Sherlock had paced the floor for nearly an hour now. He was outside her bathroom door listening to the sounds of her vomiting. The sounds of her retching had woken him around nine that morning. He came up to her room to see if she was alright, and when he caught the first glimpse of her, he knew she wasn't. She had been sweating, and shivering to the point of near convulsions. He had taken her pulse, and her heart rate was through the roof.
John had come over as soon as he got the call from Sherlock. He had made the diagnosis of hydrocodone withdrawls. There was not much to be done except keep her hydrated. The bathroom had gone quiet, and the door opened. Rachel walked out, a towel over her shoulders keeping her warm. John guided her back into the bed and gave her a quick shot of Zofran in the arm to abate any further vomiting.
Both men exited the room, allowing her to rest. "Sherlock, how could you have allowed this to happen. You of all people should know…"
"Oh yes, John, I of all people should know what happens when an assumingly responsible adult is left to her own devices with opiates." Sherlock hissed at him, not allowing his friend to finish the sentence. He brushed by John, angrily walking down the stairs to the kitchen. John simply shook his head and followed.
Sherlock didn't want to admit it out loud, but he was genuinely concerned for Rachel. He even felt a bit guilty. Maybe if he did keep a better eye on her, this wouldn't have happened. He knew she was depressed, but not to this level. He had tried to push himself into his work, but his thoughts would continually fall on her.
John watched his friend attempt to work by sitting at the microscope and occasionally looking into the lense, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. He chuckled to himself, watching his friend lose his concentration and having to constantly refer back to his notes. Clearly, Sherlock's mind was elsewhere. It wasn't since Irene that he had been so distracted.
"I'll go check the post then." John stood from his chair and went downstairs. A small pile of mail was on the floor in front of the door. He picked it up. Sorting out Mrs. Hudson's and placing it on the table next to her door. Occasionally, John would receive some post here, and found it beneficial to check. Otherwise Sherlock would forget to forward it to him. He climbed the stairs back up to his old flat, but stopped when he found a letter addressed to Sherlock with the return address of Buckingham Palace. His eyes widened, and he ran up the stairs, this time skipping steps.
"Sherlock!" He shouted, forcing the door open. "You have a letter from the palace!"
Sherlock stood, accepting the letter. He walked to his desk to retrieve the letter opener and used it to carefully tear open the envelope. "Perhaps it's a bill for the ashtray." He said, laughing at his own joke. His eyes scanned the letter. "Oh yes, this is perfect." Sherlock shook his hands with excitement. John came over wanting to know what had his friend so excited.
"By the request of Her Majesty, you, and two guests are invited to attend the January ceremony in with you shall be honored with a knighthood..."
John stood in disbelief. "Sherlock, you have been offered this several times before, why the sudden excitement?" He stared quizzically, holding the document in his hand.
"Don't you see? I only need to get into the palace. And this is my opportunity to get into the queen's private rooms." Sherlock pranced about the room as if he was a boy at Christmas. John, on the other hand, stared in disbelief.
"You're going to do what?"
"I need access to the Queen's private journals and a sample of her DNA." Sherlock paused to smile.
John stumbled backwards onto his chair, running his hand through his hair in disbelief before leaning forward, elbows atop his knees and his head in his hands.
"It's for Rachel's case." Sherlock placed the letter on his desk, turning to lean on it. "I believe that she may in fact be, the rightful heir to the crown."
"The what?" Rachel was standing in the doorway, bleary eyed from the lack of rest. She couldn't have heard him right. It had to be the drugs in her system.
"Do sit, please." Sherlock motioned to the sofa and began to pace as she sat.
"My theory is this; for quite some time, there have been theories that before Her Majesty the Queen was born, she had an older brother who was born a year or so before her. He was put into hiding due to the fact that he had some form of a physical deformity, one, that if was put on public eye, he would have been seen as an unfit ruler." He paused for his own amusement and dramatic effect. "Some twenty years later, there were rumors that placed him in France around the time of the Second World War. His whereabouts were unknown after that. It is my thinking that you are his granddaughter."
She sat unmoving, flabbergasted on the sofa. John shared her disbelief as he too stared at Sherlock.
"I require the Queen's journals to confirm the placement of her older brother, and her DNA to prove your genetic lineage. You two will accompany me to the palace for the ceremony, and the ball that night."
John and Rachel looked at each other, both unsure of what to say.
"So that's it? That's your whole, brilliant plan?" John crossed his arms and scoffed. "Bloody well figures, after all this time it was bound to happen. He was sure to lose his mind at some point."
"But what if I don't want it?" Rachel's voice was unsteady. "I am just a simple American girl. I don't belong here. I am not in any way interested in this scheme."
"And wouldn't it be treasonous to even think this?" John had hoped to provide some logical thought into this debacle.
"Is it treason to want the rightful heir on the throne? I think not. He continued pacing the floor.
"Once again though, what if I don't want it? It's not who I am." Rachel sat, arms folded in front of her. She was ghostly pale and looked as though she hadn't slept in a week.
"It's not about who you are, but who you are meant to be. You can't tell me that you've never felt that you were meant for something more than just taking pictures for the rest of your life." Sherlock sat on the coffee table in front of her, taking her hand in his. John was taken aback at this small sign of affection.
"Give me time then?" Rachel meant it as a statement but it came out as a question.
"No problem in that, we still have to actually prove it." Sherlock stood, releasing her hand and sat back down at his computer. "We'll have to find you an acceptable dress. That should be no problem though, with a figure like yours, you would look fine in anything."
John's mouth was now agape. Rachel looked at Sherlock, surprised at the compliment. "Thank you?" She didn't know how else to respond. "I will go shopping the closer we get to the event, and when the dresses will be more appropriate for the season. It would be difficult to find one now with this cast."
"Speaking of cast, I looked at your scans from Bart's and it appears that cast can come off next week. I'll be by to remove it for you." John stood from his seat, brushing out the wrinkles from his sweater vest. "Must be off, some of us have actual work to do."
Sherlock barely acknowledged his departure. Rachel decided now would be the appropriate time to leave his company and go back to her room. She had to process the new information that Sherlock had given her.
This chapter wasn't an easy one to write, sorry for the delay! I've started slowing in my writing so I can develop the story line a bit more. Please, review! I welcome all types of feedback!