Chapter Nine

The team fired back through the door, littering it with holes, before shooting the lock. There was no more return fire. Mycroft darted forwards, and pushed through the door into the room beyond.

The first thing Mycroft registered was blood. There was red everywhere; spattering up the walls and pooling across the linoleum floor. He put a hand to the doorway to steady himself. He looked down, and saw two bodies, one on top of the other.

"Sherlock."

Mycroft's utterance was barely above a whisper. He collapsed to his knees on the floor, and pushed the top man off of his brother's body. It rolled and flopped, making a small splattering sound as it landed in the pool of blood.

"Sherlock." Mycroft breathed again.

Sherlock's face and body were coated with blood, his clear blue eyes were glazed over, and his stained hair was plastered to his head. Mycroft extended a hand and held the side of Sherlock's face, threading his little finger under Sherlock's chin to feel for the pulse in his carotid artery.

For a few seconds, nothing. And then he felt it; sluggish and weakened, but there all the same. Mycroft could have cried.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?" He spoke much louder this time, almost shouting.

Across the corridor, Will had recovered enough breath to pull himself into a half-sitting position, but he couldn't see Sherlock. He needed to check that Sherlock was okay. That was his duty, his one aim. Will knew he was bleeding from somewhere, that a bullet had grazed his side, but it wasn't too serious. People tried to ask Will if he was okay, but he brushed them off. With extreme difficulty, he half-crawled, half-dragged himself through the doorway, until he was next to Mycroft. Reaching out, he grabbed the closest part of Sherlock he could, which happened to be his bicep; it was drenched with blood, just like the rest of him. Will had to gasp in and out through his mouth after the exertion of moving. Mycroft turned to look at Will, and opened his mouth to check if he was okay, but Will simply shook his head, and they both turned back to Sherlock when he elicited a groan. To Mycroft's utter astonishment, Sherlock twitched, blinked, and his gaze aimed itself haphazardly towards Mycroft's face.

"Where are you hurt?"

Sherlock blinked and licked his lips several times before talking. "Noh hurr, juss r'gss" His voice was so slurred that Mycroft's fear spiked even further.

"Say it again, Sherlock. Focus."

Mycroft leaned closer, and Will dragged himself forwards further, hoping to hear him better. Sherlock gulped and squinted. He blinked several times. "Juss d-dru'ss."

"Druss?" Mycroft echoed dumbly. "Juss druss?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, and Mycroft panicked, slapping his face. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock's eyes reopened, but not fully.

"G." He gulped out. "Dru'sss g"

"Drussg…Drugs? Sherlock, have you been drugged?" It was Will who finally understood him, and although his voice was ragged and low, he was more understandable than Sherlock.

Sluggishly, Sherlock nodded, and then his eyes fell closed. This time, when Mycroft shouted, they didn't reopen. Now that Will knew Sherlock was okay, well, as okay as he could be, he collapsed, with his head resting on Sherlock's bloodied shoulder. He noticed that breathing was a little more difficult than usual, and surmised that his windpipe must have been swelling up.

Medical personnel rushed in now, barraging Mycroft with question after question. "Is he hurt?", "Where is he hurt?", "How much blood has he lost?", "Is he conscious? Lucid?"

Mycroft blinked, starting to pull back. "It's not his blood. He's been dosed with something. Probably a strong sedative. He's just lost consciousness."

The medics nodded, and then looked down at Will. Mycroft looked too, and his eyes widened; he'd forgotten he was even there.

"What about this one? Has he been dosed too?"

Mycroft blinked. "I'm unaware of what happened to him. He doesn't look too good." Mycroft paused and leaned closer, then spoke again. "He wasn't in here, he was outside…He must have dragged himself in."

"Why would he do that?"

Mycroft shook his head; it would be too difficult to explain. Other paramedics rushed into the room, and pulled Sherlock carefully onto a stretcher, already affixing an oxygen mask to his face, although he didn't appear to be having trouble breathing.

Now unsupported, Will's head dropped into the pool of blood. This startled him, and he opened his eyes once more, gasping in shock as he did so. Unfortunately, all this did was allow the blood to enter his left eye and mouth. He grimaced and spat. Mycroft reacted fast, rolling Will onto his back, out of the blood's reach.

"Meyer?"

