Drowning. God, did I hate drowning. Sure, you're fine for the few moments you have air, but then your lungs start to burn, begging for oxygen, and you have no choice but to gasp for air, only for water to fill your lungs instead. Then the burning gets worse, your body aches as it realizes it still can't take in the air it needs, and then you grow heavy. Your entire being feels weighted down and your vision starts to turn black around the edges and your final thoughts go through your head in that last moment. I won't see my brothers again... They won't know how this happened... Sherlock will hate me because I won't be there to tell him the truth... Bobbie will be crushed, might even blame himself... I never got to do anything with my life... I'm scared... I-I'm scared... I don't want to die... Please, someone... Please help me...
And then he appeared. Like a devil crawling from the pit, he pulled me out only to point a gun at me and smirk that sickeningly sweet grin.
"Tell me what you know, Sammy. Tell me and it'll all be over."
No... I can't... I won't sell him out... Please, someone help me... Sherlock... Water choked my airways as it returned, filling me up as I choked and gagged on the never ending torrent of water, my entire body begging me to do something, for someone to save me. But I suddenly realized no one would. And that was my last thought before my eyes snapped open with a gasp.
Where... I took in starving gasps of air as a heart monitor beeped wildly on my left and I mentally panicked as I sat up and struggled to find something familiar. I felt myself choking again, airways becoming smaller and eyes tearing up as I clutched at my throat, trying and failing to take in the much needed air that was around me. I didn't notice the door opening or someone rushing in until they placed a hand on my back and spoke; their deep timbre voice cutting through the fog in my head like a knife.
"Breathe."
I sucked in a large lungful of air and slowly managed to get my breathing back down to a decent pace, feeling completely exhausted after my panic attack as I was lightly pushed back down onto the bed. I couldn't see clearly and already I was beginning to slip back into unconsciousness as the tall dark figure started speaking with someone else in the room. They started to pull away, but I immediately didn't want them to and felt my hand grab onto their sleeve before I knew what I was doing. They paused, turning towards me slightly before letting out a sigh as I lost myself to the world once more.
The second time I awoke, I was much calmer and simply blinked open my eyes and looked around the hospital room wearily. I struggled to remember what had happened for me to end up here, and decided to push the thought aside for later upon feeling my throat tighten slightly at the attempt. I cleared my throat and sat up slightly, adjusting the bed accordingly to help my aching shoulder and ringing up the nurse. My throat was extremely sore. An older woman wandered in and I spoke with a croaky voice and a small grimace of a smile.
"Could I p-possibly get some..." I had to clear my throat again. "...water? I seem to be having s-some... difficulty—"
I was cut off as I began coughing and the woman hurried over and rubbed my back until I stopped.
"I will get you your water, but I suggest you keep from talking for a while. The breathing tube was only pulled out a few days ago and your throat was already raw from—"
"B-Breathing tube?!" I exclaimed and once again began coughing, to which the woman lightly smacked my leg.
"What did I just say?" She scolded, not bothering to assist me again as she headed for the door. "Honestly, kids these days. They never listen."
"I-I'm twenty-one." I muttered, but she was already through the door and I was once again left on my own.
Looking around, I expected some sort of evidence that someone had been here, but there wasn't even a 'Get Well Soon' card on the small table next to me. As if I didn't feel alone enough. I mentally lamented, before suddenly furrowing my brows trying to figure out why those words hurt more than they usually did. I'm usually alright with being a bit lonely. So... why does it feel different this time? Like I'm missing something. Something important. I rubbed my temples as a small headache formed and didn't bother lifting my head as the door opened once more.
"Nurse, could you tell me what h-happened? I can't seem to—"
"I'm not, nor will ever be your... nurse, Sam." A deep voice rang out.
One that I instantly recognized that made my head snap up and my eyes widen as I took in Sherlock and John's figures in front of the door to my hospital room. Immediately, I remembered what happened as quick flashes flickered through my head. Fighting with Bobbie, the explosion, Moriarty, the torture, the mistake, the lies, the pool, the bomb, the guns, and then water. So much water. My throat immediately closed up and I struggled to breathe once more as John hurried over and placed a hand on my back, scolding Sherlock.
"Sherlock! We can't be stressing her out right now! She's still recovering!" He then spoke quietly to me as I reached a hand up to my throat in a panic. "Sam. Sam, you need to calm down. Deep breaths. In, out. In, out."
I followed his instructions and soon calmed down, just as the nurse came back in and frowned at my state; pale skinned, shaking slightly, and obviously just getting over yet another panic attack.
"You two!" She scolded as well. "No stressing out the patients or I will kick you out."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please, my brother practically owns this hospital. You can't kick me out."
