Beep beeeeeeep Beep beeeeeeep Beep beeeeeeeep
324065... 324066... 324067 heart beats since John had been plugged in to various machines. Sherlock had been awake for a constant three days. He hadn't slept,ate, or even moved from John's side. He slowly felt his brain functions decreasing but increasing again when the heart monitor beeped. Sherlock was a man of many miracles and many thought he was capable of anything, like his broken John, but even he knew this was close to impossible. Thanks to John, Sherlock had managed to repress any urges that flew his way. He could feel his brain pulsing. He observed John every second. Checking his cannula and his tubes. He continually checked the flow of local anesthetic to him. He started this after calculating the correct amount for John's height, age and weight to the nearest 50 decimal places and finding out that they were dosing him 0.2ml out. John had a series of black bruises around his throat that extended to his spinal chord and temples. He also had a broken jaw and a chipped collar bone. The doctors had said that it was a slim chance of him making it to hospital in time. There was a 34/100 chance of him waking up and being able to walk fully, now that he had injuries to his spinal cords as well. Sherlock grew increasingly aware that the longer he was unconscious, the littler the chances of him waking up were.
"Dear brother," Mycroft whispered over Johns limp body, Sherlock pried his eyes of the man to look up.
"Tell me you got him," Sherlock moaned. John's father had made a quick getaway after the helicopters landed had airlifted John. As a military man, he would know how to get away with it. Abusive git, Sherlock muttered to himself.
"Yes. He is in custody now. Trust me, he won't get out of prison… at least not alive," Mycroft said under his breath. He knew it was risky talking about it, but it was the only comfort he could bring to his little brother.
"Thank you. What was he like?" Sherlock asked.
"Horrid, he is a vile creature. He is a prime example of why I hate the military," Mycroft rocked on his heels, getting bored of the conversation. "Mother is in the building, she told me to inform you of this." Sherlock nodded. "You need to get away from here. Just go for a coffee. I will call you if anything changes."
"You just want me to leave him," Sherlock groaned. I am fine here, now fuck off! he swore to himself.
"I will update you." Mycroft slowly lost all temper with his younger brother. He had been trying to get him out of this ward for the past day or so. He saw his brother, on the brink of destruction, cradling his boyfriends hand in a ward where the dying come to be made comfortable. Mycroft was having problems identifying the emotions that turned his stomach into knots, so he just left it. He sat down, holding his territory, and Sherlock made a sigh. He put his fingers on his lips and looked at Sherlock, analysing him. He hasn't slept, eaten, or moved. His brain functions are slowly decreasing and he can't control his emotions. He will relapse soon.
"I'll be on my phone. I'll only be five minutes," he bent down to John's ear and whispered, "I love you." He broke physical contact reluctantly but didn't stop staring at job until he left the room.
He suddenly felt alone. His heart sank as he noticed the ward he was in. He hadn't seen anything other than John and his fifteen tubes since he had been admitted. He once mistook a male nurse, doing John's three hourly check-ups, of being Moriarty. That named seemed to be cropping up more and more. His mind grew with every step. One step, he was noticing peoples hair colour. Two steps, he was noticing peoples preying eyes on his unwashed suit and skin. Three steps, he was noticing peoples name tags and baggage content. He felt normal again, though his brain had a monotone of the word 'John' repeating itself over and over. He was walking, analyzing everything. That woman on the phone just inherited her father's money. Judging by her trying to conceal a grin, he was an abusive alcoholic and she's glad he is dead. This just brought his mind back to John. He grew extremely angry all of a sudden. He decided to go for a cigarette.
Outside he met with Molly. "Its unlike you to smoke," Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh… Yeah…" Molly looked stunned, "it's been hard recently.. I don't know… Why are you talking to me Sherlock?" She tilted her head.
"What do you mean? I - I urrr - always talk to you-" Sherlock rambled, suddenly becoming very aware of how he was standing and speaking.
"Doesn't matter Sherlock…" Molly seemed remorseful. "So… I heard John was admitted?" She said carefully.
"Is that why you are here? To get a glimpse of the gossip?" Sherlock's voice rose. "Who told you? How do you know"
"I- I- I- just heard it on the ward. I am sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," she was shocked at how violent he got. She was just in the hospital to do her training rotation, he knows that, she thought to herself.
"Fine." Sherlock huffed awake and stormed away.
