Sherlock paced up and down the hallway of the hospital, he couldn't keep still, not when she was under the knife. He sighed wearily, briefly reviewing the past couple of hours and how many things had occurred; how he had thought his entire world lost, destroyed, dead, only to to be reunited with the centre of his world in cruel and heartbreaking ploy of fate. And now, he could lose it all again, but this time, after having won it-after having gained and exchanged and confessed everything-her. Irene Adler. The Woman, and now His Woman...but for how much longer in this life? He swallowed down the titanic lump in his throat, and rubbed his chest, his heart beginning to ache with fear and despair. He closed his eyes, only to be interrupted by the ringing of his mobile. Mycroft.
"Where are you?!" Sherlock snapped, fiercely.
"I'm on my way, calm down."
"For God's sake, hurry!" He answered, hanging up abruptly, and running a hand through his matted, tousled curls.
After about five minutes of utter agony and mounting impatience on Sherlock's end, he finally spotted his older brother, the keystone of the British government, stalk into the hospital. He paused a moment, glancing around the room with what look liked distaste. He spotted the brother he had thought dead, pausing a moment to consider him before walking over. "Tell me everything." Mycroft ordered, not one to waste words or time.
"I faked my death-that much is obvious, I'm sure...Hid out for a awhile, kept tabs on those I...left behind...I was about to figure out my next step when fate or the universe or whatever bloody nonsense it is 'people' believe in, apparently decided it for me-in the form of Miss Adler...Irene. She, uh, she contacted me, asking to meet, and, well, I agreed...how...how could I not...?" He sighed, slightly ashamed at his weakness, "One thing lead to another...we..." He swallowed, "We got...involved...And then she, well...she had had orders from one of Jim's men to 'win me back,' as it were and then turn me over...But...she...she changed her mind...But, it was...too...late by then, I found out and...didn't believe her...didn't trust her...for obvious reasons and we had...a...fight...and I...Ieft her..." He whispered, closing his eyes tight at at the ache of the memory. He swallowed, willing himself to continue. "And then...a few weeks later... Sebastian Moran tricked me into thinking that he had her kidnapped...So, obviously...I took the bait and went to rescue her...again...but, I was the fool, in the end, and he captured me and was about to kill me when...she...she stupidly tried to save me... he then captured me, notified her, of course, and she foolishly tried to then save me..." He exhaled heavily. "And...well, the rest should be self-explanatory." He said quickly and matter-of-factly.
Mycroft nodded, noticing every pause and analysing the importance. "So tell me, why did Irene Adler risk her own life, for you; especially after this supposed 'argument'?" He knew the answer of course already.
Sherlock glared at his brother, his emotions were already too heightened and erratic as it was. He did not appreciate having to explain the obvious.
"She loves me." He spat, acidly, shooting daggers at his sibling.
Mycroft sighed, his fears having been verbally confirmed by Sherlock. If there was one thing he hoped would never happen, it was this. As much as he and his little brother did not get on, as much as they had had a lifetime of bitterness and irritation with each other, Mycroft Holmes was extremely and utterly devoted and protective of Sherlock. And Irene Adler, from all he knew of her and had experienced with her, did not seem like a person, or a woman, he could trust. She had betrayed his little brother once, and now had almost done it twice, who was to say she wasn't planning a third attempt? He sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he decided to relent a bit and let Sherlock continue, before imparting him with some 'brotherly' advice. "And you love her, I'm assuming?" He asked him, though he didn't need to. Sherlock's face and air said it all. He clenched his jaw, his eyes darting around the waiting room once more before spitting out lowly, under his breath, "Did it really have to be her?"
Sherlock's nostrils' flared and his right hand flexed in livid fury as he resisted the extreme urge to punch his brother in his pointy nose right then and there.
"Yes, it did!" He hissed back at his Mycroft. "Tell me, dear brother, who would it have been if not her?!"
"Well I had been holding out hope for you and John. He's much more...tame." Mycroft leered, unable to keep himself from mocking his brother about his close friendship with the doctor. "Irene Adler will bring you nothing but heartbreak; that I assure you." Mycroft continued, sighing heavily once more before rubbing his forehead dejectedly. He had not dealt with such an emotional Sherlock in a very long time.
Sherlock's face contorted in rage and disgust. He quickly raised his right fist up and swung it across Mycroft's left cheek.
"First of all, I'm not gay and never was! Secondly, don't you ever talk about my...my girlfriend that way, again!" He screamed at him furiously, shaking his hand out as he did so.
Mycroft stumbled backwards slightly, clutching his face with his hand and scowling at his brother in shock and disapprovement. "Sherlock Holmes, if you do not calm down I will have you arrested for assaulting a government official!" He countered lowly, rubbing his cheek carefully. "You getting emotional will certainly not help her. Do keep that in mind, won't you?" He added with a hiss.
Sherlock swallowed, regaining composure as she closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled sharply through his nose. He opened his eyes finally and nodded slowly, knowing that at the heart of it, his brother was correct. "Fine." He muttered under his breath. "What will help her, then, Mycroft? Please, I...I'm desperate...?" He sighed closing his eyes again as he fought the moisture that was forming in their corners.
Mycroft sat down in one of the many seats in the corridor. He motioned for Sherlock to sit beside him. "What condition is she in? Is she stable?"
Sherlock sat down, his face remaining forward. He talked as if in a daze.
"They're still operating...There's a good chance...but they aren't...one-hundr—" His voice hitched and broke. He cursed himself as he lost control, bringing his hands to his head. He never wanted anyone to seem him this vulnerable, to know that he was even capable of it, least of all, his older brother.
