Chapter Four
Mycroft looked up from the blooms he was inspecting, his mind whirling with the possibilities. Joan was eyeing him skeptically and a touch suspicious.
"I think most of London still thinks of me in a negative light thanks to Kitty Riley. So if the flowers are a message, and I'm not agreeing that they are, then they could be from anyone. I get a lot of hate mail." Joan's eyes darkened. "Until Sherlock's name is cleared by Scotland Yard publicly, I doubt I'm going to get a lot of peace."
The elder Holmes brother put the flowers back where he had picked them from, a twinge of guilt twisting his stomach. It was one thing to see the collateral damage caused by his and Sherlock's actions in a report but face to face, it was quite another.
"Come on. We'll just grab something from the cafeteria. I don't feel up to going to the café across the street."
Watson turned and walked out of the lounge, smoothing the fly aways in her hair with a shaking hand. While she was distracted, he quickly sent off a message to his PA about the situation. He needed more data. This was not a simple hate message. The effort involved with acquiring that specific rose was immense.
Joan led him through the myriad of corridors to the lower levels of the hospital, her entire body signaled her discomfort at the situation. She grabbed a tray and Mycroft cringed at the abysmal selection of what was considered food under the warmers. He watched in horror as Joan ordered her food of chips and gravy and balked at Joan's urging of him to do the same.
Joan smiled deviously as Mycroft picked at the concoction on his plate. After ten minutes of prodding the stuff, he couldn't pretend any longer. "This is atrocious."
Joan laughed quietly. "It's not too bad. The chips are the safest thing on the menu. That's why I get them." She proceeded to swirl a chip in the brown liquid and pop it into her mouth. "I've had worse when I'm on the night shift."
"You don't have to work here. Sherlock left everything to you. There's more than enough for you to retire in comfort." The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. Joan's answering glare was enough to dispel that hope.
"I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I need to work." She cleaned her face with the napkin and sighed. "It was hard, at first, but working makes it easier. It's when it's quiet that it gets hard again." Sighing, Joan frowned to pull her more vulnerable emotions into check. "I was lucky to get a position here after that fiasco with my records getting out."
As she fiddled with the serviette, Mycroft couldn't help but admire her. Strong, independent and forgiving. Her only fault was her stubbornness at accepting help. She was irritatingly resourceful at avoiding him much like Sherlock was. This meeting was clearly on her terms even though it hadn't quite gone to plan.
"If you must work...here, then I need to increase your security. Clearly it is subpar if someone is able to access your belongings in the doctor's lounge."
"Flowers will not send me running into the arms of your minions, especially when there isn't any proof they aren't an innocent Halloween gesture. I can take care of myself." She smiled tightly. "I think your experience in your type of work has made you a little paranoid, Mycroft."
"Maybe it hasn't made me paranoid enough." He countered.
"I won't have you putting any more cameras in my flat."
He barely restrained rolling his eyes. It had been irritating that every time he had set up the security of Dr. Watson's home, she returned and dismantled the entire set-up within minutes. He was curious about how she had become so adept in discovering some of the Security Service's most advanced equipment.
The most embarrassing instance had been when she had gone outside her flat carrying two cups of tea in disposable cups and simply walked up to his stationed agents, handed them the hot drinks, scolded them on not wearing warm enough attire for the weather and told them to go home before they caught their death or come inside of they were going to continue their ridiculous surveillance. She then proceeded to tell them all the ways they went wrong in their surveillance techniques.
Pushing the plate aside, he leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him. "I am wondering how you are able to find all of my attempts to keep you safe."
Joan's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"
"Oh, yes."
Watson's answering smile was an impressive impersonation of a certain Cheshire cat. "Every girl's gotta have secrets. I'm sure you understand. Though the microphone in the lightbulb almost threw me for a loop."
"And I am rather curious as to where it is you go every Thursday night." Mycroft practically growled.
"Secrets, Mycroft." Her eyebrows drew together. Clearly surprised at her success at evading his attempts at information gathering. It really was infuriating but he was patient. "When I'm ready, I'll let you know."
She started drumming her fingers on the table, blue eyes darting nervously. "So...this was...interesting."
"How are you feeling?" Throwing one's opponent off-track was the best way to ensure an accurate reading. He watched as Joan's eyes flicked to her mobile, to her pager and even to the entrance to the cafeteria, searching for avenues of escape. She was about to reply when a tall well built man in scrubs jogged up to her.
Mycroft frowned when the man put his hand on her shoulder, the easy familiarity made him uncomfortable. He could smell cologne, not a cheap brand either, freshly applied. A small dot of toothpaste on his cheek, clearly wanted to be fresh. His smile when he looked down at Joan was very friendly, more than what one colleague would bestow on another. Slight stiffness in his gait, clearly started working out recently. His hair was freshly combed even though it had not required it.
