The sound of the heart monitor rang in Sherlock's ears, his eyes not quite ready to open yet. He could partially feel the IV on his nerve, his back flat on a soft bed, the scent of immense sanitation in the air.
The hospital. Hm.
Suddenly, he heard voices, low as whispers.
"Bloody bastard, isn't he?" John Watson mused, his voice sounding annoyed and concerned at the same time.
"I know he really doesn't eat much or sleep much during a case but these last few days he just... *sighs*...looks so pale and sickly." replied Mrs. Hudson.
"Then there's the nicotine patches. Six at a time! For a smart person, Sherlock can be a bloody idiot!" Lestrade exclaimed, pitching in the conversation.
"Maybe he's under a lot of stress. He hasn't been at Bart's too. This case is killing him." Molly said, exasperated.
Silence filled the room then, all just giving out heavy breaths and tongue clicking. Then Mary started to speak. "Has anyone told Irene yet?"
At the sound of her name, Sherlock stirred, forcing his eyes to open. With the bright white room almost blinding him for a moment, Sherlock looked around and saw the his company all in nightgowns and bed heads. He deduced they rushed immediately upon hearing the news of his... whatever it is that happened to him.
"And the devil wakes." John hissed, glaring at him.
"You're all in your pyjamas." Sherlock mused, his voice hoarse from disuse.
"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock." John replied.
The detective scanned their faces, all tinged with worry and annoyance. He wanted to give a snide remark-probably tell them that he's fine, that this is for a case, that he doesn't need their sympathy-but the gesture of them running up to his aide, regardless of time and circumstance made him bite his tongue. Instead, he gave a low apology.
At that, Lestrade almost choked on his coffee. Mary, Molly and Mrs. Hudson gave him a warm smile and John just shrugged.
"What happened, eh? You haven't been like this since I met you." Lestrade mused, wiping the coffee he spouted off his chin.
Sherlock looked at him, a gaze of appreciation his eyes held. "The wedding has been moved." he checked the clock. "Just four days left and I still haven't found the main source of the data."
The room was filled with surprised expressions and Sherlock realised how much he distanced himself from anyone (more than usual, that is) to work on this case alone. It was infuriating but never did he want to admit he needed help, especially if it means dragging them all into this Norton business.
"You could have told us." Mary said, reaching for his hand. "This is a national-scale problem, Sherlock. You're not invincible."
"I think he believes he is." Molly mused, giving him a weak smile. "We want to help, Sherlock. That's what friends do."
Sherlock nodded, his head hanging low as he did so. It was never just about the case. It was about him and Irene and because of this, he wanted to handle this alone. He wanted to prove to himself and to the universe that not everything about the him and Irene is destructive. That they could live side-by-side, two beings whose minds have met among all the others, without endanger anyone else in their lives.
However, Sherlock was still bothered.
"He's on screensaver again." Mary said, noting the detective's expression. John huffed, expecting this to happen. They turned at the sound of the door opening and everyone smiled, welcoming the visitor. The doctor tapped his friend's shoulder a bit hard and Sherlock's head snapped to his direction.
"What?" Sherlock asked, his voice tired.
"Irene's here." John answered and Sherlock found Irene standing amongst his guests, her eyes wild in panic but her face tried to look composed.
"You can't be here." Sherlock said coldly, his eyes leaving hers.
Mary fake-coughed, her hand reaching for John. "Erm... We'll grab some breakfast. Would you like anything? No? Okay."
In a swift moment, they were left alone, silence filling the air.
"You were there the other day." Irene said, still standing from a distance. When Sherlock didn't reply, she continued. "And you heard."
Of course he heard. He could still remember it vividly.
/
"You're pathetic... Just like them. Just like your father. Why do I even put up with you? You've been lying to me, pretending to be someone else this entire time." Irene spat.
"If you think I don't sense your dirty past, Lucia, think twice. Our wedding is in a week so I decided, why not make you see the real me? In fact, why not let me get to know the real you?" Godfrey replied, his tone poisonous like a snakes.
Sherlock heard the sound of a slap and he peeked in to see Godfrey caressing his cheek. "Lucia, I-I'm so sorry. I only meant..." He saw him hold Irene by the arms, eyes suddenly full of fear. "You know I love what I do back in New York. I... My father will kill me if I didn't take on this business... The pressure, Lucia. You must understand... He will kill me and I need you with me on this. I love you."
Sherlock turned as he saw Godfrey plant his lips on Irene, fighting the urge to intrude at there little moment.
"After our wedding, I will find a way to take us away from this. I promise." he heard Godfrey say.
"And what if you can't? What'll happen?" Irene replied.
"I will find a way. I will do everything to be with you. You will always come first to me, Lucia. I... I'm so sorry." Godfrey swore.
Sherlock stole another look at them and found Irene's eyes soften. He could never forget the way she nodded, taking Godfrey's hand as if holding him off on that promise. The detective felt a lump form on his throat, knowing that he when he had Irene, he never gave that promise-always putting the logical things first before what he felt for her.
/
"It was all an act, Sherlock." Irene said, reaching for him but hesitating when she saw him flinch at her attempt. "You don't actually think..."
"I don't think he knows that." Sherlock replied.
"Since when do you care about other people's feelings? Especially the one that actually threatens your life?" Irene asked, somehow agitated.
He looked at her then, really looked at her, the expression in his eyes telling. "I don't care about him. I... I care about you." he replied, his voice almost a whisper.
"Is this about what he said? Because I don't really care, Sherlock. I was acting." Irene made her point clear, her hands trembling.
"The wedding's in a week. What are you planning to do with..." Sherlock's eyes lingered from her face to her stomach and Irene rolled her eyes.
"What do you want me to do? I trust you. You can finish this in time. I told you... I'll hel-"
Whatever it is that Irene was about to say was cut off when Sherlock ripped the tube of his arm and gripped her arms. "You can't help me. No one can help me in this, Irene! And we can't... That's another problem we have to..."
"Problem?! You call THIS a problem, Sherlock?!" Irene shouted back, getting away from Sherlock's grip. "When I said I didn't want children, it's because I was afraid. Afraid that I may just turn out to be like my mother! But when... But because you are the father, the fear dissolved. I know this child will be brave and brilliant and amazing... I guess I was wrong. You are a coward, Sherlock Holmes!"
"Godfrey Norton may be a better father, is that what this is?" Sherlock snapped back, his eyes blazing.
Irene looked appalled, tears welling up her eyes. She tried to compose herself, a coldness filling her demeanour. "Your words, Sherlock. Not mine."
"You could've called it off when he started to harass you. But you didn't. Why? Was it really all on act or is it because you wanted an ally no matter which side you fall into?" Sherlock hissed.
"I'm doing it for you, Sherlock. I thought you know that." Irene simply replied, heading for the door.