Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
Hi everyone! So sorry for the delays … to say I lost motivation is an understatement. However, I finally got at least enough back for this chapter and I hope to have the final one up soon. Thanks, as always, for the encouragement!
Sherlock ran out of the hospital and got a cab. While the driver was making entirely idiotic decisions, Sherlock telephoned Lestrade, telling him to get to King's College London, nursing building.
"Did you find her?" Lestrade asked, grabbing his coat and signalling to Donovan.
"No, but she'll be there." Sherlock said, hanging up as the driver pulled up to the curb. He paid the fare before running inside. He ran underneath the carved quotation and ended up at the main office with the push-over secretary.
Sherlock stopped in the doorway, frowning.
The office was completely empty but it wasn't closed. Sweaters still hung on the back of chairs, a half consumed cup of coffee on one of the desks, the window open.
He narrowed his eyes, swiftly turning and striding down the hall until he found the one office door that wasn't open.
Claudia Howard, Department Chair.
Sherlock paused outside the door, listening. There were two people in the room … obviously Jenn and Claudia.
Well. This was an unforeseen turn. Sherlock hadn't counted on a hostage situation but it made sense. Jenn was going to kill the woman who authorized the expulsion and was then going to kill herself. Sherlock knew he didn't have much time and Lestrade was slow. He rolled his eyes – did he have to do everything for New Scotland Yard? – and knocked on the door.
The voices from behind the door stopped.
Obviously Jenn wasn't expecting anyone to find her.
The door didn't open and Sherlock knocked again.
Still nothing.
Finally, he tried the knob and when he found it locked, he kicked down the door.
"You!" Jenn exclaimed, a pistol pointed at a bound Claudia. Claudia looked up at Sherlock, her eyes wide with fear. There was a trail of blood trickling down the side of her face.
"Stay there!" Jenn exclaimed, moving to point the gun at Sherlock as he stepped forward.
"Interesting choice, the hostage," Sherlock said smoothly. "Was that planned or a spur of the moment decision?"
"Why shouldn't I kill her?" Jenn asked. "She's the one who made sure I couldn't do what I wanted."
"That wasn't her," Sherlock said. "That was you. Inappropriate relationships with male patients; what kind of nurse are you?"
He was taunting her and he knew it. She was a live bomb, ready to explode at the slightest bit of impact.
"They weren't true," she exclaimed.
"They never are," Sherlock muttered.
"The committee got it wrong." Jenn insisted. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"Right," Sherlock said, glancing around. "So what was your plan? Execution style, bullet between the eyes? Or maybe from behind? Oh, I know, you were going to shoot both of her kneecaps first, watch her suffer a bit, and then kill her? Or were going to hurt her to try and save her?"
For the first time, Jenn was speechless.
Interesting.
She hadn't intended on killing Claudia, it was never part of the plan. This woman didn't have what it takes to kill someone.
"Well?" Sherlock asked. "Which is it? Go on, show what you can do! Or are you a coward? Afraid of a little bit of blood?"
Jenn bit her lip in determination and slowly turned so the gun was aimed at Claudia, her hand shaking now that Sherlock was forcing her to move. In one swift motion, Sherlock was behind her, his fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist. He wrenched her hand upwards, towards the ceiling, as the shot rang out. Sherlock forced the gun from the woman's hand before twisting her arm backwards. He heard the satisfying snap of her elbow disjointing and she screamed in pain, going limp as Sherlock twisted her arm a bit harder.
Sherlock let her fall to the floor as he went to Claudia, loosening the ties on her hands.
"You're alright," he said gently, turning back around to glance at the unconscious woman on the floor.
"How did you know she'd be here?" Claudia gasped.
"I didn't know, I deduced." Sherlock said. "Her world is crashing down. She would rather die than be locked in a prison cell for the rest of her life, unable to continue nursing people."
At that moment, Sherlock heard the sirens outside. The cars' breaks were loud as they screeched to a halt and footsteps echoed around the empty corridors.
"We're in here, Lestrade!" Sherlock called, standing up. Lestrade appeared in the doorway, glancing at Jenn and then at Sherlock and Claudia.