"I'm sorry for interrupting your lunch, Joan, but we're about to get a shooting victim. A police officer. Paramedics weren't specific." On the contrary, this..he eyed the ID tag...Dr. Shawn Phillips was not sorry at all. He had been hoping for an excuse to be near Joan, his breathing accelerated when she returned his smile and started to stand.
"I'll be there in a minute, Shawn."
He was disappointed but nodded and left them, Joan's eyes following him out of the room. Mycroft's stomach twisted, the sensation of bands tightening around his chest made his heart start to beat quicker. He made a note to look closer into Dr. Phillips' records. For Dr. Watson's safety, of course.
"I'll show you out." Joan waited while he stood and guided him back the way they came.
Once they came to the A & E doors, she paused, nervousness flaring again. "It was...interesting to see you again. Maybe next time without the paranoia, yeah?"
At least she was agreeing to a next time. He nodded and moved away as she went her own way. He was halfway through the door when he spotted Dr. Phillips wrap an arm around Joan's waist as he guided her to the ambulance bay. Joan didn't shrug him off but she didn't lean into his touch either, simply accepting the contact. The twisting sensation returned with a vengeance.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Watson shrugged off Shawn's hands as the ambulance backed to the double doors, snapping on her gloves and pulling on her gown as the doors opened. Paramedics immediately pulled out the stretcher. A flash of curly black hair and mocha skin and Joan recognized her patient. Sally Donovan. Today just wasn't her day.
"Patient is a thirty-four year old female, gunshot wound to the right flank. Pulse is 90, BP 120/80, blood glucose 90, resps 20, temp is 37 degrees Celsius, O2 sats stable at 95. We've started a line and put up a liter of saline."
Joan let the paramedics words wash over her, eyes darting to the wrapped gauze on Donovan's ribs. Blood was there but she looked stable and pretty damn mad. They moved down the hall in a careful team, Joan at her patient's side.
"Ok, we'll need an x-Ray, CBC, chem seven and hemocrit."
Sally's head snapped up, her features paling at hearing Watson's voice. "Hello, Ms. Donovan."
She couldn't help smiling at her terrified expression. "I'm just going to have a look. How are you feeling?"
The woman on the stretcher gaped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Watson put on her stethoscope and listened to Donovan's lungs and heart. All four quadrants clear, no crackles. Steady heart beat. Donovan shied away from her touch as she reached for the gauze covering the wound.
"Two of dilaudid, Patac." Watson snapped. She moved away and behind the screen as the portable x-ray was wheeled in and Donovan's shirt was cut off the rest of the way so a gown could be put on.
By the time the results were back, Donovan's pain meds had kicked in. The lines of discomfort had eased from her face and the shock had cleared, leaving her calm but still slightly apprehensive. The tech handed her the film and Watson held it up so it was visible to the room.
"Lungs are clear, no bullet or bone fragmentation, looks like the bullet ricocheted off the 7th rib." She smiled down at her patient. "You got very lucky."
"Crit is 14.2."
"Thank you, Patac." Turning to Shawn, she waved him off. "I've got this."
"I'll need a suture kit, saline and lidocaine." She situated herself on a rolling stool, kit in a tray next to her. She started to cut and remove the gauze to get a better look at the damage.
"I want a different doctor."
Joan raised her eyebrow, looking up from her work. It had been the first words the other woman had spoken. Clearly, the dilaudid had done it's job. In place of the fear and pain was the more familiar Sally Donovan. Confident, angry, shrewd to a point.
"I'm not going to stitch my initials into you if that's what you're thinking."
Donovan's eyes focused on her, looking her over, a sneer curling her lips. "So, I see it's true then? He got you up the duff before he offed himself."
The cold words stung. It took a lot of effort to remain calm and continue to do her job, ignoring the cruel jibe. She started cleaning the wound. It was an ugly gash.
"I don't even know how it happened considering all your denials, Watson."
Joan grit her teeth. "I'm sure you must know how babies are made." She hissed, thinking of all the times Sherlock had inferred about her affair with Anderson.
She was about to drape and prepare for stitching when Donovan moved away quickly, gasping. "He told you! He told you about us?"
Joan's jaw dropped, shock making her fingers numb. Fortunately, she recovered before her lapse was seen. Sally and Sherlock? "No." Joan replied hesitantly. "You just did."
"Well...it was a long time ago and it was only once. Knew he was a freak even then when he couldn't handle the possibility of a relationship." She growled.
Joan ground her teeth and took a small amount of pleasure at Donovan's hissing as she injected the lidocaine. "You clearly have a bad habit of picking men who don't want to commit to you, Sally. Anderson, Sherlock." Pausing for effect. "How is Anderson's wife, anyway? I heard she's on her third baby." She started threading the silk through the wound, carefully stitching up the belligerent woman.
"No, it was his problem! At least he didn't jump off a building after having sex with me."