She gave him a very stern look. "Watch me, sonny."
Sherlock turned to her in surprise, blinking in shock that she would say that after what he'd just said, but John didn't notice as he profusely apologized to the woman, who passed me the cup of water she'd gotten me.
"I'm really sorry. We don't even know what triggered it, honest."
"So long as it doesn't happen again." The nurse said, but already, the heart monitor was speeding up; my eyes locked on the water in the cup I'd been handed.
"Sam? Sam, what is it?" John asked, but I couldn't speak; my hand just shaking as the cup splashed out water onto me and the blankets.
Surprisingly, Sherlock came over and snatched the cup out of my hands and placed it on a table out of my sight as I tried once more to control my breathing.
"It's the water." He said, speaking to John and the nurse. "It has apparently become an extreme phobia of hers and is causing her to panic and possibly relive her experience at the pool. Get her juice."
The nurse nodded and hurried off to do so as I brought a hand to my head shakily.
"S-Sorry. I'm sorry."
"It's alright, Sam." John comforted me. "Really. There's nothing to apologize for."
"Except lying, getting kidnapped, withholding important information from us, and conspiring with a criminal." Sherlock rattled off and I immediately snapped my head up.
"No! I-I wasn't working with him! Honest!"
There was a sharp pain in my shoulder and I immediately cringed, bringing an arm to it as John scolded Sherlock once more.
"Sherlock! What did I say?!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes as the nurse from before came in and handed me some apple juice in a small paper cup, which I gratefully took as she looked between John and Sherlock with a frown.
"Now, I'm going to go tend to my other patients and I better not hear her EKG go off like that again, understand?"
Sherlock let out a huff as John nodded and the nurse left, leaving me with them as I attempted to explain and keep myself calm.
"I-I'm not working with him. He kidnapped me, tortured me, shot me." I shivered, forcing myself to take deep breaths and not focus on the memory of what had happened.
"Because you didn't do your job correctly."
"That's not true!" I said loudly. "How can you believe him over me?! Criminals lie!"
"So you admit you're a criminal." He said smugly and I furrowed my brows in confusion before my addled brain saw what he did and I shook my head, before gripping it with my hands.
"No. No! Stop twisting my words around! It's not like that!"
"Sherlock, just give her a chance!" John said angrily, but Sherlock wasn't backing down.
Not this time.
"This is her chance, John. Because if she doesn't explain this, then she's going to prison."
John went quiet at that and I looked at him, hoping that at least he'd believe me, but he looked away; making my heart ache at the realization that Moriarty was right. They wouldn't believe me over him. I'm just a kid. A brat they hardly knew who was keeping secrets. All of the evidence was pointing at me working with him and even if it wasn't true, they'd follow the evidence like they should. There weren't many choices for me at that point. I couldn't lie, not to Sherlock. I could stay silent, keep my foreknowledge to myself. If I did that though, I'd go to prison. My life would be ruined. I could die, which—with Moriarty's connections—is probably what would happen. But Sherlock and John would be safe. Everything would go on as it should, but I'd be forgotten. I'd be despised by my biggest hero and would die in disgrace.
The other option was to tell them. Give up the secret, put them in danger. They might question me about future events. Sherlock might start looking to me for answers or would take note on the little ticks I have, thus giving him hints on when something was going to happen. He could hear things from me that I could have figured out myself, but not believe that it was actually me. He could think everything I said was something I'd seen on the show. I wouldn't be able to impress him with my own knowledge, because to him, it'd all be scripted. Not only that, but then they'd be in danger. The plot could change if I let something slip. They could get tortured by Moriarty for answers. But I'd be alive. I might still be able to work with them on cases even. And most of all, I'd have a chance at regaining that trust with them. They might believe me the next time something like this happens. But there was also the chance that they'd blame me for bad events. Things I could've stopped, people I could've saved. Soo Lin Yao still haunted me, but they didn't know that. And how many more lives would be placed on my head if they knew?
That was my choice. That was the decision I had to make. My life a ruined disgrace but their safety, or placing them in danger, regaining their trust, and having all that weight on my shoulders. And I realized then, that I was a kid. I was a child making a grown up decision on my own that would affect the rest of my life. And suddenly, I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be in some television show plotline. I just wanted to go to boring school, study, get a boring job, get married, have kids, grow old, retire and die. But somewhere deep down, I knew I would hate that, so I had to figure this out. Here and now, I had to choose how the rest of my life will be lived from this point on. Whether I will risk everything for their safety or lose everything for their trust.
