Thank you for all the sweet comments! I love you guys!
The emergency medicine/ trauma junkie girl in me really enjoyed reading up on gastric lavage (stomach pumping.) :/ :) #I'mnotcrazyyouare #traumaqueen #someday
Lissie opened her eyes and blinked. She had woken up in a hospital bed, for the second time in as many months. I've got to stop doing this, she thought wryly. Well, at least she knew where she was this time, there's a plus.
A wave of nausea rushed at her- no doubt from the poison, and she was sick in a little tub that was a horrid shade of pink. Where was everyone?
A smiling nurse came in. Her nametag read Nan. "That's good, love, just get all that yucky poison taste out," she said, not at all disconcerted.
"Sorry," Lissie said weakly.
"Oh, please, love, I'm a nurse. It takes more than that to gross me out."
She adjusted the stiff hospital sheets. "You don't feel like you're going to be sick anymore?"
"No."
"Good. The paramedics had to pump your stomach, you know. You've had a day to rest, you ought to be able to- there we go."
She leaned the bed up so Lissie was sitting up. Then she began cleaning a dressing on Lissie's good arm - wait.
"My cast is off," she realized, wiggling her fingers.
"Yes, it made things easier for us as we couldn't IV this scratched up arm. Pumping your stomach apparently took some time, an hour. Most if it in the helicopter, some on a gurney."
"How close was I to- dying?"
Nan made a little face. "As a minor, we've told your father, he'll..."
"He won't tell me."
"You nearly flatlined in the helicopter. I mean," she drew an imaginary EKG in the air, straight with one tiny peak, " that close."
Lissie widened her eyes. What would Sherlock have done if she died? Her thoughts were interrupted.
"You can come in," Nan yelled, as a knocking sounded. Sherlock poked his head in, as if unsure of whether to come all the way through.
They were silent, neither looking at the other.
Nan bustled out. Sherlock closed the door behind her. He looked very grave.
"Did something happen?"Lissie worried.
"Social Services had their 'look in'."
"On me? Us? What did they say?"
"This is the second time you've been hurt - hospitalized, even, under my care in six months."
"Surely they know it wasn't really your fault. I mean, I was kidnapped the first time."
"They said I shouldn't have left you alone in a strange city. Also, besides these incidents, I deal with criminals on a regular basis, have clients dropping by my home at odds hours and ... a possible drug history."
"WHAT?"
"Forget that last bit." He sank into a brooding silence once more.
Lissie thought about it all. "You want to keep me, though? Become my guardian?"
He nodded, a little smirk, not unkind, on his lips.
"Anyone can create an illusion, however. I've filled the fridge with what appears to be nutritious items and removed a few of the experiments from the kitchen table."
She gaped at him, impressed but doubtful. He sighed, looking sideways at her. "Fine. Ms. Hudson stocked the fridge (although I asked her to) and John threatened to throw away my experiments unless they were rehomed."
"Could Mycroft , uh, Uncle Mycroft put in a good word for us? You said he had power. I mean, he went to Balmoral for a holiday, once."
"A. We don't get along , and B. I don't beg."
Too tired to ask anymore questions, she blinked.
Sherlock sat down on the floor, crossing his legs criss cross. "It's complicated. He is, believe it or not, an incredibly soft person. The only reason he's around so much currently is you. Our relationship is somewhat strained, as he is an infuriating tattletale to Mummy and Daddy, and doesn't approve of my career and actions."
She had to laugh, a weak version of her former joyful chortle. "Mummy? Daddy?"
"We're supposed to call them that. I think Mummy read somewhere it increased togetherness."
"O-okay. So I have grandparents! Can-"
He closed his eyes. "Let's focus on the issue at hand, please. And for the record, my filial relationships are about as stained as that of yours and the Raymonds before they died."
"How did you kn-" she began. Then, hastily, "Grandmother was very kind."
"But she still lied?"
"Yeah," Lissie admitted.
They were silent again. Lissie keenly felt every odd, quiet interlude, and she wished there was a way to make things smoother.
Worry tugged at her like physical pain. Who would she live with if not Sherlock?
She rmembered a line from a book called Summer of the Swans, and she quoted out loud without meaning to.
"Sometimes you don't know what you love until you almost lose it."
Sherlock tapped his fingers. He was thinking of how pale Lissie still looked, and remembering the dead-white face on that bed at Moriarty' s.
Until you almost lose it... shut up, mind palace people!
He looked over at her and, to his utmost horror, saw that tears were silently streaming down her cheeks.
He hated scenes. Unless they were crime scenes.
"Lissie, I won't let you be sent away."
He saw in her eyes she wanted to believe him.
"I promise," he said.
She stuck out her pinky, trying to smile. He stared.
"Hook your pinky to mine, silly. Here- there! Now we have a promise."
He patted her arm casually and stood to go. "See you in a few hours. Need anything?"
"I'm good, thanks."
She turned her face as he left, trying to hold in the sobs. Finally, she had found her father, and now she was losing him. No, he was not perfect. But they were a family, broken yet stronger for the storm.
She was asleep when Sherlock slid in two hours later. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair out of her face, callused fingers gentle. There were tear tracks on her face.
It was so strange to think that this fragile, beautiful human was his daughter, and that he was responsible for her.
He wished - oh, he wished lots of things. He wished he were a better communicator, and that Lissie was fully well, and that he knew how to raise a daughter.
He watched her chest rise and fall, and IV fluid drip slowly.
Her eyes fluttered, and she awoke. "Sherlock."
"Good afternoon."
She looked so forlorn lying there, and he summoned up his courage. It was one thing to pursue a murderer head-on, another to talk.
He let it come out in a rush, his true feelings, no hesitation or stuttering, just his clipped accent.
"Lissie, when you almost died, I realized how much I would be missing. I'm awkward and sarcastic and forget everything for a case. I know I don't always say what I feel, but I love you."
She opened her mouth, but he rushed on.
"You - are the best thing that's ever happened to me. When I thought you were dead, I just started praying. I do think it was answered. This is a new project or experiment of sorts, and I'm not in the habit of letting projects go easily. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you."
He stopped then, embarrassed.
"Oh, Sherlock," she said chokingly. He never knew what to do in social situations but this time he did - he hugged her tight to him, feeling her heartbeat.
"You're the best thing that's happened to me", she whispered.