Will blinked, trying to clear the blood from his eyes, but this action simply helped to spread it. He gasped again, and that's when Mycroft noticed the fresh bruising on his neck. Mycroft grabbed the arm of the nearest medic, and she dropped down beside him. Gently, she felt the bruises on Will's neck, but he pushed her off and tried to sit up, with little success. In the better light this angle provided, Mycroft decided Will looked terrible. Blood coated half of his face and filled his left eye, and his hair was matted and plastered to the sides of his head.

"Sherlock…he was drugged." Will rasped.

"Yes, we know, you told us."

Will nodded.

Slowly, carefully, Mycroft moved forward. He spoke softly. "Meyer, can I look at you? Are you hurt?"

Will stopped scanning the people around him and returned his attention to Mycroft. "I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't get here quick enough."

"Meyer, Will, you did all you could. Sherlock's going to be okay. I need to make sure that you'll be okay too."

Will blinked at his Boss' use of his first name. Never in his eight years of service had Will been called that by his Boss. It seemed to break something inside him, and suddenly Will was shaking and breathing hard.

"Focus, Will. Where are you hurt?" Mycroft asked, urgency seeping into his voice.

"John. Where's John? Is he safe?"

Mycroft blanched; in the panic, he'd forgotten about John. He swung round and shouted to one of his team, who jogged over.

"Sir?"

"Is John Watson unharmed?"

The man nodded. "Yes. He's asleep and utterly unaware; they didn't go after him. We've got guards watching him now."

Mycroft nodded, dismissing the man, who returned to his position. "See, Will. Everyone is okay. You need to rest now."

Will nodded, and slowly lay back down on the floor. He closed his eyes for a second, but opened them once more when Mycroft continued.

"I know you're hurt. Where are you hurt?"

Will hissed as he tried to pull his shirt up out of his jeans. "Bullet grazed me. It's okay."

Mycroft pulled Will's shirt up further, which was drenched with blood; it was seeping from a wound just above Will's pelvis. Quickly, the medic Mycroft had summoned pressed gauze to Will's side, causing him to hiss again.

"It's not deep." The medic assured. "He'll be fine; he's probably just in shock, but he might not be getting in enough oxygen; those bruises on his neck look nasty."

Will lay his head back on the ground once more and closed his eyes. He was still shaking a little, and his chest rose and fell laboriously as he sucked in air.

More medics arrived, and Mycroft looked up. "How's Sherlock?"

"Completely out of it, but otherwise unharmed, sir. He's had a pretty hefty dose of what we think is lorazepam, but he'll sleep it off, and be fine in a few hours."

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief, and nodded his thanks. He looked back down at Will, to find him fighting off an oxygen mask.

"Meyer, they're here to help you."

Will nodded. "I know, sir. I just…need to watch…Sherlock. That's my job."

Mycroft smiled; Will was almost too loyal for his own good, and one day that was going to be his downfall. "Sherlock and John both have guards. You need to rest now, so that you can recover quickly."

Will sighed but nodded resignedly. "Please, let me sleep in the same room as John and Sherlock. There's enough space for three beds."

"Tut, tut, Will. You really shouldn't speak to your Boss like that." Mycroft joked, coaxing a tired smile from Will. "But, just this once, I'll grant your request."

Will nodded his thanks to his Boss, and then lay back on the stretcher he'd been moved onto. He didn't protest this time as an oxygen mask was attached to his face. Once Will's eyes were closed, Mycroft immediately stood and began making the arrangements Will had asked for, which he'd been planning to do anyway. He smiled; Will really was the perfect man to help Sherlock and John on their mission to bring down Moriarty.

John woke early the next morning, and turned lazily in half-sleep. He was all ready to close his eyes and doze for a little longer when he noticed that Sherlock's bed was occupied, and much closer to John's own that it had been the day before. Frowning, John turned, and saw that his bed had also moved nearer to the wall of his hospital room. John turned back again and pushed himself up onto his elbows; his suspicions were confirmed, there was a third bed in the room. From where he was, John couldn't see who was in it.

Belatedly, John realised that Sherlock was hooked up to a heart monitor. He felt his own heart leap in his chest. Carefully, John pushed off his bedsheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Nausea hit him in a wave, and John shut his eyes to let it pass. Then, cautiously, he eased himself out of bed, and staggered across the metre-or-so of space that stood between his bed and Sherlock's. It didn't escape his notice that walking was a little easier than the day before, and he felt a pang of guilt when he remembered the things he'd said to Sherlock in his frustration.