It was like Donovan had stabbed her in the heart, the sub-cutaneous stitches Watson had finished started to blur as angry tears burned her eyes. She took a shaky breath and wiped her eyes on her shoulder, continuing to finish her job.
Once the wound was neatly stitched, Watson stood. "Keep them clean and dry and in seven days your GP can remove them. I'm prescribing Keflex since you're allergic to penicillin. I'd invest in a Kevlar vest to prevent something like this from happening again. There are armed and specially trained officers. Let them do their job and stop being so stupid."
She was about to leave but couldn't bring herself to do it yet. Leaving like this would just let Donovan think she'd won. "I didn't think anyone could be that much of a bitch all of the time. Did you ever stop to wonder about the possibility that he liked you? Maybe that he was afraid and that was why he constantly harped on you? Little boys tend to pull the pigtails of girls they like."
Donovan looked like she'd been slapped. Horrified realization dawning on her. Sometimes it took an outsider to show you what you missed. A light shining in the dark to lead the way. She needed to see that he was human. "Even through the entire thing, he respected you enough to know that you would come to the logical conclusion of his alleged guilt. Not the correct conclusion but the one that most good detectives would have come to."
Spinning on her heel, Watson left while she held on to the upper hand. Her calm attitude was rapidly crumbling. She made it halfway down the hall before she had to stop, her heart feeling like it was breaking all over again. Talking about him-damn, even thinking about him just twisted the knife in her heart deeper.
Donovan's words buzzed around her head. Joan pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, feeling the cold sweat on her upper lip. She had to force herself to take deep breaths, swallowing the bile threatening to come up. The thought of Sherlock with Donovan hurt less than she thought it would have but what did sting was the fact that he had opened himself up...made himself vulnerable to her and she had acted like it was nothing. That he had just been a typical man. He was anything but typical.
Joan pressed her other hand to her abdomen, where a tiny life was growing. She wondered if Sherlock would have approved, if he would have grown even closer to her because of it or if he'd have left out of fear. Maybe distance himself or push her and the baby away. Or would he have been overbearing and want to know everything about everything? Obsessively compile data about his...no, their developing child? He should be here!
"Doctor?" Joan wiped her face and closed her eyes, taking a cleansing breath.
"Doctor? I was wondering if you've heard anything about Sergeant Donovan?"
A hand gripped her arm, turning her gently to see Greg's pale face which quickly turned to surprise when he realized who he was talking to.
"Joan? How are you?" He asked carefully, his eyes darting up and down her form taking in her, most likely, splotched face and small hint of a bump, hidden as it was under her loose scrubs.
"I'm fine, Greg."
"Like hell you are but you will be." He reached over and pulled her into a gruff hug, like a brother would give to a sister. Joan held him back, fisting the material to keep him close.
"I know. I know." He whispered into her hair. Joan closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of security for a moment before the sounds of the A & E reached her, reminding her that she was on duty. She pulled back, flushing slightly at her display of emotion but Greg wouldn't have any of it. He held onto her upper arms, smiling.
"Thank you."
Greg shrugged and let go, still eyeing her.
"Sally's back to her usual charming self. Stitched her up and she'll be ready to go in an hour or two."
"I'll bet she liked that." He said ruefully.
Joan smiled grimly. "Something like that."
They walked to Exam 3 where Donovan was, a peaceful silence settled between them. She missed Greg. Lestrade had always been the calming voice of reason, the pillar of reason for them all.
"How is the investigation going?" Though she said it quietly, it was like a cannon had exploded. Lestrade stopped suddenly, looking uncomfortable.
Joan scowled. "You know damn well he was innocent. He didn't kill Moriarty and that man on the roof was not Richard Brook. I know you did DNA testing and even Anderson, incompetent fool that he is, can see from the bullet's trajectory that it was suicide. Release the statement."
"We only got the results today."
"Then release the statement."
"It's not that simple, Joan."
Joan hated politics. The need to have everything tied up neatly before the public could be made aware of certain facts. "I don't know if you realize but this is affecting me in more ways than one. Not to mention that the real Richard Brook's parents deserve to know that the boy they buried wasn't their son. That their son is still missing and wasn't the lunatic that ate a bullet on that roof."
Greg looked at her carefully, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean it's affecting you in more ways than one? Is there something you need to tell me?"
Trust Lestrade to pick up on that. "It's nothing. Just...forget it."
Lestrade practically growled, big brother instincts kicking in. "Has someone been threatening you?"
She thought back to Mycroft's words, the comments to her blog and mail that had just been thrown out unopened since Sherlock's death. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just saying it's hard, you know?"
He still looked suspicious but dropped the subject at the obvious dismissal.
"When you do release the statement..." Joan smiled like a shark, a cruel idea taking place. "...I want Sally Donovan to do it. I think she's more than earned the right to make amends for her meddling, don't you think?"
Greg shook his head, chuckling at the thought of Sally having to be the one to recant everything she'd ever said. "Consider it done."