"Is she …" his voice trailed off.
"No, she's fine. Some smelling salts and she'll be ready for questioning."
"Her elbow is bent backwards, Sherlock. She'll need medical treatment before you can talk to her."
Sherlock stepped up to Lestrade so their noses were inches apart.
"John is dying," he said in a low voice. "Right now, a machine is breathing for him. That woman is the only way to save him. She can be looked at after I talk to her."
Greg took a step back.
"Fair enough."
An hour later, Sherlock and Lestrade were sitting opposite Jenn, who was pale and sweating.
"I should be in hospital right now," she said, glaring at Lestrade. "And he should be under arrest for assault."
"You could visit John," Sherlock said. "He was asking about you."
"And how is Doctor Watson?" Jenn snarled. "I imagine he's almost dead by now."
"No," Sherlock answered. "He's fine, feeling much better. The fever broke a few hours ago, I believe, and the doctors are saying he can come home in a few days' time."
Jenn's face fell.
"That's impossible," she said. "He'll die without the antidote."
"Your engineered strain of flu." Sherlock said. "Yes, clever, really. How did you do it? You have a chemical engineering background but that's hardly adequate to manipulate genes."
"Why would I tell you?"
"Do you have a friend somewhere you rang up for a favour?"
Jenn bit her lip.
"It won't take us long to find them," Sherlock said. "It'd help your case, though, if you just told us."
Jenn remained quiet.
"I'm quite interested to see how you altered the influenza virus to make it bacterial," Sherlock said. "It is a bacterial strain, right? Otherwise you'd risk catching it and I'd probably be in hospital myself by now if it weren't."
Jenn still didn't say anything but Sherlock knew it was a matter of time.
"And the antidote," he continued. "Whoever you hired to make it for you must be quite intelligent. Not only altering the influenza virus into a bacterial form but making an antidote to combat it … it's quite impressive, really."
"Well, I'm sorry you won't get the chance to see it."
"And why's that? Surely you don't just have one vial of influenza and one vial of antidote."
Only he knew she would. She wouldn't risk having more than one and the chemical process to make it and the altered strain of influenza would be memorized in someone's brain, never written down.
"I did," she said. "But I've gotten rid of it."
"No, you haven't," Sherlock said. "That antidote is the one thing that meant you could keep up your act. Get the men you bring home sick, nurse them a few days, and then make them well. It's the only thing that made you a good nurse … the only way you could make sure they got better was by giving them that antidote to the flu you induced. You wouldn't have gotten rid of it because you know we'll never find out how it was made. The steps were never written down, only memorized, and this is your last supply. It would make sense to get rid of it, flush it down the toilet, but no, you wouldn't do that. This was your life. It was how you could be a nurse. The minute I took John to hospital, you knew that was all in jeopardy, that's why you were going to kill yourself. You wouldn't get rid of the key to all of your success."
Sherlock, by this point, was leaning over the table so he was right in her face. A small smile appeared on Jenn's lips.
"You lied," she said. "John is dying, right now, and he needs that antidote. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Holmes, but you will never find it."
She settled back in her chair, looking pleased with herself.
Sherlock glared at her before leaving the room. Lestrade joined him outside.
"Let me see her handbag," Sherlock said. "She'd keep the antidote on her at all times."
Lestrade wordlessly went to the evidence locker and retrieved her personal belongings. Sherlock dumped them out on the desk. Purse – a few pieces of ID and some cash – and lipstick, mobile, iPod, earphones.
"This?" Lestrade held up a travel bottle of paracetamol.
"No, too obvious," Sherlock said. Instead, he held up an inhaler.
"Here."
"How do you know?" Lestrade asked, tilting his head to read the label on the inhaler. "It has her medical information on it."
"She doesn't have asthma," Sherlock called, putting it in his coat and heading for the door. "The label is a fake. The antidote is what's inside and it's how the drug is administered."
Sherlock left New Scotland Yard and got a cab to the hospital, checking his watch and hoping he wasn't too late.
In my mind, far from my best work but it's a chapter … reviews always welcome, thanks!