Chapter 2

AN- Hi everyone, I'm back. Sorry for the delayed update, I am a very busy high school student, and am currently playing a sport seven days a week. Thank you to those who followed, favorated, and reviewed. I am looking for a beta for this story, if you are interested, please PM me. Let me know what you think!

Beep… Beep… Beep… I can hear the steady cadence of the noise, but I can't tell what the sound is. My mind is foggy, all the doors to my mind palace seem to be locked up tight. As the fog starts to clear, the doors become less and less sticky. I yank on the door closest to me, and it flings open with a bang. As I enter the room, the objects and memories become more clear. John. He was injured on tour.

Three broken ribs… … Skull fracture… two bullet wounds, one to the left shoulder, one to the right thy… Abrasions… punctured lung…

I have to get up. I have to see my John. I fight the glue holding my eyelids together, finally prying them open, but having to close them immediately because of the brightness of the stark white room. Slowly, I blink open my eyes again. The sight that I see is one of a hospital room. Heart monitor, IV (saline, 600 cc's per hour), cabinets along one wall, full of drugs (all locked, any could be opened with a few seconds). There are windows, shades drawn, Mycroft's doing. Deductions lead to the conclusion that I fainted after reading John's information.

No one is in the room, idiots. Don't they know that someone who faints could have a head wound? The first 24 hours are critical, and judging by the sun through the curtains, I can't have been out for more than two hours.

I quickly sit up, ignoring the pounding in my head, and plant my feet on the floor. Someone would be coming in soon to check in on me, unless the hospital staff is completely incompitant. There is no way I will let people see me as anything other than top notch.

The sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts. Mycoft steps into the room, umbrella in one hand, garment bag in another.

"Well," he says, "it's good to see you awake, dear brother. If you had been out any longer, people might begin to say that I worry about you, for staying so long."

I scoff. "No one could ever accuse you about fretting over me, Mycroft. They know that there is no way into the Iceman's heart."

"Such words for someone who brings your clothing and news about your husband." He retorts.

"John?! Where is he? Has he been moved? Is he stable? When can I see him?" my questions burst forth before I can ebb their flow.

"First, I think, a shower and new clothing. You cannot go parading around a hospital with your backside hanging out, and somehow, I don't think you would take very kindly to an orderly pushing you in a wheel chair."

My thoughts run with my brother's words. True, it had been days since my last shower, I was fretting over John's lack of correspondence to worry about the Transport. His words also revealed that my husband was in the very same building as me, for I would not run about Barts hospital at all, unless John were here, or there was a case, but I would stay in the morgue and labs for that. My John is home, more or less safe, but not entirely sound.

I walk up to Mycroft as dignified as I can manage in a hospital gown (why would they put me in one of these atrocious things if I was only out for a few hours?), take the garment bag, and go through the loo door, across the room.

I reamerge after changing into the suit, pulling on the shoes as I exit, in my rush to get to my husband.

"Isn't that better?" Mycroft asks, a small, overly sweet, closemouthed smile on his face. "To answer some of your questions, the dear Dr. Watson is here at St. Barts, stable as he can be, and you can see him now, so long as you follow the hospital rules, although some have been bent because of the Doctor's situation."

"What are the rules, Mycroft?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"No smoking, no insulting the hospital staff for doing nothing wrong, you cannot displace any of the machines he is hooked up to, you must eat, and follow the doctors plan for Dr. Watson's recovery."

"Done."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Mycroft leads me through the winding corridors of the hospital, which would not be necessary if he had told me what room, not saying a word. Stopping at the fourth floor, the ICUR (Intensive Care Unit Recovery*), room number 122, Mycroft opened the door with a flourish. I sped through the door only to see my doctor connected to various machines, looking much worse than when we had last spoken through Skype.

John was not wearing a shirt, and his lower half was covered with a light blanket. His shoulder was heavily wrapped in neat gauze, various ablations covered with plasters of different sized. John's leg had a large bandage covering where a bullet had grazed him, ribs wrapped like a present to keep them in place. My poor John looked like he had been through the grinder.

I look over at Mycroft, asking, "When will he be awake?" in a quiet voice.

"I will let you talk with the doctors. It will be a long recovery."

AN- Hope you like the chapter, even if John is not awake yet. He will be soon, I promise. Please let me know what you think about the story, I am always looking for ways to improve my writing. Like I said in the first chapter, this account is to help me get over my learning disability by facing it head on. Also, I am a very busy high school student, who is currently playing a sport seven days a week. I might not always update regularly.

* I'm not sure if the ICUR is really a thing, so do not take my word for it!

I am looking for a beta, if you are interested, PM me, please!

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