Mycroft stared wide-eyed at his brother. He had never seen him like this before; so fragile, so very near the verge of breaking. He sighed softly before muttering, "Dear God. You really do love her, don't you?" And then he did something he had only ever done when Sherlock was an adolescent-and even then it had been rare-he put an arm around his younger brother's shoulder in a physical attempt of fraternal solace.
Without realising it or consciously agreeing to, Sherlock leaned into his brother's arm, for once, grateful for the comfort of another human. "This," he began, referring to their intimate pose, "Never happened." He said, lowly, into Mycroft's shoulder.
"Don't worry, brother, I'll be deleting all CCTV footage straight away." Mycroft murmured, allowing a silence to fall between them for a minute before continuing, "She's is in the best place, Sherlock. Best in the country, I promise." He reassured him, however, he did not make the empty promises that most people made in such situations. He did not tell him that she would be fine. Chances could very well be that she wouldn't. People died. That's just what happened. The cycle of life and all that. Also, he barely knew her...One rollercoaster ride of a case, in which she nearly brought down the entirety of Britain and then, a casual meet up later, and suddenly, the man had fallen deerstalker over heels for her...Sentiment...Even his little brother had succumbed to her seductions, and at the hand of one Irene Adler. Mycroft sighed to himself. This just proved how right he was. Caring was a disadvantage.
Sherlock nodded slowly. "I know, I know, and...thank you...thank you for having her brought here." He muttered, looking up suddenly hearing footsteps approaching them. It was the same nurse that had talked to him earlier. He quickly stood up, his eyes searching hers "How is she?!" He asked frenzied.
The nurse smiled at him. "She's stable. There's a very large chance that she will make a full recovery. Would you like to see her? She's sleeping at the moment."
Sherlock nodded, "Yes, please, if I won't disturb her?"
She looked at him kindly "No, she probably won't wake up for a bit but you can try talking to her."
Sherlock nodded, swallowing. "Show me to her." He turned towards Mycroft, questioningly. "Well, are you coming?"
Mycroft studied his brother's face and sensed that he should not be alone, even now. He nodded once before joining Sherlock's side as they followed the nurse down the corridor and to Irene's room in the ICU unit.
Sherlock frowned as he entered the room and his eyes landed on her form. She looked so fragile and worn. Her face looked thinner and pasty; tired, and ill. He walked to her bedside, pulled up a chair and grabbed her hand, kissing it softly, blinking back a tear.
"Oh, my darling." He murmured.
Mycroft watched Sherlock silently from the doorway. He glanced at Irene; she looked terrible compared to when they had last met. He shifted his weight awkwardly against the doorframe and huffed to himself. The growing silence and tender display of affection before him was beginning to make him very uncomfortable. He decided to break it with, "So, brother, besides falling in love, what have you been doing since your 'death'?" He asked.
Sherlock turned and gave his brother a murderous look. "Do you mind? I've only just laid eyes on her since she was dying in my arms in an effort to save my very life. We can discuss the details later!" He whispered harshly with a dark glare. He then refocused his attention to The Woman.
"Miss Adler...Irene, can you hear me?" He asked, not wanting to wake her up but unable to stop himself.
Mycroft sighed. "Fine." He muttered, moving to sit in a chair as far away from the couple as possible before pulling out his phone.
The darkness weighed heavily on Irene and she was unsure whether or not she had died. She felt as if she was floating on nothing, unable to get a clear grasp on reality. In the distance she felt like she could hear Sherlock calling her name but she was unsure whether or not it was just her imagination taking advantage of her damaged state. She tried to move towards the sound, to open her eyelids but they were so heavy and her body and mind so fatigued.
Sherlock saw her eyes move under her lids. He tried again, squeezing her hand in encouragement for her, "Irene, darling, it's me." He murmured, kissing her hand again.
Again, she struggled against nothingness. She couldn't remember anything of the recent events and her only desire, her only want at the moment was to respond to the voice she was faintly hearing. She had to see his face. For what could have been either seconds or hours-time was indeterminable to her-she continued to struggle, until suddenly, everything seemed to snap into place. Her eyes fluttered open and she winced against the sharp, flood of light.
"Sherlock?" She murmured hoarsely.
A wide grin broke out across his face. "The one and only." He confirmed softly.
Her eyes flickered quickly to where Sherlock was seat and she mirrored his grin, hers a little more laboured though.
"Thank God you're okay." She murmured equally as softly. "I thought...I thought he was going to kill you."
"I should be saying that about you, you foolish woman. Don't you ever do that to me again, do you hear me? I thought I lost you there for a bit..." He trailed off, the memory haunting him even now.
She reached a hand out to place it on his cheek, mirroring what she had done when she was dying. She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "I'm not going to apologise. But I am sorry for scaring you. However, it was...unavoidable." She pointed out, her voice slightly stronger.
He took her hand, and kissed her palm.
"I'll take the bullets from now on." He said, with a smile.
She smiled at him. "If it makes you feel better then I'll agree. However I'll never stop taking bullets for you." Irene glanced to the back of her room with a slight frown.
"Dear God, the government's here." she said with a small smirk.
Sherlock glanced at Mycroft and then Irene.
"I had to call in a favour. You should be honoured the Queen herself came to visit." He chuckled.
Mycroft rolled his eyes and Irene chuckled, the sound quickly becoming a cough however and she started to wheeze, tears in her eyes from the pain.
Sherlock quickly handed her a glass of water that was at her bedside table, lifting her up slightly so she could drink it.
"Sorry." He mumbled.
Mycroft took a step forward, taking advantage of the lull in their conversation.