Freddie tried to open her eyes, her lids were heavy and unwilling to cooperate. The room was fairly dark, only lit by the warm glow of a bedside lamp and the streetlights below her window. She was in a hospital room… that much was clear.
It was very quiet, which unfortunately made any nearby sounds unbearably loud. The beeping of equipment, the squeak of shoes as they hurried past her door, cars driving past the hospital.
Someone was snoring by her bedside, slumped in a chair that was much too small for them as their long legs hung over the arm. They were using their scarf as a small pillow but they were shivering slightly as it seemed their coat was draped over her like an extra blanket.
It was Sherlock, of course, and he'd been there for a while judging by the shadow on his sharp jaw line. Still in the same clothes, still splattered with blood. The image of his face contorted with rage flashed into her mind. It was such a contrast to look at him now. So peaceful, gently snoozing beside her. Freddie realised she'd never seen him asleep, not even tired since she'd met him. Still only a few days ago... but he was here. The man who rarely made connections to people. She felt special. Part of the inner circle.
Another memory came to mind, her dream before waking into her nightmare. This couldn't be another dream could it? She felt floaty, but that could be attributed to pain killers. She didn't want to wait to find out.
"Is this real?" She choked out, her voice raspy and dry.
Sherlock suddenly snapped awake, his eyes darted about the room as he instinctively went to grab for his coat collar before realising where he'd left it.
"I was just... resting my eyes." He said, saving face. He sat up and crossed his legs in the chair.
Freddie looked up at him and tried to smile. Her face felt swollen.
"You look cold." She added.
"So did you." He looked down at his coat.
"Thanks."
"They never give you enough blankets."
Freddie felt his hand in hers, she stopped trying to smile as she remembered the pain in her cheeks.
"You need more painkillers, they're not taking care of you." Sherlock stated, leaping up from the chair.
"No-" Freddie snapped, squeezing his hand closer, "Stay... please?"
Sherlock looked at the door, then back to Freddie.
"I'm fine..." she said, not quite believing it herself.
"No you're not." Sherlock shouted, pulling his hand away. He stormed across the room pushing his chair out of the way.
Freddie felt herself involuntarily flinch at his raised voice. Sherlock noticed this and tried to calm down. He sighed.
"You're not..." He said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. He took a bottle of water from the side table and poured it into a plastic cup he must have got from a water cooler. He handed it to her and helped her sit up to take a few sips. "Look at you. Lying in this hospital bed, you can barely move! I bet you can't even see me your face is so swollen. He nearly beat you to death."
"But you stopped him."
Sherlock sighed.
"Did you... kill him?" Freddie asked, slowly putting down the empty cup.
Sherlock noted the fear in her voice. There was nothing in her face to indicate if it was because of Alastair... or him. He stood at her side and took her hand again.
"No... John stopped me. But I could have."
"Oh." Freddie said.
"What answer were you hoping for?"
"I... I don't know. Where is he?"
"Other side of the hospital." He noticed Freddie tense up, "But he can't hurt you anymore. He's in Lestrade's custody and they're going to take him in when he's recovered."
"No... They have to stop him-!" Freddie tried to get out of the bed, her voice panicked, "He'll talk his way out of it, he will he's-"
Sherlock shushed her. He stroked her cheek and sat at her side, gently squeezing her hand.
"He won't be able to talk his way out of a confession. Lestrade has my phone and it's all the evidence they'll need."
"Oh... good."
"He'll rot in prison and I know people that can make it a worse time for him. They owe me favours."
"Good..."
"This shouldn't have happened... You don't deserve this."
"No one deserves anything..." Freddie coughed, "Things just happen."
"But they shouldn't... Not when I can stop them."
"But you did. If you stop something it's already happening... You wanted to prevent something."
"Analysing my words...?" Sherlock almost smiled.
"I'm clever." Freddie tried to shrug.
"I suppose you're... what's the opposite of wrong?" He asked, dryly, pretending not to enjoy her banter again.
"Stop it." She smirked.
Sherlock paused. Listening to her speak, laugh almost, just hearing her voice again was what he'd longed for since running out of 221B to try and save her. It felt good. Knowing they'd made it through. He'd just gotten used to the idea of having her around all the time and he wasn't going to lose her. It was nice having someone around the flat, especially someone on his level. In the short time she'd been around he'd learn pretty much all of her deep dark secrets, but it occurred to him he barely knew any of the little things. The kinds of things he'd never even given a glance to... but John would constantly obsess about. For instance, if John were to get Mary a gift, he'd make sure it was in her favourite colour, or pattern. Little things he knew she liked. Sherlock wanted to know Freddie on that level. Stuff like that didn't matter to him, but maybe it mattered to her?
"Tell me something about yourself." He almost snapped.
"Like what?" Freddie asked, trying to frown.
"Anything, favourite colour, what kind of music you like, what do you get when you order Chinese food? We haven't done that yet."
"Yet?" Freddie smirked.
"Words." Sherlock rolled his eyes in response.
"I like the curry."
"With rice or chips?"
"Either."
"Good, it'll give us more time to talk... Unless you feel like you need a rest?"
"Talk about what?" Freddie managed a small laugh.
"Ah. I don't have my phone on me."
"What are you talking about, you can't order takeaway to a hospital?"
"Well... unfortunately we'll never find out. Unless I go to the front desk. Do you reckon they'd let me?" He smirked.
"Oh don't make me laugh, it makes my face hurt!" She grinned, "What do you want to talk about anyway?"
"I wanted to finish our talk... from earlier, well I guess it was yesterday now." He shrugged, a small pang of guilt scratched at his brain. He tried to delete it.
"What talk...? We weren't really talking."
Sherlock couldn't tell if she was blushing through the bruises.
"No... But we did, before... that." He was unsure how to word this, sentiment was not his speciality. He hated feeling vulnerable. "Besides isn't that what people do? They talk... about things. Things they like... music, I don't know, puppies?" He tried to sound flippant.
Freddie laughed, "Are you people now...?"
"Was that a raised eyebrow?"
"It was supposed to be."
Sherlock sighed, "You could have died."
"But I didn't."
He looked away from her, out of the window at the cloudy city, "I wanted to finish that conversation... and I couldn't do that, if you died."
"That's true."
"So!" Sherlock stood and walked around the room, trying to shake off the moment. "Let's get started then. Did you know John's wife was pregnant or have you not met her yet?"
"No I haven't. I'll have to congratulate them. I met your brother though."
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he turned back to face her from across the room, "How much did he offer you?"
"Didn't ask, I didn't take it."
"Ah, you people and your integrity. We might have split it."
"Could get a lot of takeaways with it though, I imagine."
"We'd have a lot more time to talk."
Freddie laughed sleepily, "You really want to know that much about me...?"
Sherlock watched as she struggled to keep her eyes open. He walked over and pulled is coat over her once again, helping her get comfortable. He thought for a moment about how he should respond to that.
"Your past is your business... but everything else would be my pleasure."
"That's nice." Freddie smiled, "Did John say that?"
Sherlock smirked, "At one point I believe. Something like that."
"Still nice though. I hope I remember this."
"You should get some rest." Sherlock said, bringing his uncomfortable chair back over to her side.
"Yeah. I'm sleepy." She replied, her eyes were closed and she was already drooling on the pillow.
He looked over her and couldn't help a small smile. He lent forward and kissed her forehead before sitting down again and taking hold of her hand, "It'll be harder tomorrow... But I'll be right here when you wake up."
"Tell me a story..." She mumbled, "Let's talk, like you wanted."
"Alright. Where would you like me to start?"