Another Chapter. Sherlock finally wakes up, but you'll have to wait a bit for John to wake.
Sherlock slowly returned to conciousness, but didn't open his eyes. Everything was wrong. The smell. Whatever he was lying on, it was too soft. And the atmosphere, was so still and boring. He didn't dare move. The last thing he remembered was pulling the trigger of John's gun, and being thrown against the wall as the bomb exploded. The unimaginable pain, screaming. Blood. The bitter smell of the pool's chlorine, and then dust choking his lungs. Sirens, and then, absolutely nothing. He could be anywhere. Even in Moriarty's hands... He sniffed again, trying to keep his breathing steady as he remembered the explosion. Until he knew where he was, he should pretend to be asleep. A steady throbbing pain was coursing through his body. Every limb seemed stiff and sore, but nothing seemed broken. He heard a chair creaked beside him, and somebody sigh. He resisted frowning as he tried to figure out who it was. In the silence after that noise, Sherlock suddenly became aware of the steady beep beep beep of a heart monitor. Hospital. He thought bitterly, opening his grey eyes, and scanning the ceiling. Now he was sure. That smell. And the clean, white, boring walls. He sighed heavily, and Lestrade shifted. He knew it was Lestrade by the faint smell of tobacco.
"Sherlock?" his voice was soft and cautious.
Sherlock turned his head languidly, and carefully scanned the DI's face. It was pale, drawn, anxious. He was showing all the signs of stress and lack of sleep. That would be the reason he could smell smoke.
"You look awful." he said, turning away.
"Good to see you too Sherlock." sighed Lestrade.
Sherlock lay for a moment, in thought. He had obviously been lucky. He sincerely hoped the little worm that was Moriarty had been killed. Suddenly, he cut himself off. John... He had been there too. He knew his breathing must have sped up, because Lestrade was peering down at him.
"John. What happened to him?" he demanded, managing to keep his voice emotionless. He was genuinely worried for his flatmate. Anything could have happened, and he was friends with the ex army doctor. As Moriarty had used to his advantage.
"Sherlock... Calm down." said Lestrade, ignoring the question.
This sent a chill down Sherlock, and he sat up, ignoring Lestrade's cry of 'don't'. He gazed fixedly at the DI, waiting.
"John is alive, Sherlock." he breathed deeply. "But, in a critical condition. There's internal bleeding, and possible brain damage and memory loss."
Sherlock nodded curtly, and Lestrade pushed him down.
"What about Moriarty?" he demanded, voice now steely with hate.
"Sorry, who?"
"Moriarty," snapped Sherlock. "The third man at the explosion..."
"There wasn't anybody else."
Sherlock sucked in a breath, and slowly let out.
"Oh." his grey eyes flickered for a moment, fixing on something nobody else could see.
"He's still alive then." he whispered, closing his eyes.
"Sherlock, you need to tell me what happened."
Sherlock ignored him, eyes still closed as he tried to sort out his hard drive.
"You need to double security on his hospital, background checks on all the staff." he said, eyes snapping open.
"I will, when you tell me what happened in there." said Lestrade patiently.
Sherlock gazed coldly at him.
"Moriarty is the bomber. I said I'd meet him at the Carl Power's pool. He captured John, and strapped another bomb to him, but did meet me in person. He let us go, and I took the bomb off, and then he came back, and I blew up the bomb." said Sherlock at an inhumanly fast speed.
"Right..." Lestrade, nodded, and stood up.
"I need to speak to Molly, Lestrade. And Harry Watson," he hesitated, his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. "And Mycroft."
"Right, Harry's already here. Making some medical decisions. I should warn you, she's planning on strangling you."
"Very well, send her in first." said Sherlock, closing his eyes and steepling his fingers.
Lestrade hesitated, then left, sighing. Even a bed ridden Sherlock was ordering him about.
Harry turned over the medical report, and sighed heavily. John had serious injuries, and possible memory loss It would be expensive, and she just couldn't afford it. Neither could he. Even though he had a job at some surgery, it was a small pay check, and his army pension was useless. There was a cheaper option, but results were not guaranteed. She turned to the two doctor's and smiled slightly.
"How long before he needs treatment?" she asked.
"You need to decide by tomorrow." said the first.
"Okay... I just need to think." there's nothing to think about. She thought miserably. She had one choice. "Can I see him?"
"Of course, this way."
The doctor's led her into the hospital room. Harry seated herself on a small, hard chair and surveyed her brother. He looked pale, and his face was bruised. As well as the possible brain injuries. and internal bleeding, he had two broken ribs, and a fractured skull. She sighed. Watching his still face. He could just be sleeping, if she squinted. There was a gentle knock at the door, and Lestrade entered, his face happier than it had been before. In fact, he seemed to be barely contain a smirk.
"What?" she snapped, feeling that nobody should even be remotely happy while John lay in life support.
"Sherlock is awake, he wants to speak with you." said the DI gently.
Harry nodded, patted John's lifeless hand, and left the room, following Lestrade down the hallways, anger bubbling in her stomach. She would give this 'wondeful' detective a piece of her mind. The were four guards outside his room, and Lestrade stopped her before they were in hearing.
"Look, Harriet, I know your angry. But you really have to consider Sherlock as a child."
She grimaced, cold faced.
"And here." he handed her a card.
She examined it closely.
