The Charred Remains
Chapter 12: And Where Do We Go From Here?
A/N: I'm surprised with how fast these are coming out, but apparently the plot bunnies just won't let me go and I need to write it all down before they leave me high and dry! Thanks to my beta Grizziesmom, this chapter is amazing! Also, wish my other lovely beta MeddlingAdler lots of luck while she works through her end of school exams! Also, as usual, please let me know what you think! Love you all for giving me the confidence to keep writing this story!
John had been in the private hospital for a little over five days, all of them awake and confused. He'd visited with Jim for two of those days, his visits lasting anywhere from an hour to three hours at a time. John found the man to be warm and receptive, but nothing made his heart stutter or skip a beat. He didn't know how they could have had such an amazing life together, but nothing, not even a spike in blood pressure, indicated that they'd shared so much as a kiss. John hated how timid Jim acted around him. It seemed almost as if he was afraid of doing something, anything that would wreak havoc on all the progress John had made so far.
As it was at the moment, John was sitting, the back of his bed raised to help him out with the simple position. He hated that his pain medications were beginning to be tapered back, but he knew it was essential to him healing. In his new, slightly elevated position, each breath made his lungs ache. He gritted his teeth when it got too bad, but more so than not, he really wished he was still asleep, back in a place where he could just float forever in oblivion and the pain was nonexistent.
"John, do you need some more medication?" Jim asked, sitting up straighter in the chair he had next to John's bedside.
John blinked, turning his head slowly, having learned his fair share of lessons of moving too quickly, to regard Jim. He smiled softly at the man.
"No, no, I'll be fine. This is much more preferable to the pain back when I was shot in Afghanistan. I wish that's what I'd forgotten instead of…" he trailed off, a light pink hue touching his cheeks as he looked down at his lap. It was still so surreal to think himself married to the brunet man seated at his side.
Jim seemed to shy away when John's war wound was brought up; he didn't seem to like any subject that involved John in any sort of pain. John found it endearing how protective he was, even going so far as to tell off the doctor for trying to rush John into practice using his crutches before the little doctor was ready to do so.
"It's okay John, I know this will all take time. I am a very patient man, and I just want to support you through it any way I can," he smiled up at the blond man, his hand reaching across the void to awkwardly pat John's hand.
That was another thing John had to get used to; another man touching him in such intimate ways. It didn't make him feel too uncomfortable. After all he did have a few army mates' cocks down his throat when times got too hard during the war. But that had been a secret sort of thing; something that they never ever spoke of after it was all said and done. Even barring those encounters John couldn't remember a time he'd ever been attracted to a man. Well, that's a lie. Whenever John would concentrate; trying to dredge up any sort of inkling to his being receptive to a sexual relationship with a man, an unbidden image of dark curls would flash so quickly in his mind. He had no idea who the curls belonged to, or if they were even connected to a male, but the image always seemed to leave him breathless.
John was pulled from his silent contemplations when a white cup of water was placed below his nose. He flinched back, an uncomfortable noise jumping from his throat as crimson rose in his cheeks from embarrassment. He took the cup, glancing up at Jim, an apologetic smile on his lips.
"Thanks," he muttered, lifting the rim of the cup to his lips and drinking down the cool liquid. He set it on the table above his legs, "Sorry about that, I got lost in my head again."
Jim nodded, his hands gently curled around the railing of John's bed, "No, that's fine. I like when you go into your head, it makes me hopeful…which I am hopeful now, but…just, I hope you find something of us in there," he cocked his head, a gentle smile touching his lips. John saw his fingers twitch, as if he wanted to reach out and touch any part of John that he could. A shiver raced down his spine at the mere thought of it.
John chuckled softly, leaning his head back against the plush pillow, "I hope so too Jim. I hate seeing how much this hurts you…that I can't recall a single thing after coming home those few years ago." John sighed in annoyance, knowing that dwelling too long on the issue would make his brain pound against his skull, rebelling at having to work so hard.
Jim nodded, his hands tightening on the railing a moment before he pulled them off.
"Your doctor said he'd be stopping by today, hopefully with news on when you can go home," Jim stated, moving from the bed to stand at the window, his keen eyes looking out through the blinds into a bright shock of sunlight.
"God I hope it's today," John groaned, eyes closing softly as he tried to think of home. He knew he'd not get out today, but he bloody well hated hospitals.
Jim chuckled gently, his hands clasped behind his back. Today he was dressed in a pair of jeans, a brown belt, and a light grey tee shirt. He looked so young, John thought. Jim turned to regard John, his brown eyes warm, shimmering with stolen sunlight from the window.
"Doctors really do seem to make the worst patients," he teased gently, lips curling to show gleaming white teeth.
For some reason the sight made John think of a snake just before it strikes. For a fleeting moment, wherein John wasn't even sure it had happened, he was gripped with a sudden, icy feeling of pure terror. As quickly as the feeling had come, it had gone. He blinked a few times, confused. He hadn't a clue where it had come from. He let out a slow breath, his gaze focusing again to see Jim's head cocked curiously, worry in his eyes. John smiled softly, hoping he could school his face into a look of apology.