As he was walking through the wards his mind became scrambled and organised at once. He stood but felt like he was falling. He continued to walk, trying to shake it off, but it wouldn't go. He was drawing attention to himself, feeling overexposed, he ducked into the nearest empty side room. He stood in the doorway before shutting the door behind him. There was painting the wall, a small, dead, pot plant in the corner, he sunk against a corner as he distinguished these objects. He started mumbling over and over, unaware of the noises he was creating. Not again. Not again. Not again. Sherlock fell over, hitting his head and consequently knocking over a filing cabinet. He felt a rope around his neck, slowly robbing him of breath. He felt a warm trickle down his forehead, have I been cut? he said to himself over the yelling of his head.
"Sherlock?!" His mother burst through the door and screamed at the sight of him. Her youngest son was curled in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth. She immediately ran over to the corner he was in and confined him in her warmth. "Shhhh," she repeated in his ear over and over. GO AWAY GO AWAY, his head screamed, words unable to reach his lips. "Stay here, I'll get help," she whispered before leaving into the main ward. No no no no no no no stupid boy. Emotions are not an advantage. John will die because of this. It's your fault. Stupid, idiotic, unwanted, unnecessary, inconsiderate, weird, stupid little boy. His head rambled, beating against his skull. Everything sunk backwards until he was left in his Mind Palace. He was in a new room, or was it old? There's a painting the wall, a small, dead, pot plant in the corner, and a man, hooded, in the middle of the room. Sherlock tried to leave, get into his calm room, with Redbeard. I need Redbeard. I need Redbeard. Please leave me please. The hooded man out his whole are into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock coiled in pain, trembling, screaming. The man moved his hand to sherlocks windpipe, slowly squeezing. Sherlock gasped for breath, occasionally getting a glimpse of reality. The mind palace room grew darker and darker.
When Sherlock woke, he was in a white room. Reality or imaginary? He quizzed himself. He rose slowly, taken aback by the pounding ache in the back of his head. Reality, he noted. He raised his hand to his head, not noticing the tag around his wrist. His eyes were blurred, he flinched at the light radiating from the large window adjacent to the bed he was in. He was in his clothes, that's a good sign. He was on a plush white bed, bottom half of his body concealed in a thin, white blanket. He felt his phone poke into his rib cage and sneered at the pain.
"Hello, Mr Holmes?" A woman's voice said from next to him. He slowly moved his head in response. "Can you tell me where you are?"
"John, where's John?" Sherlock muttered between hard breaths. He looked at her, but he couldn't make out her features yet.
"Can you tell me where you are, Sherlock?" the woman repeated. Sherlock was able to see that she was a nurse, in a calming blue tunic. She was writing on a clipboard. He couldn't make out her face but her voice… Sherlock knew that voice.
"Where. Is. John?" Sherlock's voice grew angry at her reluctance to answer the question. "And, I assume by the rooms interior and the fact the doors double locked, this is a psychiatric ward. However, as this room had an unbarred window and a blanket, this is a room for minor cases. Why am I here?" He felt his temples pulsing from deducing too much.
"Yes. You were admitted here after a major relapse." She stated. "How are you feeling?"
"I am fine. I'll discharge myself now. If you could kindly point me in the direction of John Watson…" He winced under his breath as he fumbled through the endless blanket.
"Sherlock sit down please. Can you tell me what happened at the time of the panic attack?"
"No I will not. I will discharge myself now. I am fine, and I always will be," He started to walk to the door before stumbling backwards. There was a cold hand on his shoulder. He turned quickly, brain functioning fast. "I know you!" He sneered at the nurse. Their faces only inches apart.
"Took your time sweetheart," the woman laughed, "Irene Adler, at your service!" She bowed mockingly and laughed. "I was there with Moriarty and you guys threw a hissy fit at each other! No I was a consulting detective first! No I was! You guys are such drama queens!" She laughed in his face. Sherlock wiped her spit off him, noticing the tag.
"What did you do to me?"
"Nothing, you did this all by yourself!" She laughed. "I merely insured you got sectioned on behalf of James after all."
"Ok. Can I go now?" Sherlock asked, he wasn't in the mood for fighting. I have to find John.
"Not at all. You're to remain here until James is finished with John," she smiled menacingly. Sherlock felt the anger rise inside him, pressing at his temples.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?!" Sherlock screamed, grabbing the woman by her throat. Her eyes widened in shock but she stood silent. "TELL ME!" Sherlock yelled. She stood under his grip tutting at him. At that moment another man came in, Sebastian he thought to himself, and called for help. Two muscled men restrained Sherlock as he flailed around, Sebastian had already injected him with anesthetic. He continued to yell at Irene when he felt his conscience slip away. He had approximately three seconds. THINK! That was too much anesthetic to be given to me. I have to fight it. First, stay awake. Think of John. John. John. John's lips. John's eyes. John's temples. John's addiction of jam. John's favourite jumper, Johns back curve. His eyes slowly began to shut.