W-What do I do? What do I do? I-I just want them safe. I felt tears welling up and I quickly hid my face from Sherlock, but he already knew and let out an annoyed sigh. I bit down on my bottom lip as I tried, but failed, to hold back a sniffle.
"I-I just want you safe." I cried, pulling at my short hair as I pulled my knees up to hide my face. "I-I just don't want you t-to get hurt. A-And I don't want you to hate me."
"Sam, we don't hate you." John said, placing a hand on my back. "And whatever it is, we'll be fine. We can take pretty good care of ourselves."
I shook my head, burying it further into my legs. "Y-You don't understand. H-How am I supposed to choose? I-If I tell you, you'll get angry, if I don't, you'll get angry. If I tell you, you could get hurt, if I don't I-I'll lose everything. I-I don't know what to do. I just… I d-don't know."
I started to panic again, feeling my head being dunked underwater as I was asked again and again what I knew. The pressure was suffocating, and I could hear John trying to get me to calm down, but Sherlock didn't say a word. He didn't help me or anything. He just stood there and watched as I slipped further and further with each gasp of air until the nurse came in and kicked them both out, before there was a sharp pinch in my arm and everything started to slow down. The nurse uncurled me and said something, but her words were slurred and echoed in my mind as she laid me down and tucked me into bed and everything started getting dark. But I didn't want to go back into the dark. I knew what laid there. I knew what monsters were waiting for me in the dark and I didn't want to go. Because now... I feared Sherlock too, waited in the shadows.
Sherlock frowned, hands steepled under his chin in thought as John sat heavily in his chair across from him and read the same page in the newspaper for the fourth time.
"Why?" He said suddenly, making John fold his paper to look over it at him, brow raised in confusion.
"Why, what?"
Sherlock dropped his hands onto the arm of his chair, drumming them impatiently. "Why is she so adamant about not telling the truth? I highly doubt she wants to go to prison, but she continues to remain silent. Why?"
"Um, Sherlock? She did say that she wanted to keep us safe. It's possible that whatever information she has, could send dangerous people after us."
"Yet she insisted that wasn't the case." Sherlock argued. "And what information could she have gotten from someone that would explain this apparent foreknowledge of events? I am not so idiotic as to believe she could have powers of the supernatural. All other options must be canceled out before that one is even considered. But whatever the reason, why would Moriarty go through all of this trouble if she was just a pawn to him? It doesn't make any sense."
John's eyes widened. "You mean, you don't think she works for him?"
Sherlock scoffed. "Hardly. She claims to be staying silent for our sakes, does she not? To work with someone so closely attached to the enemy is an idiotic move that only an amateur would use and Moriarty is no amateur."
John shook his head, confused. "No, hold on. I don't understand. Why is it an amateur move?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Because, John. Using that sort of angle only works up to a point. One might be able to manipulate that person into doing their bidding for a while by threatening the enemy that they care for. But sooner or later, the pawn won't do it anymore because their death will seem insignificant to the safety of the enemy."
John just stared in blatant shock for a moment, before getting his voice back. "You… How is it possible that you can figure this out, but the concept of human emotion bypasses you entirely?"
Sherlock ignored him. "The point is, John, that Sam can't be used as a serious pawn in this game. Us in danger or otherwise. So why was Moriarty so intent on taking her and turning us against each other?"
"Uh, because she knows something he doesn't?" John guessed and Sherlock pointed at him with a nod of his head.
"Exactly. She has information that is vital to us and to him. That's why he took her and tortured her. He wanted that information, but she wouldn't give it to him. And I have no doubt in my mind that whatever information it is, it has to do with us. Otherwise she wouldn't have been so stubborn in not giving him it."
"But if she's not working for him, and you knew that, then why have you been telling her the opposite?" John asked, frowning slightly.
"Because it's a race. A race against time, against Moriarty. We need to know what she knows and with her infatuation towards us, threatening that would have been the quickest way possible of getting her to open up to us." Sherlock replied, bluntly, making John's mouth drop open in shock.
"Y-You said that, just to get information?! Sherlock! She's our friend! Our friend who just got tortured for that information! And you're sitting here putting her through even more torture?!"
Sherlock glared at John, surprising him. "Do you think that I do not care about her safety? She is the one in the most danger because of this, John. Her. Not us. Whatever information she is holding, it is dangerous and if put into the wrong hands, could be devastating. Moriarty will not be the only one going after her if word gets out about this. So I am doing my best to extract that information from her as quickly as possible in order to have some of the negative attention focused on me. Knowing what it is that she knows, will give me a better chance to protect her. But if she insists on keeping it to herself, then we are at a loss."
