Chapter Sixteen- 2003 Cold Turkey Cases Part Eight
Greg would remember that night for the rest of his life. He'd seen the inside of too many hospitals in his time- taking statements from victims, keeping an eye on wounded suspects, checking up on the injuries to his team members, even being treated himself. It came with the job, and Greg Lestrade was a professional. Homicides that aren't successful usually end up with someone in a hospital bed; the alternative is the morgue, and that is also usually found in a hospital. So, in his book, hospitals weren't always bad news; in fact, if they didn't involve a morgue, often they were good news.
But, his friends and family were remarkably healthy, so he was rarely in a hospital as a visitor in a private capacity. While he paced the waiting area of St Thomas's Emergency Department, he realised that's what he was. While Sherlock no doubt wanted to think of their relationship as 'professional', Greg had come to realise that he cared on a personal level for the fate of the young man.
Their paths had crossed often enough for Lestrade to realise that Mycroft's accusations were baseless. Yes, Sherlock's special gifts had helped Greg significantly in his career. But, at some point along the way of watching Sherlock work this past weekend, Greg realised that he cared about the young man himself, and did want to help him survive the maelstrom of what that amazing brain could do. As a detective, Greg Lestrade depended on his ability to put facts together with conjecture, to develop potential leads into prosecutable evidence. But like a run-of-the-mill artist who had suddenly been confronted by a Leonardo da Vinci, he was thunderstruck by the sheer artistry of Sherlock's forensic insight. The past weekend, he had watched a genius at work, and he would never, ever, forget it.
Somehow, over the weekend Sherlock had become important to Greg. In part, because he'd seen how Sherlock's work on cases meant he was able to unleash his skills in a way that did social good (he could hear Sherlock's reply in his head- "boring"). Although Sherlock would probably struggle to understand that, Greg knew that it just might be the young man's salvation. Having watched his nephew Sam struggle to find anything resembling respect from the people around him, Greg saw something wonderful in what Sherlock was able to do. He wasn't sure other people would get it; clearly his brother did not appreciate it. Sherlock's talent was unique, and it was awesome. And right now all that brilliance had turned self-destructive. That made him very, very angry.
He was trying to understand why that mattered as much as it did to him. He sat in one of those horrible plastic hospital seats. His elbows were on his knees, and he was looking down at the tiled floor, thinking this through, when he heard the sound of someone striding down the hall toward him. Not medical personnel; they don't wear leather soled shoes.
Greg looked up at the sound of Mycroft Holmes. The elder Holmes' face was set, his jaw tense, and his eyes seemed to go even colder when he caught sight of the DI.
He stopped in front of Greg, who decided not to get up; he wasn't going to be intimidated by Mycroft's looming figure. He calmly waited.
"This is what I meant, Detective Inspector. Exactly what I meant. Being involved in your little…cases," the word was delivered with every possible sneer he could muster, "…is not sensible, given how susceptible my brother is to drug abuse. I warned you to stay away from Sherlock, and to ensure he was not involved in any police work. You have chosen to ignore that, and now my brother may not survive an overdose. There will be consequences."
Greg was gobsmacked. Mycroft was clearly blaming him for what had happened.
That made him angry enough to propel him to his feet. Now inside Mycroft's physical space, he just said coldly, "If he survives, it will be because I understood what he was intending and I found him in time. With all your surveillance, where were you when he really needed you? I figured out where he was, and got there while he was still alive. If it weren't for me, Sherlock would now be dead. Ask the medical staff here, if you don't believe me. If you don't believe them, take a look at this." He reached into his jacket pocket, and withdrew Sherlock's letter. He pulled off the yellow sticky with the solicitor's phone number on it, and handed the letter to Mycroft, who stepped away and scanned its lines.
"My brother is trying to protect you- how …quaint. If he does not survive, I will take appropriate action, Detective Inspector, no matter what this letter says." He handed it back to the DI.
Greg bristled at the tone of voice. "Then you will push me to find out about this file that your brother thinks is enough to stop you." He paused for a moment, trying to stop his anger taking hold. "But, you know, for his sake, right now, I think it would be best if we could both be on his side. If he survives. And you might want to stop and think about something. While you may believe that the murder cases were trivial, they weren't to him. He delayed taking action so he could finish his investigation into the latest one. I hoped it would keep him busy enough to give me a chance to catch up with him, to talk him out of anything stupid, to tell him that whatever argument he has with you, it isn't a reason to kill himself. If he survives, then it is up to you to realise what might keep him alive longer term. I have no doubt that his sanity will depend on you being willing to think past your prejudices. You need to realise that solving cases is what he lives for."
