The ambulance doors open and the EMTs let Mycroft and Lestrade exit before they get me out of the ambulance.
"Alright, we're going to move the stretcher and get you out, alright?"
"I'm not child." I'm still seething in anger over being betrayed.
"Okay." The EMT's nod to each other before getting me out of the ambulance.
Stupid Mycroft, how dare he? What gave him the audacity to capture me against me will? I would tell him what I think of him, but that would involve acknowledging his existence, which I'm NOT doing.
"We'll be waiting for you, Sherlock." Lestrade gives me what should be an encouraging smile, but I can see in it is smugness from having fooled me again.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, fool me three times... fool me three times and I'll kick you arse to the curb.
"John will be here soon, he has important matters to attend to." He means more important than you.
"Screw you." My lips draw back in a snarl.
"You're welcome." Mycroft's face shows nothing.
He did this because he hates me. He killed Allan, and now everything is falling apart around me. My world will never be the same. Why couldn't he just let me have my happiness?
I deserve to be happy, and I deserve the man I love... loved... the man I loved.
Screw you Mycroft. Screw. You .
I'm wheeled inside where a doctor walks alongside talking to the EMTs.
"Burned hands, and a drug overdose, we're not sure what he took or how long ago it was."
"Put it in room three." The doctor disappears from my side.
"I'm fine, and it was not an overdose." I cross my arms and pout.
"What did you take?" One of the EMTs asks in a gentle voice. I hate it.
"I'm not a child!" My voice raises in anger. "Leave me alone!"
"Your family called for you to be taken in because you overdosed, we're not the police." The EMT doesn't yell, but his voice is stern. I can't seem to make myself care, though. "We just want to help."
"If you want to help me, than let me go home." My mind is buzzing with observations and deductions of things around me.
There, the EMT who keeps trying to talk to me: Affair. His hand shows a ring mark, it's red and irritated as if a ring were removed recently, and his hand is tanned where the ring should be.
The doctor who was taking to the EMTs: She's working a double shift, her clothes are wrinkled, and her words were slightly slurred, there was a faint smell of coffee on her, and if I'm not mistaken, which I'm never mistaken, there were large bags under her eyes.
There, that nurse: She's Being abused, there are obvious bruises around her neck that are not cleverly covered by-... makeup...
"How does this look?" I asked Allan in a small voice. I just applied makeup so I can go to Scotland yard to be a character witness.
"I wish you didn't have to go." His face was contorted into anger.
"I know, but it's not Lestrade who summoned me, it's a detective Gregory, and I'll be back in an hour." I rested a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him.
"If that a promise?" He relaxed a bit, the anger slowly leaving.
"Yes, it's a promise." I caught his lips in a kiss and relish the feeling it gives me. "How do I look?"
"Wonderful, you can't even tell anything's there." He hugged me and gave me a passionate kiss. "I love you, so, so, much."
"I love you too." Butterflies became present in my stomach and I felt a high greater than any high a drug had ever given me.
"I'm sorry that you got bruised a bit, you just made me so mad... and I had to remind you who's in charge."
"I know, it's alright, I know you were only doing what was best for me."
"That's why I love you, Sherlock." Allan kissed my forehead. "You know the truth..."
"That you're never going to stay in line unless someone keeps you there." The words are barely a whisper as they come from my mouth. Those words Allan said to me not so long ago, those were the last words we were allowed to exchange face to face...
Maybe I'm not alright after all.
Stockholm syndrome, when a victim becomes attached to their capture and/or abuser.
A victim if kept in an abusive environment for a long time can believe that the abuse is their fault, and that they are inherently bad and deserve the pain...
Could I...?
No, absolutely not, there is not way... Allan loved me... he would never...
What is the truth anymore?
"What did you take, son?" An older man comes into room three. He's holding a clipboard and he has a nurse with him. I'm assuming he's a doctor.
"Leave me alone." My voice lacks the bite it had moments ago. My world is being shaken, and I don't know what to believe right now.
"Listen here." The doctor sits on the edge on my bed while the nurse starts an IV. "We're all here to help you, we're not the police, and we're not going to send you to jail."
"Heroin and cocaine mixture." I look away.
"Okay, thank you." He nods. "We're gonna help you, alright?"
I don't answer, I barely acknowledge that he spoke.
Am I alright?
What did I do to end up with Allan angry and hurting me-
Could he have been abusive-
No, he was keeping me in line, he was not abusive.
Stockholm syndrome, victim becoming attached to their capture/abuser...
Allan's words could be read as abusive if they were taken out of context.
I deserved that though, I'm fine. He was doing that for me, to keep me in line, it's all my fault that I'm in this situation. It's okay.
It's not okay, and I'm not okay.
No, I'm fine.
No... I'm not.
Yes, I am... I'm fine, I don't deserve to be anything less than fine, so I don't have the right to be anything less than fine.
I don't know what scares me more, the thought of admitting to myself that I'm not okay, or the thought of admitting that there is a possibility that not all of this is all my fault.