John, surprised at this sudden concern from Sherlock, took a second before collecting himself and speaking up once more. "Then why don't you just tell her that? I mean, sending her into a panic attack doesn't exactly seem like the best way to go about things and if you just open up a bit, I'm sure she'll—"
"She'll what, John?" Sherlock snipped, getting frustrated. "What I had been doing was the best possible option of getting her to confess, and she still wouldn't concede. And you think simple honesty would get her to answer?" He scoffed. "Only an idiot would..."
He trailed off then, eyes widening as a thought came to mind and John watched him with thinly-veiled curiosity and slight concern for Sam.
"Oh… Why didn't I think of that before?"
"Think of what?" John asked, Sherlock getting up and John scrambling after him as he grabbed his coat and rushed down the stairs. "Sherlock? What didn't you think of?" He called out after him and Sherlock hailed a cab before turning to him with a smug smirk.
"Infatuation."
I had woken up with a start in the middle of the night after I'd been sedated earlier and hadn't gone back to sleep since. I was exhausted, but anything was better than going to sleep and seeing Sherlock there angry with me, turning his back on me as Moriarty chuckled in the background. A shiver went down my spine at the thought, my EKG spiking for a moment before I took a deep breath and calmed down. I knew I shouldn't be panicking like I had been, especially when Sherlock comes back around; which I knew he would. The thought scared me, not wanting to be questioned again or have yet another panic attack as I struggled with what had happened with Moriarty, but I knew he wouldn't let this go so easily and I wouldn't be surprised if he sent me off to prison with Lestrade the second I was able to be released from the hospital.
I curled up on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest and ignoring the ache in my shoulder as I pressed my forehead to my knees and took a deep stuttering breath. I'd become paranoid and kept jumping every time I heard the door open, be it the nurse or my new psychiatrist or the physical therapist who would be helping me regain strength in my arm. Every time I thought it would be Sherlock or the police and I could feel it wearing down on my mind. I did what I could to push through it though, silently wondering if my brothers knew I was in the hospital and what they would think if they saw the state I was in. They'd probably maim Sherlock before Mycroft threw them in prison. I tried to laugh, but it came out as this strangled choking noise, which made me curl up further into myself before I flinched at the sound of the door opening.
I didn't want to look up. Fearing the worst. So I didn't move. I didn't speak. I didn't make a sound in the hopes that whoever it was wouldn't see me; though I knew it wouldn't work, what with me being the only thing of interest in the room. Two sets of footsteps approached and I felt my breath hitch, waiting for Lestrade to apologize and ask me to place my hands behind my back so he could escort me to prison. My EKG gave away the rabid beating of my heart and I cursed the device for giving my fear away so easily.
"Sam."
Oh, no. Here it comes. I mentally panicked upon hearing Sherlock's voice, waiting for those fated words that would end my life as it was.
"Sam, look at me."
I swallowed thickly, forcing myself to stay strong and at least face Sherlock in our last moments, but the expression on his face had me suddenly confused.
"I'm sorry."
Say what now? I didn't say a word as he looked away almost sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"John explained that I may have been too harsh in my questioning after what you'd gone through and… he was right. So I apologize for upsetting you and… Well, I don't wish to inform Lestrade of what occurred at the pool. You're a… good friend and I wouldn't want you to go through that on top of everything else." He said, reaching over and placing his hand on top of mine as he looked at me with serious eyes. "I really do like you, Sam, and you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I was simply concerned for your safety. So please forgive my rude actions earlier."
I didn't know what to do. Sherlock, the Sherlock Holmes, was apologizing? Not only that, but he was allowing the mystery of my secret to get away because he… cared about my safety? Nothing was making sense. The man who abhorred physical touch was holding my hand. The man who would give up eating for a case, was letting me go and staying silent despite his previous interrogation. And when I looked at those blue-grey eyes of his, I almost wanted to tell him everything. Tell him that this was all a TV show to me. That I knew everything that happened between now and the many adventures he'd go on to later. But it was that feeling that immediately set off warning bells in my mind, and made my chest burn with anger towards the man in front of me. Because I knew what he was up to, and I wasn't falling for it. In fact, I was downright pissed that he assumed I would, and grit my teeth together angrily.
"Let. Me. Go."
He furrowed his brows, confused, and opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off as I yanked my hand from his and glared at him.
"You actually thought you could do that to me?" I snapped, making him frown, though he was still putting on the act.
"What are you talking about, Sam?"
"You know what I'm talking about. This! Apologizing? Pretending that you care for me as a friend? I'm not stupid, Sherlock. Morphine or not, I know better than to fall for this. A-And for you to assume I would… I just..." My voice cracked and I turned away, pointing a finger to the door. "Get out."
