Summary: Sherlock is anxious, John is worried, Mrs. Hudson is still sick and time keeps marching on.
Author's Note: this is a bit of a slower chapter, there will be a few of those every now and then. But don't worry, we have some action and angst coming up! Thank you for reading so far and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter 3: The Monkey Chased the Weasel
Sherlock stared hatefully at the setting sun. They'd been lucky enough to get to higher ground before the sky blackened. From the ear piercing screams below, some hadn't been so fortunate. He looked at Buckingham just over the buildings. He calculated their distance from Buckingham. They'd be there in a day's time if they moved faster.
Mrs. Hudson coughed, hard. Sherlock passed a weary glance at her.
He turned back to the window. Looking below, he wondered he should do. There were too many variables. What if Buckingham was under siege? What if Lestrade was already dead? What if he didn't meet them there? What if he brought Anderson?
Sherlock's face scrunched at the thought. He sighed. Regardless, a familiar face was better than a rotting one with bits of flesh stuck between its teeth.
Mrs. Hudson coughed again, this one harder and more forced. John patted her back gently. He pulled two cans of beans from his bag. He's grabbed everything from the kitchen before they'd left 221b. He opened a can handing it to Mrs. Hudson.
She smiled at him weakly and patted his hand. Eating from her can, she held out one to Sherlock. "Sherlock, why don't you eat something?"
Sherlock shook his head. He slid down the wall by the window and closed his eyes. "I'm not hungry."
Mrs. Hudson frown putting the food in front of him. "Eat something." she said.
Sherlock sighed taking the can. The beans were cold and overpowering in his dry mouth. He swallowed a few and set the can aside again. Mrs. Hudson mumbled something about him being 'thin as a rail; before pushing the can back at him. He pushed it away and she pushed it toward him again.
John smiled at the familiar sight. It was nice to see some things remain the same even when everything else around them changed so drastically. His mind wandered off to the others. "I'm worried about Greg." he mumbled to himself.
"Who, oh right. He's fine." Sherlock said. He set down next to Mrs. Hudson with a little more force. She sighed, turning away.
John pulled out his phone. Oddly enough, it still worked. But no one knew how long it would work for. Maybe if he called, Lestrade would-
"Don't." Sherlock said. "The sick are attracted to noise. If his cellphone goes off while he's near one." Sherlock let the sentence hand over them like a giant raincloud. Mrs. Hudson picked the can of beans up and put it in Sherlock's hands. He sighed. He looked up to find John still staring at his phone. "He's smarter than the average person, John. He can take care of himself."
"Anderson is with him."
Sherlock looked over so quickly John was surprised he didn't get whiplash. Sherlock looked back down at his beans. "We're all doomed."
John chuckled despite his fear. Mrs. Hudson giggled as well. The short sweet sound ending with another cough. She coughed harder and John scooted closer pressing his hand into her forehead. "You feel warm."
Mrs. Hudson smiled at him, pushing his hand away. "I'm fine, dearie." she said hoarsely.
John offered her some water. IN the moonlight, he could see how her face had brightened dramatically with deep red hues tainting her pale cheeks and forehead. She appeared to be sweating as well. "Let me check you over." John said. Mrs. Hudson nodded. There really was no point in arguing with John when he was in 'Doctor Mode'. He checked her face first. "Do you feel itchy? Is anything aching?"
"My hip aches a bit and I have a headache coming on." she said softly.
"You might have a fever." John trailed off pressing his hand into her forehead again.
Mrs. Hudson groaned a bit. "Perfect timing." she mumbled.
John adjusted her head giving her his bag for a pillow. He looked over to Sherlock. He was looking out the window again. "If you keep looking out the window like that, you'll go mental."
"Actually," he looked back at John and then at the shadow masses down below. "I believe this is the only thing keeping me sane."
John said nothing just staring at the detective by the window. Sherlock could feel it. "You should get some sleep." he said when the staring became too much.
John nodded. "Wake me up in an hour or two." he said and curled in on himself.
Sherlock listened for his breathing as John drifted off quickly. He looked over to his companions. They actually looked peaceful.
He looked back down into the shadowy world below. He listened to the never ending moans of the sick stumbling around. He wished he could sleep as well but with the idea that at any moment, the doors could break down. Sick could pour in with yellowed teeth and broken nails. They could tear and snap and break through them in seconds. He shook away his thought. With a soft sigh, he rested his head against the windowsill and waited for dawn.