Chapter 11: His living will
The next morning brought nothing new to John Watson. He was sleeping once again on Sherlock's sheet, the only way to get some kind of 'good' sleep. When he finally awoke, a familiar face stood on the other side of the bed. "Hey there, good morning. Hope I didn't wake you," Doctor Strange said quiet, while checking on the detective. "No, you didn't. Good morning to you, too," John replied, rubbing his eyes. "I was informed your friend here has developed pneumonia?" Strange asked alarmed. "Sadly yes," the blogger sighed. Steven seated himself. "We need to talk about a few things." The blogger looked at the surgeon, who was not making a happy face. "Sure. What is it?" "As you already expected, your friend has a bacterial pneumonia. We don't need to discuss, whether this is your fault or not. More important to me is, that we figure out, how our next steps are." John nodded. "Good. What I can tell you, is nothing new to you. The injuries are healing better than I expected. Most of the time his vitals are stable. Sometimes his heart gets a little irritated, but in total I can say, that I am very happy with his progress. As you may have recognized already, we have a little output today from his kidneys, so we are now hoping for improvement there, too." "That sounds not too bad to me," John smiled weakly. He knew something was not right. Steven folded his hands. "As I say, he is on the one side improving, on the other side we have a very bad case of bacterial pneumonia. His lungs are compromised and we're doing everything to improve his oxygenation. He has developed a fever. At the moment I don't think 39°C is dangerous, but you and I know, he is already weakened by the number of injuries he has sustained. Let's hope he can cope with this new situation." Strange looked at Watson, who was just sitting there, playing with his thump. "There is one more thing to discuss, I'm afraid." The blogger stopped. "Yes?" Strange looked at him. "As you are now in charge of Mr. Holmes care, we need to talk about his living will." "What? No. Wait. No chance I am the one to decide what happens with him, when something goes wrong," John replied shocked. "I'm sorry. I was told by Mycroft Holmes, that you are responsible for him now." Watson stood up, walking around nervously. "I can't do that. I really can't." Doctor Strange saw how upset the blogger now was and tried to encourage him. "John, we are both doctors. We know how to make decisions, which aren't always easy. But therefore, we are doctors. We know best, when it's time to stop. Your friend here is still clinging to life, so let's focus on that. Nevertheless, we have to face the complications, which can occur, so let's talk this scenario through like doctors." John was looking out of the window now. The sun was rising. What a beautiful day. "I've known Sherlock for over five years now. We had some dangerous cases, we got hurt a few times, but never talked about living wills. I thought I know him, but maybe I missed the basics of his life." Another sigh, then the blogger continued. "I never wanted to be his living will. I wanted to be his friend. You need to know, what to do when he crashes and I have to decide it right now? I really don't know what to say. I just can guess what he wants and I would suggest, he wants to live. He likes his life: the adrenaline rushing through his veins with every new case, shooting walls just because he's bored or doing some absurd experiments in the kitchen. It's all typically Sherlock." The blogger swallowed. "I would miss him very much." Steven smiled. "Of course you would miss him. He's a good person." "How can you know?" John looked at him puzzled. "The way you are talking about him tells me everything I need to know." The younger doctor prepared himself to leave the room. "Have to go now. There are a few more patients I have to visit."
The old doctor stayed at the window. Outside the street filled with people. He thought of the birds, which would already be singing their sweet melodies. And he was thinking of Sheila, he couldn't help it. The door opened a second time, but he didn't turn round. "How is he doing?" It was Lestrade. Happy, Watson greeted him. "It's so good to see a familiar face." They both hugged, comforting each other. "As for your question: No big improvement yet. By the way I was right: Shouldn't work on him without sterile instruments," John blamed himself. "O no. Don't tell me he has…" "Pneumonia. Yes, indeed he has and it's nothing I'm proud of." The inspector tried to comfort the blogger. "Don't blame yourself mate. You did the right thing." "I am not sure about that anymore," John admitted. Lestrade saw the sad look on John's face. "Come on. Let's get a coffee for you. I can't bare those sad eyes." The inspector turned to the motionless figure in the bed. "I'm sure you can give us ten minutes alone, can't you?"
On their way to the cafeteria, they nearly bumped into the owner of the hospital: Culverton Smith. Lestrade flinched unintentionally by the sight of the man. John could feel it. The owner of the hospital just passed them, but when John and his eyes met, you could feel the negative energy between the two. As the inspector and the doctor walked on, Lestrade asked. "What's the matter with you and Smith?" "We had kind of a meeting in the toilet. And what's your problem with him?" "Nothing special. There are some people in the world I just hate by their look," Lestrade responded. "You sound like a little misanthropist," Watson stated. Lestrade looked at him shocked. "What? No! Of course, I'm not. It's just: there are people, I don't want to put on my friends list." Both men sat down at a table in the cafeteria, staring blankly at their coffees. "So? Any news on our private eye?" Lestrade asked. "It's consulting detective, you know that Greg," John grinned. Greg was always the one, who could pull you out of a misery. "I am aware of that, so tell me: Has something changed?" The doctor looked up from his coffee. "Well, his kidneys starting to improve, his injuries are healing better than expected and he is holding his own. On the other side we are now dealing with a bacterial pneumonia, thanks to me, and I was told today that I am the person who is advised to decide, what treatment Sherlock gets. It's also my decision when to end or prolong his life." Greg's smile faded. "I'm sorry to hear that. Such decisions never are easy." The doctor sighed. "No, they are not. Sometimes I hate being a doctor. You are supposed to save lives. At the moment I feel like I failed everyone around me." "No, you didn't! I really hope Sherlock will be able to tell you by himself." Greg was not smiling. He didn't like where this conversation was going. And then there was the other problem, which was still nagging at his mind: Culverton Smith. How would he be able to protect John Watson? If he failed, it would break the detective and that was the last thing, the inspector wanted to happen…