He was the reason Sherlock woke up. He was the reason that made Sherlock fight for his life. Sherlock was still alive because he could not leave John with a liar, a woman who hid a serious secret from everyone.
Sherlock pushed himself up, wincing at the pain. Sure he could take the morphine, but he needed a clear mind if he was to do what he needed to do.
Sherlock was ready to leave, even if the hospital didn't think so. This forced Sherlock to go to Plan A: escape through the front door. The nurses should all be having their tea break in his wing. Of course they were on full alert, but there shouldn't be too many nurses patrolling the corridor.
Sherlock slipped out of the bed, closing his eyes for a few minutes to regain his balance. He took a deep breath and went forward to the chair where clothes awaited him. Wiggins, bless his soul, took it upon him to deliver some trousers and a shirt to his room. Sherlock struggled to dress himself without feeling a searing pain his chest.
After a few minutes he managed to be fully clothed. Now for his escape. That should be relatively easy. If he had his timing right, there was a nurse coming towards this corridor in five minutes. Luckily, the waiting area was relatively open with a few people milling around. He should be able to blend in.
Sherlock opened the door. To his surprise there was a group of nurses stationed in the waiting area, two men and two women. The men were chatting up the uncomfortable looking girls (They are obviously a couple Sherlock thought).
Sherlock swore under his breath. This meant Plan B. He didn't want to activate Plan B unless very necessary but as these nurses were not leaving any time soon, he had no other choice.
He turned towards the windows and mentally braced himself.
XXX
Sherlock got back to the apartment feeling worse for wear-that tends to happen when you climb out a window of a hospital while nursing a bullet wound. There was nothing more in the world that he wanted then was to have morphine rushing through his veins to alleviate some of the pain, but he couldn't. He couldn't afford to waste time when there was things to do and places to see.
He took a shower and dressed his wounds. He couldn't help but to smile what John would do if he saw Sherlock in the bathroom with makeshift bandages, about to faint from blood-loss and pain. John would be so angry and start ranting. Sherlock would argue back, trying to explaining himself. Then they would be face to face, so close they could almost kiss…
Sherlock shook his head as his heart sunk. Now was not the time more than ever. Mary should be the focus, not John.
Mary.
He knew there was something wrong with her, but this…this was not to be predicted at all. She was an assassin. Sure he wanted to strangle Magnussen a few times, but he would never resort to killing him. But then again Sherlock didn't have anything that Magnussen could use as blackmail. Mary must have been doing some…jobs for him in exchange to not telling her secret to the world. There was way more to this story than she let on. And Sherlock was hell bent on going to find out tonight.
Sherlock had a lot of time to plan in the hospital and he had to start by preparing the flat like it was before John had left, because after tonight he would need a place to stay.
XXX
The sky was a burnt black dotted with the bright lights of the stars by the time John reached the corner of Leister Gardens and Leister Terrace. He looked nervously at his watch. It was half past eight on the dot, just as Sherlock asked.
John maybe looking calm on the outside, but in reality he was a mess. There were so many unanswered questions, like why did Sherlock want him to be here, or why was Mary's and apparently Lady Smallwood's, perfume doing in his house? Was it connected to the fact that Sherlock said her name when he woke up? And why was the house reorganised to its original format? Did this all tie in with Magnussen?
Everything has to do with Magnussen now days. God, I am almost wishing for the days when Moriarty was around. At least Sherlock made sense then.
A homeless man, covered in dirty old blankets was near him, begging for money. He looked vaguely familiar. John was about to say something when the man lifted his face and said:
"Dr Watson."
"Wiggins is that you?" John asked surprised.
Bill Wiggins ignored him, "You are to go down the road," he pointed down Leister Gardens, "to the fifth door."
"Right, since when did you become Sherlock's messenger boy?"
Wiggins shrugged as he got up. "Work is work." He nodded towards the houses. "I suggest you don't keep him waiting. He isn't feeling that well."
John had to take a few moments to get over his disbelief. Why does Sherlock have to be so mysterious all the time?! It wouldn't hurt for just once to be somewhere that I expect him to be. Just once! That's all I ask for!
John muttered under his breath as he walked past The Henry VIII Hotel to the next set of doors.
To the common eye, the front looked like a normal house, but John knew better. He could instantly recognise the painted windows and the fake doors.
Of course Sherlock had to choose a place like this!
One of the doors was slightly ajar, a low light emanating from behind. John cautiously walked up to the door clutching his gun in his pocket, preparing for any attack.
When John opened up the door he was surprised to see that the room was plain, dirt covering every inch from years of neglect. The light source was a single, exposed bulb hanging from the ceiling. The floor rumbled unexpectedly, with the familiar sound of the underground train whistling by.
"Sherlock!" John called out. "Sherlock can you tell me what the bloody hell is going on!"
There was only silence.
"Sherlock, this is not bloody funny anymore! You've got the whole of Scotland Yard, and your brother might I add, trying to find you all over the place. They have…"
Out of the shadows in front of him a figure emerged.
"John you have finally come." His voice sounded a bit flat. Sherlock then proceeded to drop down.
"Oh God, Sherlock!" He dropped his gun and rushed to his friend's side. Sherlock's face was pale and his body was drenched in sweat. "You look awful!"
Sherlock waved him off, "No, I am fine."
"No you are not!" John pulled him up and pulled him to the exit. "You and I are going back to the hospital. What were you thinking!It looks like I will have to physically stay with you in that room until you get better."
"But John..." Sherlock tried to push him away but John's grip tightened on his coat.
John's expression hardened as he stopped. "Sherlock, for God's sake this can wait. If it is about Magnussen…"
"No! You don't understand, John. This is not about Magnussen." Sherlock paused. "Well maybe a bit. This is about Mary. Please hear me out. It is important."
John stiffened at his wife's name. He knew, far deep down in the recesses of his soul that she had some part to play in this story. "What about her?" He asked through gritted teeth.
Sherlock checked his watch. "We have time. You might want to sit down for this."
XXX
And Sherlock told him all he knew. He told him about his first thoughts on meeting Mary. He told her about finding her with a gun to Magnussen's head and he told him about how he escaped.
Once he finished, he bared a glance at his friend.
John's face was stoic, but he could see a single tear falling from his eye.
As much as Sherlock wanted to be with him, it killed him to see John breaking down. He didn't know how much it hurt him to see his significant other lying to his face about her whole life.
"Sherlock," he began after a few seconds of silence. "I don't want to believe you…"
Sherlock sighed. "I know." Sherlock checked his watch. "So that is why I set up this."
"What?" John asked
"This" Sherlock's phone started to vibrate. "She is here." He muttered. He turned to John. "I am sorry about this, but you need to sit on that chair. And," He quickly ran his fingers through his friend's hair. It was surprisingly soft. Sherlock's mind drifted to one of their first conversations.
I also wear hair product, it doesn't mean that I'm gay.
Only if he really knew.
"Hey!" John tried to swat Sherlock's hands away.
"Perfect."
Sherlock stepped into the shadows again, opening up his cell phone and made the call.
Hi Bokkies
That is it. I just wanted to say hi.
Love thecapefangirl