Next chapter! John wakes up, and we see the second murder. Enjoy.
Sherlock immediately looked down, and saw that John's eyes had opened a slit, and he was peering blearily up. Sherlock didn't say anything, after all, what could he say? Pretty much every option just sounded far to cliché. He was more relived than he could, or would, say to see that his friend was okay.
"Sherlock? Your alive?" asked John hopefully, stretching out a trembling hand.
"Yes, I'm alive. I'm fine," he frowned, gently pushing John's hand away from his face. "What about you?"
John breathed deeply through his nose.
"Just about okay. A bit stiff." he said finally, still gazing up at Sherlock.
Sherlock allowed himself a small smile, but it disappeared quickly.
"Moriarty got away." he said.
John mouthed a curse.
"That's... Well, not good."
"Bit not good." Sherlock agreed with the trace of another smile.
There was a comfortable silence, and Sherlock looked up, realising that Harry was glaring spifully at him. John turned to see where Sherlock was looking, and froze.
"Ah. Hello Harry." he said, stress plain in his voice.
"John, good to see your awake." she said, equally tense.
Sherlock watched with mild interest, aware he was receiving the full brunt of Harry's angry looks. Obviously she blamed him for something... Though what, he couldn't tell. Despite having very little social experience, it was easy to see that John wasn't pleased to see Harry, and she was unsure of what to do.
"So, did Lestrade find any evidence on where Moriarty might be?" asked John, deciding the best plan was to ignore his sister.
"Unfortunately not. I only got out of hospital yesterday, and I haven't visited the scene yet..." said Sherlock.
John raised his eyebrows.
"You... didn't visit the scene?" he asked.
"No. To be honest, I escaped from hospital. They wanted to keep me in a week." said Sherlock cautiously.
"Sherlock Holmes being honest, that's news to me." snapped Harry.
John skilfully ignored her, giving Sherlock an apologetic eyebrow twitch.
"Alright. What are your injuries?" he asked.
"Nothing to bad. Some bruising, and a broken rib."
John shrugged.
"And me?"
"You had internal bleeding, but it wasn't that serious. A very nasty bang on the head, but you don't seem to have amnesia or brain damage, so over all, your in better health than me." said Sherlock.
The exchanged smiles, though Sherlock's was hardly sincere.
"John?" Harry broke the silence.
John slowly turned to look at her, eyes wary. Sherlock also watched her closely, though out the corner of his eye.
"What?" asked John.
"I would like a word, alone..." she said frostily.
John glanced from Sherlock to Harry, frowning. He was about to say something, when Sherlock stood.
"I actually want to get back to the flat." he said vaguely, heading towards the door.
"When will you come back?" asked John.
"Erm... Later today." said Sherlock, glancing back.
He opened the door, and was gone. Leaving Harry and John alone.
There was a strained silence between the two siblings.
"What did you want to say, Harry?" asked John, keeping his voice neuteral.
Things had been strained before the last meeting, and after it, a relationship had been almost non existent.
Harry hesitated, her expression becoming a little desperate. She quickly pulled herself together, and scowled.
"I want you to move in with me. You have to stop mixing with... Him." she said stonily, managing to put only anger and spite into the sentence.
John only gaped at her.
"W-what? No. I wont. Firstly, if I moved in with you, we'd murder each other, and two... Sherlock's my friend."
"Your friend? Does he have friends?"
"I never said he considered me as a friend." said John coldly. He wasn't sure if Sherlock considered him as a friend. He had shown that to some degree, he cared. But whether that was just on a 'he's my flatmate, and I need him to pay the bills' level, or on a 'he's my friend' he couldn't tell.
"So your in a one sided friendship with a psychopath?" asked Harry incredulously.
John let out a snarl.
"He's not. Now stop winding me up Harry, I could really do without it."
Harry however, didn't back down.
"Even you know it's true. He's a psychopath, and if he hasn't already, he'll kill somebody." said Harry triumphantly.
John stared coldly at her. His face now devoid of anger, but instead a deep, cold hate.