"Sam, I honestly don't know what you're accusing me of. I really do—"
"No, you don't!" I shouted back, tears in my eyes because the words I was saying hurt; as true as they were. "I know you don't! You could never care for me like that! I'm just some slightly clever kid you let follow you around on cases because I interested you! And now that I have something you want to know, you thought you could use whatever feelings I have towards you and twist me around into giving you what you want, but I won't! Because I know better than to get my hopes up for something like that… I know that I'll never get respect from Sherlock Holmes, because I don't deserve it."
He hesitated, making to reach for me again, but pulling his hand back before slowly heading to the door. It shut with a slam and I flinched at the sound, tears spilling down my cheeks as I wiped at them in frustration. The door opened again though and I snapped at the person who walked in.
"I told you to get out. Go away, Sherlock."
"Sam?"
I looked up to see a concerned John standing there, looking between me and Sherlock probably storming away down the hall.
"Are you okay?" He asked instead, closing the door and moving to a chair by my bedside. "Did Sherlock say something?"
John… O-Oh, John. I shook my head, reaching back and gripping the short hair at the back of my neck as I sobbed into my knees.
"I-I just want you both safe." I breathed out, flinching when John lightly placed a hand on my back. "Why can't h-he just leave it at that? Why does he have to… to try and hurt me like this? I hate it. I-I hate not being able to say anything. A-And I hate him for doing what he did. I-Is that really all I am to him? J-Just some puzzle he can rip apart and leave scattered around once he's done with it?"
"Sam, I… I know it may not seem like it, and I don't know what Sherlock just tried to do, but he really does care about you. He wants you safe. And if you share that information with us—"
"Then you'll be in danger!" I argued, lifting my head and looking at John with teary eyes, desperately trying to get him to understand. "I don't want you two hurt, John!"
"And you'll be hurting us if you get hurt because you stayed quiet, Sam." He said sternly and I flinched, turning away from him sheepishly.
"It doesn't matter." I finally muttered after a moment, tucking my chin down between my knees as I hugged them to my chest. "I'm just a student. Compared to Sherlock, I'm not worth—"
"No, Sam!" John shouted, slamming his hands down and standing, making me jump away from him fearfully at the sudden expression of anger. "You are worth just as much as he is! You are important to us, Sam! Why can't you see that?!"
I couldn't hold back the slight whimper that escaped my lips, John's angry expression mixing with Moriarty's for a split second, before John edged away with a sorrowful look.
"I'm sorry…" He murmured quietly, turning away and heading towards the door. "I'm sorry, Sam, but you're important. To me, to Sherlock… And Sherlock, he just…" John sighed and shook his head, pausing at the open door. "He wants to know what you do so he can protect you. I've never seen him care this much… for anyone. And if he loses you… I would hate to think of what would happen. Goodbye, Sam."
John left and I stared at the door for a moment longer before turning my eyes to my quivering hands. What do I do?
Days turned into weeks and yet Sherlock had yet to visit Sam again after their little tiff. He just couldn't understand it. He'd attempted time and time again to get her to just admit to whatever it was she knew so he could help her. Every human being had this underlying need to feel safe and secure, to the want to live. Yet she was throwing hers aside for what? To help him and John, who were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves? It didn't make sense to him. That, and wouldn't her undying need to keep them safe prove she was infatuated with them? At least one of them, anyway. And he had assumed it was himself. He'd seen the subtle glances she tossed in his direction when she believed him to not be looking. Perhaps he'd been wrong though. Perhaps it was John she was infatuated with. Yet that didn't make sense either. Not long after he'd left her hospital room, John had followed, equally annoyed with the young woman as he'd been. They'd fought as well.
Her health was improving too, so Sherlock would have to make a move in either case. Be it to send her to prison or somehow convince her yet again, that she needed to inform him about what she knew to keep her safe. The whole situation though, was stirring something in him that frustrated him beyond belief. Couldn't she see he was trying to help her? Yet she very nearly insisted on being thrown into prison and thus killed for her silence. In what world did that make any sense? Self-preservation should be the first thing on her mind, and yet she was more willing to be killed by one of Moriarty's goons in prison than say a few words that may assist Sherlock and John. And he had considered what John had told him before. Whatever information she was withholding could be more dangerous than her life was worth, however he highly doubted it. It was something Sam herself believed though, as her words his previous visit had informed him.
"I know that I'll never get respect from Sherlock Holmes, because I don't deserve it."