"What's this?"
"It's to allow you entry to Sherlock's and John's room. Sherlock asked me to double security, and Mycroft had already asked that I keep Sherlock guarded."
"Frightened for his baby brother?" she sneered.
"Well," Lestrade almost giggled, but straitened his face when Harry clenched her fist. "Sherlock's probably planning his escape as he speak."
"What... Oh, forget it. I remember. A little kid."
She stormed off, leaving Lestrade. Showing her cards to the guards, she was allowed to enter the small room. It first struck her that it was a lot nicer than John's. A private room, obviously. The consulting detective was lounging on a bed, his eyes closed, fingers pressed to his temples.
"Ah, good Harry. Take a seat." he said, without opening his eyes.
A seething Harry seated herself on the chair, sitting on her hands to stop herself punching the monster. He opened his eyes, which were a startling shade of grey, and so bright. He watched her for a moment, then smirked.
"Don't worry, I'll get Mycroft to pay." he said, closing his eyes again.
"Wh... What?" she stuttered.
"Lestrade!" shouted Sherlock, opening his eyes a second time.
Lestrade rushed into the room, but halted when he saw nothing was the matter.
"What?"
"Fetch my brother."
Lestrade nodded meekly, and left again. Sherlock turned his bright eyes on Harry again, making her feel like he was reading her soul.
"How is he?" he asked softly.
"John. Well, he's bloody dying!" she snarled, lip curling.
"No, John will make it through. He has to." said the detective sternly, as though forbidding John to die.
"Well even if he does, he wont be himself." said Harry angry, wondering how to breach the topic of what the hell he and Sherlock had been doing at a swimming pool.
"You really are rather dim," Sherlock drawled, ignoring her bunched up fists. "I've already told you that John shall be moved to a private room immediately, and receive all necessary treatment."
"Oh..." Harry couldn't remember him saying that...
A long silence ensued.
"But, you needed a flat mate because you didn't have enough money for your own flat." said Harry triumphantly, sure that Sherlock was pulling her leg.
The tall man rolled his eyes.
"Despite being in debt, I'm sure the country can afford for John to be fixed."
"The country... What the hell are you talking about?"
"Maybe it's the drinking... I suggest you stop, it's making you dimmer that seventy five percent of the country. My brother is the British government, I'm sure he'll sort it out." Sherlock said slowly, as though Harry were a toddler.
"I didn't come here to be insulted!" Harry shouted, her fist now hovering by her side. "The British government..."
Sherlock sighed.
"As soon as Mycroft arrives, you can leave. Your dull, and dimwitted. The only interest you posses is whether you were born stupid, or it was the drinking."
Harry raised her fist, and punched Sherlock as hard as she could. Except, her fist never connected with his arrogant nose, instead, he raised a hand, without even glancing at her, and her hand impacted with that.
"I don't suggest you do that again." he said, dropping his hand.
"I want to know what my brother was doing at the pool when it exploded."
Sherlock froze, his eyes open, unmoving and unlinking. Then he anxiously licked his lips and looked away.
"It was my fault, almost," he admitted, gauging her reaction. "We had a fight, about... I can't remember. Anyway, we had a fight, and he went to Sarah's, and I agreed to meet Moriarty at the Carl Power's pool. Don't ask." he glared at her, and she shut her mouth. "Moriarty is responsible for all the recent explosions. He's playing a game with me, because he's board." Sherlock sighed, fingers locked together.
"He has a habit of strapping bombs to people, and forcing them to read out his words, that way, I never got to him." Sherlock paused, remembering the awful moment when John had stepped out from one of of the cubicles, and... He shook himself. And drew an embarrassingly shaky breath. "This time, he used John. He did it because John is my... my..." Sherlock hesitated, and glanced at Harry. "Because's John is my heart. He's the only one I care about. The only person I couldn't bare to see killed."
Harry watched the apparently indifferent man before her close his eyes to hide the emotion there. This idiot actually cared about her brother...?
"Moriarty used that to his advantage, though he seems to think I consider John as a pet. I would have shot Moriarty, even though I would have died. But he would have killed John too. So I didn't shoot him, and he let us go, for a few moments. I took the bomb of John, but then Moriarty came back, saying he was going to kill us both. I detonated the bomb by shooting it."
Sherlock finished, and sighed, refusing to run a hand through his black hair. That was a sign of weakness.
"Okay, right." Harry coughed uncomfortably. She decided not to strangle the detective. Not yet, anyway.
Mycroft entered the room, and seated himself.
"Make yourself at home." Sherlock sneered venomously.
"Thank you, dear brother."
Sherlock's lip curled.
"I want John moved to private rooms, and given all the treatment needed." said Sherlock coldly.
"On one condition, brother."
Sherlock's mouth opened, and he glared soundlessly at his brother.
"What is it?" asked Harry on Sherlock's behalf.
"That you, Sherlock, promise not to try and escape until the nurses say you can leave."
"Mycroft. That's not fair." whined Sherlock.
"It's only a little request Sherlock, and it would so set Mummy's mind at rest."
"Alright, if I can visit John."
"Deal."
"Deal." said Sherlock, reluctantly shaking his brother's hand.
Okay, so. How did I do. Is Sherlock any good, or a bit OOC? And this is how I always imagined Harry, quite a bit different from her brother, but what about you? Reviewing makes my day (=