Chapter 13: Welcome back

Nearly two weeks had passed and Sherlock was getting better from day to day. Doctor Strange and also Doctor Morgan were very satisfied with his progress. "His latest results look very good. What do you think Simon?" Strange wanted to know. The other doctor looked at the chart and nodded in agreement. "This really looks quite good. The pneumonia is still present, but so mildly, it would not affect him in any way." "The wounds also heal very nicely and, thank god, we could safe his kidneys," Strange smiled. Simon patted his shoulder. "You did an excellent job here, you know that, don't you?" Simon nodded. "If it wasn't for my good team, this would have been a different story. So, thank you, too." The doctors were sitting in the doctors' lounge, discussing the further treatment, when Culverton Smith joined them. "Hello there, discussing a new case?" he asked interested. "No Mr. Smith. It's Sherlock Holmes. We are discussing the new treatment," Doctor Strange informed. A smile appeared on Smith's face and Steven didn't know why, but all of a sudden, he got goose bumps. "It makes me happy to hear that our famous patient is getting better. Let's hope he will make a full recovery," the owner said, leaving the lounge. "What was that about?" Simon Morgan asked stunned. "I don't know. But I have a very strange feeling right now," Steven admitted to his colleague. "So, tell me about your treatment plans," Simon urged.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Culverton Smith was dancing up and down his office, after he had heard about the detective. "O this is my lucky day. He will finally wake up and then I will get my trophy." He took both files, stroking over the pictures of the two men. "I can't wait for you two, gentlemen." And he started to laugh. This time it could be heard outside the office…

Lestrade and Watson had spent every day at Sherlock's side. They were both tired, the last week very overwhelming. Sherlock had crushed twice, while fighting against his pneumonia. It was hard to take in the sight of the thin detective, his chest pushed by a doctor with full force. A rib had cracked and both men flinched at the sound of it. It left a traumatized Greg Lestrade. Now, nearly two weeks later, the detective finally decided to put on the fight. He improved all of a sudden, gaining weight and stabilizing even further. It was a rainy day in London and when Steven Strange entered the room at 2 PM, he found two men, leaning against each other, snoring. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but the inspector was instantly awake, when he heard the closing door. Since Lestrade knew, that John Watson was in danger, he was even more careful and aware of his surroundings. "Hi, sorry I woke you," Doctor Strange apologized. "Nothing to be sorry for. I never sleep deep, so it wasn't your fault," Lestrade assured him. "Your friend is exhausted to the core. I feel sorry for him," Strange whispered. Greg sighed. "It wasn't easy for all of us." In the chair, John began to stir. "What time is it?" "Almost 2 PM. Thought you wanted to sleep the whole day," Greg grinned. "Wasn't my plan," the blogger whined. "So, what's up? What did I miss?" he rubbed his head and stood up. "I came here to talk about your friend here. I think it's time for him to wake up. What do you think?" Doctor Strange asked the stunned blogger. John seemed surprised "I…I'm not sure. You're sure he is ready?" "Absolutely. 100 percent," Steven answered. And for the first time, Doctor John Watson was brightly smiling. "It would be great to have him back." No one noticed the relieved face of inspector Lestrade. He did it. He protected John Watson…

After the narcotics were stopped, Doctor Strange left, telling the two men to call him, when the detective was coming round. Lestrade and Watson waited long cruel hours, before the detective finally started to move his fingers. John was at his bedside, forming circles on the back of his friend's hand. "Hey Sherlock. If you can hear me, just open your eyes please." Nothing happened. "Listen, I know you can hear me. Please come back to us. We were all worried about you," he tried again. Slowly, two blue eyes opened, staring blankly at the wall above him. John never felt so relieved and happy at the same time. He smiled warmly at the detective. "Welcome back. Took you long enough."

