
"John, please! I merely sought to save my brother from himself. You saw how much pain he was in. You yourself told him he was going to make himself ill and would only prolong his stay in the hospital." Mycroft said in a placating tone.
"YOU ARE INSANE!" John shouted.
This went far beyond the usual spying and interfering that Mycroft often engaged in! This was a serious invasion against Sherlock's wishes!
Even if Sherlock was wrong!
Mycroft grinned. "Perhaps, Doctor. But I assure you my intentions are entirely honorable, despite Sherlock thinking that I only do it when I 'bear a grudge.'"
"You pompous arse!" John snapped. "What did you give him, anyway?"
"An experimental drug that works as a paralytic. It is to make him comfortable, you understand. Surely you remember how much it hurts to be shot?" Mycroft pointed out. "It's very painful, from what I've heard. Surely you don't expect me to sit by and watch my younger brother do that to himself, do you?"
John's witty rejoinder (which he had yet to think of) was interrupted by a knock on the door. Mycroft's assistant poked her head in. "Sir, I have what you requested."
"Thank you, Samantha." Mycroft said pleasantly.
"So it's 'Samantha' this week?" John asked sarcastically. As far as he was concerned, the young assistant would always be "Not-Anthea" to him.
"Yes, John." The woman said, giving him a polite nod. Stepping into the room, she glanced over at Sherlock as he slumbered away, oblivious to the fact that he was the object of scrutiny. She then handed Mycroft a small, dark object. "Shall I go get our team ready, Sir?"
"Yes. Tell them to enter here in exactly…" Mycroft paused as he glanced at his watch.
"Seven minutes and twelve seconds."
"Yes, Sir." Not-Anthea (or Samantha, or whatever her chosen name was this week) replied respectfully before exiting the room, closing the door softly behind her.
"Team? Mycroft, what the bloody hell is going on?! I told you this morning that you were not to do anything without consulting me first!" John yelled.
On the bed, Sherlock stirred. John immediately reached over and began shaking him slightly in an attempt to rouse him. "Sherlock? Sherlock! Wake up!"
"That is a rather fruitless effort, Doctor. The sedative will ensure that Sherlock will stay unconscious for another thirty minutes or so. It is a shame he had to receive it in a deluted form." Mycroft told John. "I had my people freeze the sedative into ice cubes and placed them in the ice maker down the hall. When they melted, they dispersed the sedative into the water. It was very thoughtful of you to get the ice for my brother, Doctor. I knew he would trust you in all matters concerning his health."
"You sneaky, conniving, meddling, bastard! Don't you have anything better to do than to drug people?!" John whirled around and almost flew across the room to hit the government official in the face, but barely restrained himself.
"John, be reasonable for a moment and hear me out! We don't have much time. An hour ago, my team detained two reporters trying to sneak in to find my brother's room. They never got beyond the first floor, of course. But in light of the circumstances, Sherlock must be moved immediately." Mycroft explained.
"How do you know that? How did you know about the two reporters before you caught them, I mean?" John asked.
"I received a call from Detective Inspector Hopkins a few minutes prior to the reporters being detained. He received a tip from his friend, Ms. Hunter. I don't know why she chose to alert us to that information, when she could have easily used it herself to get an exclusive. When I have time, I plan on asking her." Mycroft said.
John gaped for a moment. Violet Hunter did this? She alerted Mycroft to the fact that his brother's privacy was about to be compromised?
Not that it surprised him, of course.
"I can answer that question for you, Mycroft. Partly, at least. Ms. Hunter was one of the first clients that Sherlock and I worked with."
"Mycroft nodded. "Yes. I am already aware of Ms. Hunter's prior acquaintance with my brother. But I am still at a loss as to why she chose to help preserve my brother's privacy, as she is a journalist."
John huffed. "Maybe because she is a decent human being, and she appreciates what your brother did for her. Maybe because she understands that Sherlock needs time to recouperate much more than the public need to get a story!"
"But enough for her to disregard a story that could help her further her career?" Mycroft persisted.
John shrugged. "You're thinking about Kitty Riley, aren't you? Well, maybe all journalists aren't bad people! Maybe Ms. Hunter remembers what Kitty Riley forgot! That our decisions affect people's lives!"
