Chapter 4: Revelations

Once John had quietly left, Sherlock leaned forward. Wincing at how sore he was, he plucked his chart from the end of the bed and quickly scanned over it. Not anything of great interest, just shallow lacerations, and some abrasions. There was no reason for him to be unconscious for two weeks. He should be discharged soon. If not this evening after lunch. He was placing the chart back when he became aware of the obnoxious sounds that came from the machines in the room. The more he focused on the machines, the louder they became, and the more overwhelming they became. He winced and placed his hands over his ears, breathing heavily. Okay, so maybe not so much of a gift as he originally thought. As he breathed in the sickeningly strong smell of disinfectants and laundry detergent. The smell of the perfume the nurse was wearing, the aroma of the food coming up from the kitchens. As the feelings ramped in intensity, he felt a curious sensation. As if his skin was too tight on his frame. He trembled at the uncomfortable feeling, and it only got worse the more he was overstimulated by the bustle of the hospital.

The beeps were getting faster. As were footsteps outside of his door. Ah, he had gotten his heart rate up, and the doctors were coming. Despite his need to keep his hands clasped to his ears, he quickly put them down, still breathing heavily. He desperately worked on calming himself down, and threw this feeling of being overwhelmed to the back of his mind. A quick knock, and the doctors entered the small hospital room.

"Mr. Holmes, is there an issue? Anything bothering you?" At that moment he spotted John looking unsure, but definitely worried, outside of the room. Sherlock did his best to school his breathing and cleared his throat.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just bored, so I purposefully increased my heart rate to see how long it would take for you to respond. Thirty seconds, that's quite long, don't you think?" He came up with his excuse quickly, thinking on his feet. The doctors looked at him in disbelief. One snatched his chart from the end of his bed.

"Right… Well I'll be the bearer of good news, and you'll be happy to know that I am discharging you now." He stormed out of the room, and the rest of the team awkwardly left behind him. John still stood just outside of the doorway, shifting his weight, thinking of what the next thing he was going to say. He took a step into the room, and lightly closed the door behind himself.

"You're lying. Why? Too afraid to see the great Sherlock Holmes have a moment of weakness?" He demanded.

"No. I'm not lying."

"Sherlock-" John sighed, exasperated.

"I am bored" He smirked. John huffed out a laugh. That was until a rather loud crash echoed down the hall. The detective winced at the sound. The worried expression came back to John's features. He crossed the room in a mere second. He reached out and tilted Sherlock's chin up, pulling a small flashlight out of his pocket. The doctor flicked it on and flashed it in front of his eyes. He tried not to wince, and took a deep breath in. John's aftershave filled his nose, but behind that there was scent of something bolder. Earthy. Like a pine forest. Ah, so that was John Watson's scent. He would have to file that for later.

"Do you have a headache? Anything tender?" The detective didn't answer, as he heard the heavy footsteps of one very angry individual coming back to the room, assuming to give Sherlock his discharge papers. The door was forcefully opened, as the peeved doctor shoved the discharge papers into Sherlock's hands and turned to John.

"He can't be alone, and good luck finding someone who would want to attend to him." He stomped out of the room.

"A bit of an over-reaction, you think?" John stated, a little confused.

"A little trouble at home. His wife found out he is cheating on her with another man."

"Really?"

"No, but you should have seen the look on your face." He chuckled. "I have no idea why he's so cross."

"That's a first." A long pause before John finally inhales. "You do realize that you can't be alone, right? You were in a coma for two weeks without us knowing why, and you've managed to piss off your doctor, so no conclusive tests have been done. You are not going home alone."

"I'll be fine, John, I don't need your pity." Why was he doing this? "So you can definitely go entertain your girlfriend you found in my absence. Or should I say fiancé?" Did he really want this?

"No, Sherlock, you're not going to turn me away this time, don't think I'm not aware of what you're doing." John sighed. "I don't know why you're doing it, but I'm not going anywhere until I clear you." The doctor cleared his throat. "Then you can decide whether or not you still want me here."

Sherlock was filled with both relief and horror. He both wanted John to be close, have his doctor back. However… the memory of the monster flashed back into his mind. Would he be that thirsty for blood? Would he kill the only companion that had yet to run away? He shivered at the image his brain provided him. John's blank eyes staring into the void, blood decorating the walls, floor, and ceiling of Baker Street. All of it being his fault. Yes, he should send the doctor away. He physically waved the image away, his breathing picked up a little faster. He was aware that the heart monitor picked up as well. Stupid thing.

"Sherlock?" John asked, the annoyingly worried face making another appearance. Sherlock schooled his breathing once more, allowing his heart rate to go back to normal.

"One night shouldn't hurt." He stated. Internally, he agreed. As ridiculous as it was, if the folklore were true, it shouldn't be an issue until the next full moon. He could figure out a way to send John away later. Yet… something in the back of his head was screaming at him. He wasn't forgetting something… was he? He searched his memory of the night he was turned.

"Good. Stay dead. Move somewhere isolated so you don't hurt anybody. You'll lose control if you get too angry or overwhelmed. Get control of your mind, and maybe then you can come back."

Well shite. He was overwhelmed by the sounds, smells, and visual aspects of the hospital, let alone the hustle of London. Yes, this could be a gift for observations, but not like this. He'd have to practice in a controlled environment. Baker Street it was.

Thank you for reading!

Please let me know your thoughts.

I am not going to say exactly when I plan on updating, but if I do happen to upload at least 1 chapter every 3 months, I will officially take this story out of hiatus.

Since starting this fanfiction, I've graduated with a BA in Psychology.

So far according to my story plans, this is going to be one WHOPPER of a fanfiction. I plan on doing some variation of both season 3 and season 4 aspects. So, this will be a long fanfiction!

Hope you are all in for the long-haul.

1/22/2023