Caught in transport
The world outside kept on turning, people kept on living their lives, feeling joy, happiness, pain and sorrow. They were all wrapped in their own little world, oblivious to the struggles that surrounded them, only concerning themselves with what was going on with them. Even the hallway outside the hospital room was bustling with activity only these people knew of the struggles, they were fully aware of reality; only many of them chose to ignore it. Caring for the sick and dying was a job, while they were there they cared, as soon as the clock hit eight o'clock they all went home to blend into the crowds, forgetting the tragedy and pain they left behind. Inside the hospital room time stopped, it was irrelevant, meant nothing, the four walls trapped the occupants in a bubble where time did not exist but out with the walls, time moved on as swiftly as ever.
John was trapped in his own little world, barely registering the DI entering the room and sitting himself on the chair the other side of the bed. The silence was thick and it felt like a sin to break it so neither of them spoke, they simply sat and watched the motionless man in the bed. Simultaneously they reminisced about the man who was lying there, still very much alive but who had the appearance of a dead man to the untrained eye. Only the steady beep, beep indicated there was life within the motionless shell.
Eventually John broke the silence, nature calling him too strongly. "Hey Greg, stay here with him a minute would you? I need to use the toilet." Of course the DI nodded and John reluctantly headed down the hallway. "Look you idiot," he started, unsure of why he was talking to an unconscious man, he could almost hear Sherlock's scathing remarks. "I know what you're thinking, no point talking to a man who can't hear you, it's stupid really, but I have something really important to tell you. Just, stop being stupid and wake up. Can you do that for me? Just, just wake up, it's not a big ask. Will you do it? Will you do it for John?"
The room seemed thick with silence except for the heart monitor which was making its presence known. Lestrade glanced up at the clock but his gaze instantly fell back on the detective. Something moved and Lestrade could have sworn it was the nearly dead man's eyes that had flickered. "Sherlock, mate, can you hear me?" he asked, leaning forwards in his seat, desperately hoping for a response, any response would have been promising. But there was nothing, no indicators that the man could hear him. "Just my imagination then," he muttered, disappointed as the door swung open.
Through it walked John, Mycroft and Mrs Hudson, the latter was carrying a pot containing a Venus fly trap, a big one at that. "He was always keen on these, before John came along and there were no cases he used to spend his time catching flies and feeding them to it. Sometimes he would cut open the traps to see what stage of digestion they were at," she explained to Lestrade's questioning look.
Once everyone was settled Mycroft turned his attention to the DI, spinning his umbrella absentmindedly on the ground. "What were you saying when we came in?"
"Sorry, what?"
"You were muttering something about it being your imagination when we came in, I was wondering what it was."
"Oh, it was nothing really, I just thought that I saw his eyes flickering but I don't think I did." This caught everyone's attention; their heads snapped up and looked at the DI in a manner which unnerved him. "What, is there something I'm missing here?"
"No, not at all," replied Mycroft slowly. "I just saw his eyes moving when I was on the phone to Mummy the other day."
"Mummy?" asked Lestrade in disbelief.
"Well, yes, my mother, our mother. Problem?"
"Oh no, it's just not many people refer to their mother as Mummy nowadays."
"I saw his eyes moving too," interrupted Mrs Hudson, "If anyone is interested. I was talking to him and his eyes started to flicker. He stopped and I asked him something and they flickered again, it's like it was a response but I just thought it was a coincidence." Suddenly all eyes were on the medical man, looking for some hope, but he did not seem ready to give any, he was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. "Yes, I've seen it too, I told the doctors but they didn't think anything of it. But this much movement, it's not typical of a coma patient."
"Do you have any idea what's going on?" asked Mrs Hudson, practically clinging onto John looking for an inkling of hope.
"I have a thought but I'm not saying it. I've only seen it a couple of times so its very unlikely this has happened to Sherlock. We need to talk to the doctors."
And they did talk to the doctor's, who almost instantly dismissed them. It was Mycroft who managed to get Sherlock seen, albeit for five minutes. All they did was shine a penlight in his eyes to check to see whether or not he was responsive. When his pupils did not contract they said he was showing no signs of waking up and then left. "I want him transferred," said Mycroft as they left. "I'll get him in a private hospital where people will actually do their damn jobs." After a brief discussion everyone agreed to leave it a few days, to see if he did start to wake up or not, after that Mycroft would make the call.
Three days passed and Sherlock's eyes kept flickering. John had removed the tape from his eyes, thinking perhaps he'd be able to open his eyelids at some point. That was yet to happen but they kept on hoping. They'd all started talking to him too, just on the off chance that there were moment he could hear their voices, so that he would know that he wasn't actually alone.
"He needs an MRI," stated John to Mycroft three days later. "I think there is something going on in his brain that can't be picked up by the EEG." Mycroft nodded and stood up.
"Any recommendations you make Dr Watson will be fulfilled. I want what is best for my brother." With that the British Government walked out the room and a minute later the sound of shouting emanated from down the hallway.
"There are people who actually need the MRI Mr Holmes!" shouted the doctor. "I do not want to waste a good hour on such an expensive machine simply due to your own sentimentality!" John could practically hear Mycroft's eyes narrowing as he looked at what would soon become a victim of the man's power.
"I can assure you that any and all expenses can be covered if that is the problem doctor."
"I am sorry Mr Holmes but I am simply not going to refer your brother for an MRI that will not do any good at all."
"Very well, on your head be it. If I were you I wouldn't bother starting anything new, in a few minutes you aren't going to have a job."
"What?" By this time Mycroft had dialled not-Anthea.
"Ah, do you know the name of Sherlock's doctor? Good. I want his job terminated immediately and for him to be forcibly removed by security, would you organise that for me?" The doctor stood there, open mouthed, as the government official hung up his phone.
"You think you're so important don't you Mr Holmes. I don't see why, your brother is a fraud and a foul one at that. The nation hates him, loathes him in fact and therefore it hates you. You can't touch me." Mycroft smiled his sickly smile. Oh no, I won't be touching you doctor, well, you don't own that title anymore I'm afraid. But those men down the hall don't look like they'll have much of a problem with disposing of you." The doctor's eyes widened as he saw a group of security personnel heading towards him. He tried to make a run for it but to no avail. He was soon caught. Mycroft turned to the small crowd that had gathered and pointed at a doctor. "You, would you mind referring my brother for an MRI or do you have a problem too?"