Mycroft causally studied the engravings on the handle of his umbrella, deliberately ignoring the implied reminder of his own poor decision-making when he discussed Sherlock's private life with Moriarty. "I suppose you are right. Still, I would like the chance to meet the young lady, and ask her myself."
John made a mental reminder to himself to call Ms. Hunter in advance, to warn her about any strange vehicles that may follow her around in the coming days. But now he had to focus on the present situation. "So, what? Are we re-locating Sherlock to another hospital?" John asked.
"No, Doctor. I have given it much consideration, and I am following your advice. I am discharging my brother, and he shall finish recovering at his residence, like you suggested. I have already made the necessary arrangements, of course. Everything that you need is already prepared. All that remains is to transport Sherlock out of here without arousing suspicion."
John gaped at Mycroft, his anger slowly being leached away as he realized what Mycroft was saying. "You are letting Sherlock come home?"
"Yes, John. Because I believe that you are correct. Sherlock does need to be somewhere that conveys a semblance of normalcy…well, a sense of normalcy for him, at least." Mycroft replied mildly. "The only thing that remains to be done is to transfer him there, which would have been impossible if he was immobilized from pain."
"Why didn't you just ask him?!" John muttered impatiently. "I'm sure if you just explained…"
"Doctor, I would just have been wasting valuable time arguing! Sherlock would have demanded to stay alert during the transfer. You know it, and I know it! At least, this way, he would blame me for the deception." Mycroft answered patiently.
John sighed as he conceded Mycroft's point. John would either have to watch Sherlock suffer as they moved him, or give him the sedative against his will and likely would have angered his flat mate.
"But what will we do when he wakes up? You said the sedative you gave him will only last for about thirty minutes. It will take longer than that to transfer him! And I seriously doubt he is going to drink any water anytime soon!" John pointed out.
"That is why Sherlock will be administered this." Mycroft said, holding up the dark object that Not-Anthea gave him earlier. Getting up out of his chair, he crossed over to John and opened the dark colored box. Inside were a syringe and a vial containing a clear liquid.
"My people are quite ingenious with their experiments sometimes. In this vial is a drug that will ensure that Sherlock will remain under for another twelve hours. It also works as a paraletic and thus will ensure that Sherlock will not experience any pain during the transfer. Our research shows that subjects injected with this drug are completely unaware about what is going on around them, both physically and mentally. Also, our research shows that the test subjects register only delta waves while they are under."
"Delta waves? So you are saying Sherlock won't be able to dream anything while he's out?" John said, realizing the implications of what Mycroft was saying. "That means Sherlock won't have any nightmares while he is unconscious."
"Correct, John. As I said, our researchers have proven quite useful, especially in this situation. We have used this drug for several years now, transporting people and so on. However, due to the fact that it works too well, in that the people who are administered the drug are unable to wake up until after it wears off, it is hardly a safe drug to use on those who wish to use it as a means of getting a good night's sleep." Mycroft said, a slight hint of pride in his tone. "Not that is was made for that purpose in mind, of course."
"Yes. It was made so that you could spirit people away to parts unknown without them being aware of it!" John shot back angrily.
Mycroft ignored John's comment. "In a few minutes after the drug is administered, my team will move Sherlock out of the room and transport him to 221 B Baker Street. Everything has already been arranged, as I have said. Ms. Morstan and Mrs. Hudson are currently away from the flat, with my people, of course, doing some shopping, and are unaware of our plans just yet."
"What about Sheri?" John asked.
"My niece is spending the night at my country estate, helping Mr. Douglas and the rest of my people do a final security check on our software to make sure there are no more hidden security risks. Also, she is being kind enough to look into some potential threats to the Crown."
"You are making her work for you!?" John asked incredulously.
For the first time since entering the room, a look of discomfort passed Mycroft's face. "Actually, Sheridan demanded that she be allowed to help. Partly as a distraction, and partly because she mistakenly believes that she owes a debt to me."
"A debt!?" John asked.