She had issues with her appearance itself, something he'd quickly caught onto with her nervous ticks, such as bouncing her knee or picking at scabs and her fingers. She had social anxiety and issues viewing herself in a positive manner, but what person didn't? He himself had similar issues in school and at home with his own brother degrading him, though that was more due to his level of intelligence than Sam's overall insecurity. But he could see more in her than she believed. He could see her becoming great. Perhaps as great as himself, yet she was shrinking back away from that with this act of hers and it frustrated and angered him to no end. As it was, he was having a hard time focusing on cases. Though a man claiming to know the difference between human ashes and a couple of girls not understanding what happens to a relative when they die is not his ideal set of cases to begin with. Sam's case simply proved to be of more value, and thus a better distraction for other urges of his to cause household destruction. John didn't seem to mind the lack of excess body parts in the fridge or the missing occasional extra gunshots, but Sherlock as getting more tense every day as long as that question swum in his mind. Why did Sam get so upset with him when he was only trying to help? She was infatuated with him, was she not? So why didn't his attempt at appealing to that need get a confession?
"Probably because she's not infatuated with you." John said, turning a page in the paper he was reading as Sherlock scowled; believing John to have intruded on his thoughts and not that he'd unconsciously spoken out loud.
"What do you mean? Of course she's infatuated. The level of eye contact, the need for close contact, and her pupil dilation all point to—"
"Yes, well, that may be so, but she doesn't like you in that sense, Sherlock. She doesn't see you as a… maturing woman would, but more like a… teacher. A good friend or a professor of sorts." John replied, clarifying himself upon seeing Sherlock's confusion. "She respects you, Sherlock. She sees you as a figure to look up to. Not in a romantic way—or, not yet, anyway—but in a way more like that of a student attempting to learn and rise up to the level of their greatest hero."
"I'm not a hero, John." Sherlock scoffed, folding his arms over his chest with a huff.
"Well, perhaps not, but to her, you are. You're someone she aspires to be like, so it's no wonder she got upset with whatever trick you pulled at the hospital a few weeks ago."
"You upset her as well." Sherlock childishly spat back.
John sighed, putting down his paper and looking a little sheepish. "Yes, but that was because I lost my temper in my frustration with her."
"You haven't gone back."
"No, but neither have you."
Sherlock frowned, drumming his fingers on his arm before abruptly getting up and stalking over to his violin. "I see no need to return to her bedside. If she wishes to go off and die in prison, then so be it."
He played a few screeching notes and John winced, rubbing at his temples.
"You don't really mean that."
That angered Sherlock, and he thrust down his instrument.
"Then what do I mean, John?! We have absolutely no way of convincing her to indulge in our whims, so why not just let her rot?!"
"Because she's our friend." John replied simply, and Sherlock's anger fizzled down to a dull roar as he set his violin aside and moved to where his coat was.
"And what friend is insistent on getting herself killed without thinking about the consequences of her actions?" He snapped, pulling on the coat sharply.
"The kind who has a heart too big for her own good." John answered him, getting up and pulling on his coat as well. "Are we going to go see her?"
"Someone has to stop her before she willingly throws her life away." Sherlock grumbled in complaint, though John couldn't help the small smile on his face as they headed downstairs and called up a cab.
Upon arriving, however, the two paused with confused expressions as nurses and doctors rushed around in a panic. Sherlock easily grabbed a fleeing nurse and pulled her to a stop.
"What's going on?"
"N-Nothing! W-We just, uh—"
John took control of the situation then, hoping to get a better response from the woman without Sherlock's angered expression.
"We're with the police. Maybe we could help." He bluffed and the nurse glanced around before lowering her voice to keep the other people around them from hearing.
"W-We can't seem to find one of our patients. She was there when we passed out lunch, but when her physical therapist went for their appointment, she was missing."
John exchanged a look with Sherlock, whose eyes went cold.
"Who exactly is missing?"
"U-Um, Miss Foxe. Sam Foxe."
Sherlock cursed sharply under his breath, pulling out his phone and dialing up a number as John paled and pulled a hand through his hair; the nurse looking between them even more confused than before.
"Lestrade, I need you to gather up some people and meet us at St. Barts now." Sherlock snapped out as John went to ask the nurse if there was anything else she could tell them; the trio heading up to her room to search for clues as to where she went. Sherlock had hung up the phone and quickly stormed through the room, stopping and chucking a book across the room in a fit of rage not long after the nurse had left to continue the search.
"Nothing! Where could she have gone?! Doesn't she know the kind of risk she's putting herself in by doing this?!"
"Sherlock! Throwing a tantrum isn't going to help us find her!" John shouted back, just as worried as he was about her and the uselessness of this situation. "Just… Just think. You're probably the only person who can figure out where she went a-and it's not as though she's been in England for long. How hard could it be, right?"
Sherlock paused suddenly, staring outside the window with such focus that John came over to look as well.
"What?"