John tried to deduce what had happened like Sherlock would. Sherlock was clearly fast asleep, but his heartrate was strong. His oxygen levels also looked normal, as far as John could tell. To John's relief, he could see no sign of serious injury, but this also puzzled him more; if Sherlock wasn't hurt, what had happened to put him in this situation, and how could Sherlock have possibly hurt himself inside a hospital anyway?

A faint groan snapped John out of his ponderings, but it hadn't come from Sherlock. Slowly, John shuffled around Sherlock's bed, placing his hands on it for support, and then crossed the next gap to reach the third bed. It took a moment for John to realise that the bed's occupant was Will Meyer, and when he did realise, he frowned even more. If Will was hurt, it meant someone else had to be involved, and it wasn't just Sherlock getting himself into some freak accident.

Will groaned again, and shifted slightly; his eyes flickered behind their lids.

"Will?"

It was then that John noticed the dark bruises around Will's neck. This was something he could deduce; Will had been strangled. But why? If Sherlock had been attacked, Will would have come to his defence, that was his job after all, but who would attack Sherlock here?

"Will?"

Slowly, Will's eyes opened. He blinked several times to focus on John, and then the corners of his mouth curved upwards.

"You're o'ay" He croaked.

"Yeah." John said slowly, licking his lips. "I'm fine, but I'm not so sure about you. What the hell happened last night?"

Will's smile vanished. "I can explain…after a 'rink."

"A drink? Will, did someone try to throttle you?" John asked, half-jokingly, as he reached for a cup of water and straw. When he turned back, Will was smiling again, which made John feel more comfortable, although right now he didn't have time to decide if that meant he liked Will. He certainly hadn't liked Will last night, or maybe he hadn't liked himself for already liking Will.

John held the cup up and Will slurped through the straw greedily. Once he was done, John put the cup down.

"How are you feeling, John?"

This time, it was John's turn to smile; Will was just as selfless as he was.

"Better, thanks. I managed to get this far alone."

Will nodded, and tried to prop himself up so he could see Sherlock. He got half way there, and then the gash at his side pulled, and he hissed at the pain. Instantly, John was in Doctor Mode.

"Will, what happened to you? Where are you hurt?"

Will sucked in air through his teeth, but pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I'm okay. I don't wanna alarm you, but a bullet gashed my side, and another guy strangled me until I momentarily blacked out. But it's all sorted now." Will gave a bright smile, trying to dispel John's sudden shock. "Don't panic, John." He added, concerned, having suddenly remembered that seizures were more common during high-stress situations; something he'd have to watch later on.

"Sorry, just to clarify, Will. How did you get shot inside a hospital?"

Will opened his mouth to speak, and then suddenly realised that John didn't yet know of Moriarty's supposed immortality. "You'd better sit down, John."

John complied, sitting down on the end of Will's bed, which was now vacated, due to Will having pulled his knees up to his chest.

"I don't really know where to start…"

"Come on, it can't be that complicated." John smirked, but stopped when he saw Will's expression. "Brilliant. It is that complicated, isn't it?"

Will nodded sympathetically. "Look, I don't really know how to explain this, so I'll just explain it all at once, and you can ask questions or whatever after, okay?"

John nodded silently, but he was frowning again.

"Right. Moriarty is still alive, and he's trying to attract Sherlock's attention again, leaving threatening messages, involving his best friend in a car crash, trying to abduct him…the usual. And the three of us, once you're ready, are all going on a mission that could prove fatal in order to bring Moriarty down. "

"Wait, what? Moriarty…how can he be alive? Sherlock was sure."

"Moriarty out-smarted us, John."

John rested his head in his hands and breathed deeply. Then he looked up, and Will saw something in John's eyes that would haunt him for a long time. "HE did this to me. He made that cab crash? Accidents happen, people are hurt, I understand that, but how can I come to terms with this when I know Moriarty did it?!" By this point, John was shaking with rage.

Will leaned forward, grimacing through his pain. "John, you need to calm down, or you're risking another seizure, which we really don't need right now."

Unnoticed by both of them, Sherlock shifted and twitched on the bed.

John tried to stand, clearly wanting to pace the room, but he was shaking too much to push himself up off the bed. "I wouldn't have to stay calm if he hadn't done this! And I wouldn't be angry in the first place either!"

John opened his mouth to continue his tirade, when he was stopped in his tracks. Both Will and John froze, and the hair on the necks and arms raised, as Sherlock physically rolled himself off the bed, and let out an almighty scream as he hit the floor.

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