Mycroft nodded. "If you recall, during our first meeting, she offered to work for the Crown for the rest of her life, in exchange for my help in finding Sherlock. So when she made this demand this morning, after I left you, I tried to reason with her, but she would not be persuaded otherwise. She said, and I quote her on this, that 'she was taught to always keep her promises.' Of course, she managed to get her way. She is extremely stubborn, just like her father."
"I say it is a Holmes family trait!" John observed.
Mycroft did not see fit to answer John's jib. "She left this afternoon, and should return to the flat sometime tomorrow."
"But why didn't you tell her that you were bringing Sherlock home?" John asked. "I'm sure Sheri would want to be there!"
"Because I did not make the decision to discharge Sherlock until after the reporters were found, John! If they were able to get in, then anyone may be able to, as Sherlock's location is now being circulated by the media. And did you not say earlier that it was far easier to secure one flat than it was to secure an entire building?" Mycroft reasoned. "Mummy has been apprised of the change of the situation, and she will be there to speak to Sheridan and explain everything to her before Sheridan learns about it through the unofficial channels."
"So your mother has returned to the safe house?" John asked.
"John!" Mycroft said irritably. "She has never left it! The journey she took to, as I have already warned her, has affected her health again, and thus she has been unable to travel here to see Sherlock!"
John grimaced as he recalled what Ophelia had told him earlier. "Oh. I didn't know..."
"Mummy will be fine, John. There are simply times where her health fails her, and this is one of them. So it will do her good to spend time with Sheridan, just as it will do Sheridan some good to become better acquaintanted with her paternal grandmother."
"Well, why didn't you let me know what was going on?" John asked.
"Because if you knew, then Sherlock would have deduced what I was planning and would have tried to leave the hospital on his own, just to spite me. Which, of course, would have seriously jeopardized his health." Mycroft explained, lapsing back into his pompose persona.
"So this is nothing more than two brothers who keep trying to outwit each other for the sake of seeing who is the smarter of the two? A damned case of sibling rivalry?" John asked, his irritation flaring up again.
"Oh, now really, Doctor! I already know I am the more intelligent Holmes. Anyone suggesting otherwise is sadly misinformed." Mycroft smirked.
"As I recall, it was Sherlock who took down Moriarty! Not you!" John retorted.
Mycroft grinned humorlessly. "Touche, John. But enough of this unpleasantness. Would you care for a ride back to Baker Street so you can be there for Sherlock's arrival?"
John paused, looking down at Sherlock, still sleeping and unaware of everything going on around him. The pain he was experiencing earlier was completely absent, and his face appeared more peaceful than John had ever seen it. "Thank you, but no. If I may, I would prefer to stay with Sherlock. Make sure he gets home ok." John's voice hitched slightly at the word "home."
"Very well. I will inform my team. I'll be in touch, Doctor. Please call me if you need anything." And with that, Mycroft swept out of the room, exiting as quietly as he entered.
Author's Note: Wow! Mycroft is a devious little bastard, isn't he? His answer for everything is to either bribe or intimidate people to get what he wants. And if that doesn't work? Then he forces them to anyway!
Seriously, what is wrong with the Holmes brothers? Forget the petty squabblings of siblings (in which I am very guilty of, having a younger sister growing up). Instead of swipping each other's toys, or bickering like normal siblings do, they go out of their way to try to outwit each other!
Does anyone else here battle their siblings by drugging them, stealing their security card, pay people to spy on them, or blow up their cars? Anyone?
Having said that, I do see Mycroft's point of view (a little bit, anyway). I would hate to watch my younger sister go through pain that she was causing to herself and not do anything to stop it. Even if it meant incurring her wrath later!
Also, I think there is a tiny part of Mycroft that is still a little ticked off at Sherlock because Sherlock didn't communicate that he had faked his death. Even worse, he took out Moriarty's empire with Mycroft's assistance. And I think that Mycroft, being the elder Holmes and having a power complex, feels the need to teach Sherlock a lesson.
Alas, Mycroft! There will be consequences for your actions! Be warned!
In the meantime, I am posting two chapters today, because you guys are great, and I won't leave Sherlock drugged like this! So extra chapter and digital cookies for all!