Mycroft frowned. "You'd better hope he lives, Detective Inspector. If he doesn't, then there is no force on earth that will protect you." With that, he turned away and carried on to the nursing station. He said a few words and one scurried off, perhaps looking for a doctor.
oOo
Greg went back down the corridor to the Emergency Department's admission desk where he made use of his police credentials to get the nurse to make a copy of the case notes that Sherlock had enclosed with his letter. "Make sure he gets a copy of this," he told the nurse to whom Mycroft had spoken. Greg had few illusions. If Mycroft Holmes decided to go for him, then it was highly unlikely his career would ever be the same, even if he managed to stay within the force. He wondered whether Mycroft Holmes would even bother to read the detailed note, but he still felt obliged to show it to him, if only to demonstrate just how good Sherlock was at solving crimes.
He asked at the desk whether any news had come through on Sherlock's condition.
"I'm only supposed to release that information to family members, sir."
He flashed his warrant card at her. "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade, and that young man is instrumental in a murder investigation, so, sorry- but you will have to answer my questions. If you don't know how he is, then find me a doctor who does. I've been here over an hour, and my patience is wearing thin."
She gave him an annoyed look. "What is with you lot? His brother acts like he's God's gift to mankind, and now you're pulling rank on me. I'll get Doctor Suresh to come speak to you as soon as he can."
That turned out to be almost a half hour later. A shockingly young looking doctor came down the corridor and stopped in front of Greg. They say you know you're getting old when doctors look like they are still in school. He tuned into what this one was saying. "You're the policeman who brought him in, aren't you? Well, thanks to you, he made it out of the resus room. Cocaine overdose is difficult to diagnose unless someone knows they were trying to take their own life. According to the ambulance crew who brought him in, you said he'd had two hits of cocaine already, and we found a third syringe in his coat pocket."
Greg looked confused. "Three? Why not just one massive dose in one syringe?"
The doctor shook his head. "It's called 'piggy backing'. You take the first hit to enjoy yourself and loosen inhibitions, then before you come down you take the second, and just before that starts to tail off, you take the third. The cumulative effect is certain to lead to a massive MI or cerebral haemorrhage. So, you must have interrupted him before he could take the third dose. Were you also responsible for getting his clothing wet?"
"Yeah- the despatcher said to cool him down. I used a bottle of cold water and ice."
The Junior Doctor smiled. "Then, you should be pleased, because that is probably what saved his life. Cocaine overdoses don't present like opiate ODs; cause of death is usually a stroke or massive heart attack due to an inability to shed heat. We got him into an ice bath to bring his temperature down and dosed him with diazepam to sedate him. That slowed things up enough for us to get his heart rhythm back to normal. He'll pull through."
Greg let his smile loose. "Good, that's very good."
Dr Suresh smiled, too, if a little more hesitantly.
Greg carried on, "Just tell his brother, will you, that if I hadn't brought him in on time, and done the right thing, he might not have made it. Can you do that for me?"
"Already have. Of course, the patient still has to get through withdrawal, and Rehab. Maybe, if he can get clean, this won't happen a third time."
"A THIRD time!? You mean he's done this before?"
"Yes, according to Mr Holmes, this is the second attempt. Last time was three years ago. The patient had been out of rehab for a couple of months. Seems a pattern. I hope therapy can get to the bottom of it. I'm sorry to say that it is a fact that adult autistics have a higher rate of drug addiction and suicide than the normal population. It's a shame, it really is….well, I must get back, so unless there is anything else, Detective Inspector?"
"Can I see him, please? I need to speak with him."
Dr Suresh just shook his head. "That's not going to happen. His brother intends moving him to a private clinic, just as soon as we extubate him, but he will still be unconscious. If you want to see him, you'll need to arrange it with Mr Holmes. Now, I must really get back to him."
He knew better than to even try to ask Mycroft. He left the hospital feeling relieved that Sherlock was alive. But Greg was deeply worried, too, about a young man whom he now realised he thought of as a friend.