"Sorry, thought I was remembering something, but it's gone now," he lied easily enough.
Jim had pulled his lips apart, most likely to retort what John had just said, but then the door to the room opened. Both men looked towards the interruption to see the doctor entering. He carried a manila file along with a clipboard. Kirsty followed behind, giant grin pulling at her lips as she moved around John's bed to check a few things.
"Morning boys, how are we feeling?" she chirped, shifting the blanket that covered John's cast covered leg to check how the skin protruding from the top of the cast was looking, as well as some of the stitched incisions on his abdomen.
"Be better if I was out of here," John muttered, though the smile on his face was friendly enough. Kirsty only nodded in understanding.
Jim turned to regard the doctor himself, "We're fine, but do you have any news?"
The doctor looked quickly from Jim to settle his gaze on John. He seemed to try and ignore Jim to the best of his abilities while they were in the room together. He cleared his throat.
"Yes, actually, I came to let you know the results of the most recent MRI and CATscan are looking good. The swelling has gone down, almost back to normal and the bruising seems to be clearing up nicely as well. With any luck, those lost memories should start to return in time. As for your leg, well, as you know it was a pretty clean break, easy to set, so healing time should be about five more weeks." He paused to allow for any questions. "Lastly, John, your release date is dependent on us getting you to sit in a chair for two hours, and proper training with a pair of crutches. I don't see why you can't go home in about three days, pending your head and leg." He quickly looked between Jim and John before nervously clearing his throat.
John nodded slowly, his hands twitching at his sides, itching to get out, "Right, well, all that sounds fair enough. Will we attempt sitting up today then?"
Kirsty looked to the doctor, waiting to see what he'd advise them to do. He looked at Jim quickly before addressing John once more.
"This afternoon I think we should give it a go, see what happens. We'll go from there. You're lucky to have only broken two of your ribs, otherwise you could be here for another week," he added a shaky smile for John before handing Jim the file he'd brought in. He said goodbye and left the room with Kirsty.
Jim opened the file, glancing at the papers inside before closing it and looking at John with a soft smile.
"Well, that sounds promising. I hope it all goes well. I'll try to be back for this afternoon, but for now I must attend a meeting. A new company has come crawling, asking for my help," he rolled his eyes as if it was some great burden. He moved slowly to stand again at John's side, his hands once more gripping the railing.
John smiled, nodding very minutely, "That's fine, I think I want to take the time to mentally prepare myself for what's about to happen. Enjoy your work, yeah?"
Jim bent down, his lips ghosting along John's temple, "Don't overdo anything, I don't need you setting yourself back," he stated, his hands slipping from the rail as he stepped back again, this time angled towards the door.
"Ta, I'll be fine, go…go work and entertain yourself outside this room," John chuckled, lifting his hand to wave Jim away.
Jim smiled, nodding, "I'm going, I'm going," he called, his voice sing-songy as he finally started to walk towards the door, "I will be back later, don't do anything extensive until then. Take care!" he waved before finally disappearing behind the door.
John let out a slow breath. It was all still so surreal. He turned to the right, the bedside table easy enough to reach. He grabbed the shoebox and settled it on his lap. He lifted the lid, his gaze taking in the numerous pieces of folded papers. He shuffled his hand through them before grabbing one and pulling it out. It was odd now. He looked to these letters as a sort of security blanket. Reading about the times he was happiest made him hope for a brighter tomorrow. He also vowed, settling in to read again about the first time he'd met Jim's mum, that he'd do whatever he could to make this all easier on himself and Jim.
Stepping outside of John's door, Jim quickly schooled his face into a mask of ice. His brown eyes hardened sharply. His spine straightened as he strode past the few rooms and towards the main lobby, which was no larger than an average sized sitting room. He paid no heed to the skeleton crew, his phone sliding from the pocket of his trousers as he sent a text message. He smirked to himself, breathing in the fresh air as he stepped out of the small, nondescript building. He looked around again at the lush, rolling, green hills that surrounded the small country hospital, confident of his location choice; no one would think to look for John Watson here.
"Boss?" a rough, deep baritone broke Moriarty from his musings.
The spider turned his elegant neck, his eyes raking over the tall, muscular man standing next to a black Mercedes, the back door open. He pulled his sunglasses from the pocket over his breast and slid them on.
"Sebastian, darling, pray tell why you couldn't orchestrate a simple execution?" Moriarty purred dangerously as he passed the ex-military man to get into the back seat of his car.
The sniper followed, the door closing behind him. He removed the dark sunglasses he wore, his blond fringe falling into his cool green eyes. His top lip was split by an ugly scar that ended just below his left eye.
"There was nothing simple 'bout it. Ever since you pulled that stunt on Bart's roof, all our plans have gone to shit, all except for that little doctor."
Moriarty cocked his head, his lips curling as he picked up the slight hint of jealousy in Moran's tone. He so hated the plan that involved John Watson. Sebby didn't like to share.
"That little doctor is the key to everything pet. Your boys did a wonderful job with him. If you recall, I let two of the three live."