John was slowly brought out of his short term coma. He only had the doctor and a nurse to talk to. He gained visual and hearing senses first. He noticed Sherlock was gone. When he was able to talk he found out that hadn't been seen in a few days, John grew increasingly worried about this. He's fine, probably just gone home to change or sleep, he tried to convince himself.
"Sorry, where am I?" John asked, aware of his unknown surroundings.
"The Royal Hospital of London, dear. You were admitted after… What do you remember?" an attractive nurse in a calming blue tunic asked him, picking up a clipboard.
"I think… No… Did my Father do this to me?"
"I'm afraid so, I'm sorry darling." The woman nodded before being called out for an emergency. John was left to ponder in his thoughts. Is this real? It can't be. Dad wouldn't do this to me… Where is he? He shakily text Sherlock and sat by his phone waiting for a reply. 4 hours later, he grew worried and called Mycroft.
"Hello John," the man on the other end of the phone said.
"Hey Mycroft… You wouldn't happen to know where Sherlock is, do you?"
"No, why? How long has be been gone?" Mycroft tried to level is voice.
"A few days ago was the last sighting. Do you think something is wrong? What was he doing before I was… Um… admitted? Also, where's my Father? John asked sheepishly.
"Your Father is in custody, he can't get to you anymore," Mycroft replied strangely comfortingly. "And as for Sherlock, I don't know. I'll get my men onto it. Thanks John." He hung up.
Sherlock woke up in sweats. Allowing his eyes to open minisculely, there was two woman, a man and a person on a bed next to him. He shut his eyes again, allowing his muscles to relax once again. His breathing slowed and he felt everything slip away.
The next time Sherlock woke there was a familiar presence next to him. He felt a hand in his but he couldn't open his eyes.
"John?" Sherlock croaked, throat dry. The hand held him firmer but he fell back into unconsciousness. John sat next to him in his wheelchair trying to hold back his tears. That was the second time that they had try to revive him from his coma. Yet, again, to no avail. Mycroft, Mrs Holmes and the blue tunic'd nurse was standing around, staring at the unconscious man. They wouldn't leave John alone.
Sherlock was flying. He was free. He was able to move everywhere and anywhere in his mind palace. The room with the hooded man to Redbeard's room. That dog followed him everywhere in his mind. He showed his companion the part of him that involved around John. He showed this companion the hooded figure and his identification files. Sherlock wanted to wake up but he couldn't. Something was keeping him unconscious. He started to run around his mind palace, flying through walled seemingly easy and always floating above the imaginary flooring. He tried to talk but only choked.
Eventually Sherlock woke. His eyes opened and mouth moved around forming unknowable words. His pupils expanded and identified the two woman and the, now, two men. He was choking on something. He started to panic, and his hands shook uncontrollably. A hand took it in theirs as another set of hands removed the object from his mouth. He opened his eyes again to get a glimpse of a long chord being removed from his throat. Another pair of hands slowly poured a few drops of water into his mouth.
"John?" Sherlock groaned. Sitting next to him was a pale, yet healthier looking, John in a wheelchair. John managed a smile and hid a moan of relief. He held onto Sherlock's hand tighter.
"You had us scared," one of the women said. Mother, Sherlock said to himself in delight. She was holding a cup of water. Mycroft and a female nurse were crowded around him. "You were out for a week."
"Why did you not wake me?" Sherlock said after accepting more water.
"We tried. You couldn't stay conscious for more than a few minutes. You flat lined, the doctors barely saved you until your boyfriend here pushed them out the way and did it himself," the nurse said calmly. John couldn't meet Sherlock's gaze as she spoke. Had he really done that for me? Why? I'm not that important to him.
"Yes. That boy of yours seems to be very stubborn," Mycroft scoffed, rocking on his heels. "Refused to leave your side since you were admitted into ICU and he just won't go back to the university. Hmmm." Sherlock became sleepy again.
"I think we should leave them alone now, dear," Mrs. Holmes said, taking Mycroft, by the back, out of the room. The nurse nodded at the both and dismissed herself after altering with one of Sherlock's tube. They stared into each others eyes, both hearts beating fast. John leaned down and kissed his Sherlock on the forehead. I love you, he thought over and over, unable to speak
"John…" Sherlock whimpered before slipping back into sleep. He saw John getting wheeled away by a woman in a blue tunic.