Sherlock turned though, abruptly walking off with his coat billowing behind him. "Tell Lestrade to call off his men."
"Did you find her?!" John asked, looking back out the window, but seeing nothing other than the shadows of the building and a few stray nurses searching the grounds, but when he turned around, there was no sign of Sherlock. "Sherlock!"
I sat on the edge of the roof, feet dangling below me as I watched the nurses and doctors running about. I hated to say it, but I honestly wasn't bothered by how frantic I was making them with my disappearing act. I was more surprised that I could sit where I was and not start crying. This is where Sherlock jumped to save his friends. I can't help but think that if I'd met him after that, that maybe he'd understand my dilemma a bit better. Shame I'm not clever enough to fake my own death. I sighed, eating another spoonful of the hospital's jello; the only thing worth eating from my lunch meal. That, and I'd snatched a few others from the nurse's cart before I'd snuck up here. And… I lied. I did feel a little bad about the panic I'd instilled in the hospital. I only wanted to sneak some jello and eat in peace. I didn't mean to forget my appointment… though, I don't know why I didn't come up here before. I looked up at the cloudy England sky with a spoonful of jello hanging in my mouth. It's almost nice to know that I'm doing something Sherlock would do by staying quiet. I winced at the thought, remembering when Sherlock stormed out those weeks ago, enticing another sigh out of me.
When I went to scoop another bite of jello out of the container though, someone cleared their throat behind me and the red goop slipped off my spoon and down onto the pavement below when I jerked. Thankfully, not enough to topple myself off the edge, though I winced and hesitantly turned before shrinking into myself at the sight of the annoyed man behind me.
"H-How'd you find me?" I questioned, grimacing at my stutter and turning away from Sherlock as he came up beside me.
His long finger moved into sight and gestured down at the grass below us. "Shadow. I saw it from your window."
Sure enough, my shadowed outline was plainly visible on the grass of the small park area at the back of the hospital. Though if I hung out on the roof by the front of the hospital, it would be more than the nurses having heart attacks. Sherlock's hand grabbed my arm, pulling me up and making me drop my half empty container of jello onto the roof.
"Come on. John's worried." Sherlock said coldly, but I pulled away, stumbling, but catching my balance and double checking to make sure I wasn't close enough to the edge to fall.
"What if I don't want to?" I asked, Sherlock not missing the twinge of hurt in my tone, no doubt.
"Don't be stupid." He argued poorly, simply standing there and not making a move towards me; his eyes narrowed in what could only be frustration and annoyance with my childish behavior.
Of course, this only made me angrier.
"I'm not being stupid!" I shouted, reaching up and gripping my short hair with a tight fist. "Why don't you understand that? I-I don't have any other choice in this. The moment he found out, the moment I slipped up, that was it. Either way, I'm dead."
He stepped forward, but I held my hand out.
"No. Stay there. Stay away."
"Sam, you're being ridiculous." He argued, still walking towards me as I took another hesitant step back. "If you just tell us—"
"Then you're in danger!" I said, trying desperately to get him to understand.
"Let me help you." He pressed.
"Help me how?! There's nothing you can do!"
Suddenly, that cold expression on his face snapped and I was forced to stare in shock at what he shouted at me next.
"Dammit, Sam! I care about you and if you'd just let me help, then you'd know that!"
I opened and closed my mouth for a moment, before shaking my head, taking another step back. "N-No. No. You're faking again. You're trying to manipulate me again l-like I'm another puzzle."
He scowled at me. "And that just proves that you're thinking like an idiot. Yes, you're a puzzle to me. You act like a child one minute then fight back and argue like an adult the next. You're insecure with yourself and have mysteries that even I'm struggling to figure out."
"Then, why—"
"But, you're not just a puzzle to me, Sam." He cut me off. "You're my partner."
Those words shocked me to the core, freezing me where I was in stunned silence as he continued to frown.
"Now stop acting like an idiot. Jumping from this roof will solve nothing other than making a mess and upsetting a number of people. Bobbie would be furious with me if I didn't return you safely."
I stared confused, frowning slightly.
"Jump? I'm not… I wasn't…" I looked behind me at the edge of the roof that was perhaps another step or two away; pointing at it and looking back. "You thought I was going to jump?"
It was his turn to look confused.
"Were you not? I had assumed with your previous moods that…" His eyes trailed down to the scattered containers of jello and then turned back to me; his lip twitching into a slight smile. "Gelatin?"
I flushed a vibrant red in embarrassment. "I-It's the only thing worth eating here!"
"And I'm to assume you simply forgot about your physical therapy appointment?" He questioned and I winced.