He slid closer to Sebastian, pressing his leg along the larger man's, his eyes flashing dangerously behind his tinted glasses. Sebastian growled, his fingers digging into the palm of his hand.
"But Holmes has killed almost all of our foreign sects, no doubt he's learned about Dr. Watson disappearing from Bart's. He's probably left London already, looking for any trace of his blogger. I don't see why you won't just let me kill him and his doctor." Sebastian's voice took on a more petulant tone, his lips tugging down into a frown.
Moriarty made a tsking noise with his tongue, shifting to crawl into Sebastian's lap, straddling him. He pressed his palms against the man's broad chest, his fingers curling into the tight muscles that covered his breastbone.
"Darling, you're all action, action, action. I want to play with the silly little detective. I want to push him to the edge, let him dangle there for a bit before finally pushing him to his death…his actual death this time." Moriarty leaned into Seb's neck, nipping at the chords there, his sharp canines leaving indents. "Besides, the doctor isn't half bad looking. When the time comes, I want to fuck him, horror in his eyes as he realises everything I made him believe, all the happiness he thinks was his was just a lie, and he's just broken, useless, and utterly beyond saving. He'll look so good on my cock then. Maybe Sherlock can watch," Moriarty shuddered, his eyes glimmering in excitement, his own cock coming alive with his plan, "When he cums, you can shoot him in the head," Moriarty breathed, his breath ghosting over Moran's silky lips. He curled his lips into a grin just before Moran surged forward, pressing a hard, biting kiss to Moriarty's smooth ones, the sharp metallic taste of blood exploding between them.
"Fuck," Moran breathed, his hips jutting up, his own hard-on pressing against Jim, "I can't wait for all this shite to be over," he growled, ducking his head to nip along Moriarty's neck, careful not to leave a mark, lest John see.
Moriarty cackled, his fingers moving to tangle in Moran's hair, his nails biting into his scalp.
"Don't worry tiger, you're still daddy's favourite," he breathed before allowing the man to lay him across the seat.
Sherlock slammed the report down on Mycroft's desk. "How do you not know where he is? You have eyes everywhere!"
Mycroft remained stoic. He knew Sherlock would be furious once he knew all the facts. "Moriarty hasn't left a clue yet, so we're confident that no harm as come to the doctor," he stated, cool eyes ignoring the rage on Sherlock's face.
"A clue? You're sitting here waiting for a clue? What if he doesn't deign to leave one? I've dismantled a substantial amount of his web. He's weak! He's going to act irrationally. He's finally been reduced to a common criminal. He isn't going to leave a clue. This is about revenge. He'll kill John before your damn dogs even catch a whiff of him."
Spittle coated his lips after his shouted statement. Mycroft pulled in a deep breath.
"My men have been working 'round the clock to track Moriarty. He can't have gone too far Sherlock, not with the state Dr. Watson was in. We will find him…with your help," he rose from his chair then, grabbing his umbrella from where it hung on the arm.
"Your men are all idiots, no more use than Anderson in a dark room with a candle and lit match. From now on I work on this alone. Send everything you have to Baker Street. Do not bother me with anything else. I will contact you if I need anything. Do. You. Understand?"
Sherlock's grey eyes were fierce, his long fingers curled into tight, shaking fists. He was fighting just to keep himself from screaming in frustration at how badly his brother had cocked up the one—the most important job Sherlock had ever given him.
"You will not do this alone. The agent who flew home with you will assist. He is remarkable, and has been key in our investigation into Moriarty. You will work with him or I will refuse to give you the information you requested."
He lifted his chin, leveling his gaze at his brother, refusing to be cowed. His grip tightened on his umbrella as sentiment warred with his mind, wanting nothing more than to belie his little brother's fears and bring John home safely.
Sherlock's lips thinned into a hard, white line. His eyes flashed dangerously as he studied Mycroft, picking him apart in the way only he could. He could see the late night Brandies etched in the new lines at the corners of Mycroft's eyes. He could pick out the new creases in his suit jacket due to sleepless nights, most likely spent worrying after Sherlock in his quest to tear Moriarty to pieces. He could also see the sentiment, and that sickened him. He looked away, breath coming out in a slow whoosh.
"Fine, I'll take a baby-sitter, but only because this is about John. You may find caring to be a disadvantage, but I've learned that caring can be the biggest advantage. It enables you to do anything…anything to get back the one person you care about. I will do anything Mycroft. Remember that," he hissed the last word before turning on his heel and exiting his brother's office, long strides rigid as he fumed.
Mycroft let out a breath, his shoulders sagging very minutely.
"Sir?" a soft feminine voice lilted into the room.
Mycroft looked up, forcing a smile for his assistant.
"Send agent Graham to Baker Street with the Moriarty and Dr. Watson files, please," he ordered, rounding his desk as he moved to exit his office.
"Yes sir. Take care of yourself too," Anthea nodded as she turned slightly, catching his eyes before he smiled tightly and disappeared.
Things seemed to be going to hell in a hand basket—fast.