"Harriet, if you could please stop insulting my friend, I would very much appreciate it. If it wasn't for Sherlock, I would have had to move out of London. If it wasn't for Sherlock, I would still be limping. And if it wasn't for Sherlock, I would have been killed several times."
Harry scoffed, but didn't respond. Their staring match was broken by the door opening, and an anxious throat being cleared. John thanked with all his heart whoever it was that was there. He would even be pleased to see Anderson. However, it wasn't Anderson, which was probably a good thing, instead, John turned to see an anxious Lestrade standing in the doorway.
"Oh, erm. Do you want me to go?" he asked, shuffling back.
"No, Lestrade. Don't worry. Harry was just leaving, weren't you." said John firmly, patting the chair Sherlock had recently vacated.
Lestrade nodded politely at Harry as she rose and stalked out the room, then seated himself beside John.
"Good to see your okay." said Lestrade.
"Yeah." John smiled warmly, but Lestrade was busy staring at the ceiling.
He finally spoke up, rather nervously, John thought.
"John, you know... That Sherlock's okay, right?" he asked hesitantly.
"Yes..." said John uncertainly.
"Well, yesterday, Sherlock went missing," said Lestrade gently. "Nobodies seen him since..."
"Wh- hang on. So what was Sherlock doing in here a few minutes ago?" he asked feeling extremely confused.
Lestrade started, and stared.
"Sherlock... was in here?"
"Yes, but now I think about it, he said he'd escaped from hospital yesterday." said John, smiling.
"That little... I can't believe it. I've got almost the whole police force looking for him! Mycroft said he could be in some kind of danger."
John shrugged.
"Well he's not. I hear Moriarty slipped through for fingers."
"Yeah, no sign of him. I'll get Sherlock to come to the scene, but I doubt he'll find anything. It's been almost a week, and it's rained twice."
John nodded, and Lestrade glanced down at his watch.
"Well, I'll be going now. I only wanted to tell you that Sherlock was missing, and now I know he's not..." he shrugged. "When will you be out of this place?"
"Couple of days." said John.
Lestrade nodded, and left.
John sat back, trying not to think about Moriarty... Now he had nothing else to think about, it was all to easy to relive those last few moments at the pool.`He would do everything in his power to help Sherlock catch Moriarty before something else happened.
The area had been chaos when the women collapsed and died. Now police tapes surrounded the area, and nearby area was empty. Police cars filled the car park outside, and officers surrounded the scene. People on their way out the airport tried to look, without appearing too. Lestrade was inside the sectioned off area, crouching over the women. Sally Donovan was at his shoulder, watching motionlessly, her eyes following Lestrade's every move.
Heathrow had ground to a halt, all the people had been waiting to board their plane had been told to go to the far end of the room. Life at Heathrow had carried on, simply without half a waiting room, and a few burger bars. All the nearby shops had been closed, and the staff sent away. All witnesses were in a huddled line on a bench, along with a sobbing child, who had been the women's son. Lestrade stood up, and beckoned Anderson forward, who gave the body a careful examination.
"Can't see anything obvious. Some kind of heart attack I guess." he said finally.
Lestrade nodded.
"The son says that she was feeling dizzy, vomited, and then had a seizure."
Anderson shrugged.
"Jack, can you take the kid to his grandparents. He needs to calm down." said Lestrade, addressing one of the officers that was blocking the scene from pedestrians. He nodded, and marched to the sobbing child, silently picking him up, and carrying him out the door.
Lestrade turned to the line of quivering winessess.
"Right, you can go. Though if you want to give your phone numbers incase we need more information, then give them to Sergeant Donovan." he nodded, before striding out of the airport. This particular death was normal, natural, not anything he should bother himself about. He had to get onto helping Sherlock Holmes find Moriarty.
Another chapter complete. I just wanted to add that bit at the end so I could get the plot going, which it finally is, but it'll be a while before something else happens, but in the meantime, SH & JW will start looking for Moriarty. It could be a very long time until I update, as November is National Novel Writing Month (nanowrimo) and I've got a word count goal of 60,000 words. I might be able to update during that, but we'll see.
Have a good day.