"H-He keeps changing it and I'm fine, really." I rolled my shoulder in a circle to prove it, cringing only slightly when I twisted it a certain way. "Nearly, anyway. I don't need a physical therapist… or a psychiatrist."
I muttered the last bit, but Sherlock must have heard me, and he raised a brow in question as I picked up my trash and headed back over towards him.
"You're fine with water then?"
I grimaced. "M-Mostly. Just keep me away from pools and other large bodies of water and… troughs or buckets."
He frowned at that last part, but didn't press further on that as he led me back into the hospital where we found John speaking with a doctor. The moment he spotted us he let out a sigh of relief and hurried over.
"Sam! Thanks goodness you're alright. What were you thinking?!"
And here comes the scolding. I thought with a cringe, but Sherlock—surprisingly enough—came to my rescue.
"She simply went out for some fresh air during her lunch and the physical therapy appointment slipped her mind. She's not an idiot, John."
John frowned, knowing something was up, but after speaking briefly with the doctor to get the rest of the hospital settled down, and returning me to my room, he demanded answers.
"Alright, so what really happened?" He grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.
"R-Really, John. I just went up to the roof for some air." I insisted. "I haven't been allowed out of this building since I checked in."
He lightened up a bit at that before turning to Sherlock; the two having a silent conversation while I fidgeted under my covers and picked at my fingers in worry. I managed to avoid the whole 'tell us' discussion on the roof with Sherlock, but it's been weeks since they visited and I don't doubt that they want to discuss it. Oddly enough though, John simply nodded and headed outside, closing the door behind him and leaving Sherlock and I alone. I stiffened, unsure what was going on as Sherlock moved over to the closet and threw my clothes at me.
"Get dressed." He ordered and I looked him overcautiously, unsure what was going on.
Is he finally sending me to prison? But then where's Lestrade? What's going on? I must have hesitated a moment too long, because he turned to me in annoyance.
"The longer you sit there gapping, the more of my time you're wasting. I have an experiment I need to get back to."
I still hesitated a moment longer before slowly nodding and moving to the restroom to change. When I came out, I grimaced. These were the same clothes I'd shown up in and—though having been washed at least once—a dark stain still rested on the shoulder of the shirt as did the bullet hole. I'll need to get rid of these. I'm crawling in my own skin already. I shivered, but closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out and feeling slightly calmer than before even as I faced Sherlock and John; who'd returned.
"Excellent." Sherlock hummed, turning and moving towards the door. "We need to stop by the morgue. Molly should have several thumbs waiting."
I didn't move though, even John looking a bit confused as to what was going on and Sherlock turned around with a scowl on his face.
"Well, come on!"
I shook my head, taking a step back. "I-I don't understand. What's going on? Am I… Am I going to prison?"
Sherlock sighed, annoyed. "Of course not. Now let's go."
"No." I argued, brows furrowed and slightly annoyed myself. "No, I want you to explain what's going on. I-I should be in prison. Y-You said so yourself, so why—"
"Because." Sherlock snipped shortly. "I'm not so stupid as to believe you were assisting Moriarty and so willing to be tortured due to some shortcoming or another. Hence, you've committed no criminal offence and don't need to be imprisoned."
"But I… You said I was to go to prison because I'm keeping secrets." I pushed and I flinched back when he suddenly rushed over and got in my face, looking down at me with narrowed eyes.
"Why are you so eager to condemn yourself?"
I swallowed thickly, having silently asked myself that many times in the past few weeks. So when he grabbed my face in his hands, I very nearly jumped out of my skin; his startling blue eyes gazing into mine with such fervor, I questioned how my legs were still holding me up.
"You know things. Things that can help us, or possibly harm us, but you're attempting to protect us on your own and that infuriates me. However, why would I imprison you for helping? Why would I throw you to the wolves when I can very well keep an eye on you and protect you myself?"
I went to argue what was going on in that brain of his that kept making his personality change, but he released me and began to head for the door again.
"And perhaps I'll get lucky and you'll slip up and reveal something of importance." He said simply, holding open the door and raising a brow at me. "Coming?"
I hesitated again, knowing that by going with him, I'd still be endangering him, but this was a third option. This was the option I'd been missing. The one way I could be somewhat safe, keep John and Sherlock safe, and the one way I might stand a chance at living. I could still impress him. I could still watch him work, learn from him even. I could still be by his side, making sure everything goes as it should and sure, he'd be watching me more closely for slip ups, but I could still pretend. I could pretend everything was back to normal. And that was all I really wanted. So I couldn't help the smile that formed on my face as I hurried to the door and followed after him. I was back. Back with Sherlock and John. I still had a chance, and that was all that mattered to me.