Disclaimer: I do not own "Sherlock."
And Clarky?
Well...
Let's just say that two people from Tennessee can find interesting ways to amuse themselves when they are bored!
Peaceful Defender-Clarky? What are you doing here? Did Chase make Mycroft angry again or something? I mean, it wasn't that expensive to replace my bumper!
OC Clarky (looking up from his laptop)-Naw! Although I am here as a favor to Lucky's creepy brother! I'm in charge of an experiment!
Peaceful Defender-WHAT?! No! Forget it! No dead bodies on my property!
OC Clarky-Oh, not that type of experiment! But seriously, I miss Lucky! I hope he gets better soon. I want to run an experiment to see what happens to eye balls if you leave them in a microwave!
Peaceful Defender-I think Sherlock already did that one!
OC Clarky-No kidding? Well, I also want to see if the decomposition of flesh is affected if you cover them in food preserves...
Peaceful Defender-Too late! I think Sherlock did that once too! By putting some fingers in a jar of jam!
OC Clarky-Okay...well, what about the melting ratio of hydrocloric acid on a fresh corpse verses one that has been dead for years?
Peaceful Defender (thinking)-I don't think he has done that one yet!
OC Clarky-Great! I'll tell Molly to be on the look-out for the specimens we need!
(a loud crash is heard from another room)
Peaceful Defender-WHAT WAS THAT!?
OC Clarky-That? Oh, that is Moran! I locked him in that room where you have that gun safe hidden. I hope you don't mind!
Peaceful Defender-Mind!? Clarky, you locked a sniper in a room with weapons in it!
OC Clarky-Yep! Remember how he pistol whipped me earlier?
Peaceful Defender-Yeah...so?
OC Clarky-And do you remember how you said you were going to teach him to stop pointing weapons at people?
Peaceful Defender-I forgot! Can you refresh my memory?
OC Clarky (smirking)-You said that you were going to put a collar on him, so that every time he reached for a gun, you would shock him! Well, Lucky's brother thought it was a good idea, so I'm testing it out!
Peaceful Defender-So, you are electrocuting a man every time he reaches for a firearm?
OC Clarky-I prefer to think of it as "positive motivation!"
Peaceful Defender-More like "positively charged motivation!" How long have you had him in there anyway?
OC Clarky (shrugs)-A few hours.
Peaceful Defender-And how many times have you shocked him?
OC Clarky-Only when he reaches for a gun. So, maybe about fifty times! I actually lost count, but I'm keeping him monitored with my laptop here. Oh, there he goes again! (casually reaches for a remote and pushes a button)
(Moran screams and curses in the background).
Peaceful Defender-So you are going to do that for how long, exactly?
OC Clarky-Until he learns that pointing a gun is not an answer for everything. That's all!
Peaceful Defender-But Clarky! You carry guns too!
OC Clarky-I may have guns, but only to protect myself and my friends with them! I don't use them except as a last resort! I don't use them to threaten people with, or to make someone jump off a roof to save someone they care about!
Sebastian Moran (Yelling from back room) TOO BAD YOU CAN'T USE YOUR GUN TO TEACH PEACEFUL DEFENDER TO STOP POSTING POINTLESS COMMENTARIES AND STICK TO THE F****** STORY!
Peaceful Defender (frowns)-Can I borrow that remote? (Clarky wordlessly hands it to her) Thank you! (pushes button).
(Moran screams as he is being shocked again)
Sebastian Moran (yelling from back room)-I DIDN'T TOUCH A GUN THIS TIME!
Peaceful Defender-I know! That was for using foul language! If you keep it up, then I'll shock you again!
OC Clarky-Hey, Moran! New rule! No guns, no cursing, and no insulting Peaceful Defender's story! Only the fan fiction writers are entitled to do that! So they can do that when they review, if they agree with you! And if they think that Peaceful Defender is doing a half-decent job, this being her first story and all, then I will shock you again! HAH!
Peaceful Defender-You know, it is a shame that we, the people living in the southern area of the United States, are constantly marginalized. Personally, I think we are very smart!
OC Clarky-True. Sadistic, yes! But smart as well!