John pressed the call button and tried to soothe Sherlock, who was now beginning to fight the tube, which was still in his airway. "It's okay. Just stay calm. I'm sure the doctor will be here any minute." Two minutes later Doctor Strange was at the detective's side, giving him a brief update what was to come and then finally removed the breathing tube. Sherlock coughed and tried to get himself comfortable, but failed. Steven reacted quick, pressing an oxygen mask on his patient's face. The detective relaxed, took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. He was still too tired from the ordeal. He also now could feel different kinds of pain cursing through his body. It was manageable, but not comfortable. Strange looked at the monitors, very satisfied this time. "Well then. I guess he will be sleeping until morning. Page me, if something changes. Otherwise, I wish you a good night gentlemen." After the doctor had left, Lestrade thought it was best to leave the two friends alone. He was sure the two would need to talk in private. Now, that Sherlock was awake, he had fulfilled his part. "Of course, you can go home Greg. I will call you if something dramatically changes." The doctor gave him a warm smile. "Thanks for staying with me the whole time" "That's what friends are for," Lestrade said and left. Two weeks had passed, since he last heard the voice of his friend. He still could hear the desperate 'I'm sorry' when the detective was nearly dying. It haunted him. To be honest: He felt responsible for everything that happened since Mary died. Yes, he blamed him. He blamed him for all that had happened, hurting his friend so much, that Sherlock decided it would be better to die than to live. John knew they would need a lot of time to recover, what was left of their once so strong friendship. He looked at Sherlock, whose face was still bruised and pale. All of a sudden John wasn't able to bear the sight of the detective anymore. A panic attack was starting to rise and he gasped for air. "Need to get out," he thought and left the room. Outside he leaned himself at the wall, heavy panting. The blogger tried to catch his breath, but he failed. He could feel himself hyperventilating and his head started to feel dizzy. Just before he went out cold, to his luck, Doctor Strange turned the corner. He ran to Watson, who was now sliding to the ground. "John? What is it? What's wrong?" he asked alarmed. "Panic attack," the gasping doctor replied. "Come on. I will help you. Let's move to the doctor's lounge. Just take long, deep breaths for me, okay?" John nodded and tried his best to cooperate. Finally, they made it to the sofa. While John tried to regain his breath, Steven came back with a little syringe. "Don't be scared. It's just helping you calm down. You can trust me." Ten minutes later, the doctor felt much better. Steven Strange paced around. Thankfully they were alone in the big room. "So, you want to tell me what's wrong with you? You had a panic attack, so something must bother you very deep," the younger doctor asked. "It's nothing," Watson shrugged. "Yeah, I saw it," Strange hissed. Both men sat in silence, when the older doctor started to talk. "It's not easy to talk about it." "Take your time," Strange encouraged him. "I have lost my wife two months ago." "What happened?" Steven asked compassionate. John gulped. "She…She took a bullet." "How did that happen?" Strange asked shocked. "My friend couldn't stop analysing, that's what happened," John screamed angry. "The bullet was meant for him, but she decided to get in the way. She saved his life." Steven rubbed his beard. "You really think he is to blame, do you?" "Yes, I did and still do. That is why he ended up here. That is all my fault." The younger doctor just stared at John for a few seconds, then took a seat. "My wife died a year ago." John's eyes widened. "What did you just say?" "It's true. Her name was Rachel. We had known each other since college," Strange told sadly. The blogger couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What happened?" Strange took a deep breath. It was hard for him to talk about the day his wife died. "My wife and I were working in the ER that day. We had a lot of patients this afternoon. Such situation we call 'rush hour'. We had a very injured person. A young woman with a piece of wood in her chest. She was bleeding out. The wood stick hat gone right through her heart. Rachel and I were working on the patient, deciding to transport the woman directly to the ER without much treatment. We were really running out of time. So, when we entered the OR, the heart lung machine was already prepared and all we had to do was open the woman up, inserting the potassium to stop her heart and try to repair the damage." Strange looked up. Tears rolling down his cheeks. "What went wrong?" John asked quiet. "Well, I would say we were just unlucky. My wife stumbled and felt directly in the syringe with potassium, which the nurse wanted to give me right in the exact same moment. Rachel went down, my friend Simon tried to revive her, but her heart started to refuse beating again." "I don't understand. There are medications to block the potassium. Why didn't she respond to the treatment?" The blogger wanted to know. Strange looked at the ceiling. "Well, later I found out, Rachel had an aortic aneurysm. The autopsy told me, that she died because of the fall, not of the potassium. Before I found out the real cause of death, I blamed the nurse, making her the bad guy. I still feel sorry for my behaviour." The younger doctor wiped away his tears. "What happened to the nurse?" John wanted to know. "She quit her job and tried to commit suicide a week later. We could save her, but it was a long recovery. She and I had a lot of talking to do. It was not easy for both of us. But in the end, we were able to forgive each other," Steven finished. "I am not sure, if I can forgive him for what he did," John replied. "Here's my question: What did he do? He did his job. He's a consulting detective. He needs to think, that's what he does. Thinking and analysing. So why blame him for what he is? Your wife decided to give her life for your friend. So, it was her will. Don't know why she did it, but she did it, because she wanted to." Strange tried to convince the older doctor. John was speechless. There was nothing more to say. Steven was right. "Just go home my friend. Get a good night sleep and come back tomorrow morning. I will keep an eye on your friend meanwhile," the head surgeon offered.