The Dragon
PenPatronus
Chapter 10 of 10
This is Our Story
Sherlock's eyelashes parted like a curtain and he found himself staring up at a hospital room ceiling. His foggy brain started to make deductions: his body was dry and didn't smell like chlorine, and his stomach felt stretched but no longer on fire with poison, so he'd been in the hospital long enough to begin to recover. He felt cold metal swaddling his right knee – a brace. He was thirsty enough to want to pull the fire alarm so that the sprinklers would rain down on him.
Without moving the rest of his body, Sherlock looked to the right and saw John piling blankets over something in the corner of the room. He finished, then half-limped (favoring his left leg), half-tiptoed over. His right shoulder was bandaged. John collapsed into a chair beside Sherlock's bed, raised his face towards the ceiling and sighed. Then he rubbed his eyes and put his face in his hands. He sat completely still for so long that Sherlock wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Then, suddenly, John reached out and wrapped his hand around Sherlock's wrist. Even though the heart monitor was beeping loudly and consistently, John felt for Sherlock's pulse. When he found it he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. He closed his hand around Sherlock's wrist and left it there. Then he released a single, wet sob.
The sound woke Sherlock out of the last of his stupor. Adrenaline flashed through his veins and he woke up completely. He flipped his arm over and slid his wrist out of John's grip, and his hand into it. He squeezed his friend's fingers and whispered, "John."
John looked like a cartoon version of himself when he gasped, tripped to his feet, failed to speak coherently and, then, dropped the first cup of water that he filled. He took a deep breath, glared at his hands and poured again. Without making eye contact with Sherlock, John put the cup under his chin and inserted a straw between his dry, chapped lips. Sherlock drank three cups of water before he no longer felt thirsty. He didn't know what to say, what to ask first.
John picked up a newspaper from the bedside table and held it in front of Sherlock's face. The headline read: Heroic Detective Pardoned. Below, also in bold: Sherlock Holmes Saves Queen from Bomb. Sherlock had to read it three times before it dawned on him what had happened. "Bit colorful, Mycroft," he muttered.
John was all smiles. "You don't have to leave the country," he said. "You can go home – go back to Baker Street."
Sherlock considered that for a long moment. "But the bombs… the ones at the ghost stations—!"
"It's all right," John assured him. He set the newspaper down and sat on the side of the bed. "Molly told them what you said about that dust from Moriarty's shoe – remember? You put her on the hood of a police car and left her there?"
"I didn't leave her—"
"Lestrade sent teams to every station in London. They would've been killed if Mycroft hadn't returned to his office and retrieved more particles from the floor. He and Molly found a chemical that could be traced to Baskerville. Lestrade stopped the operation until hazmat could get there. They disarmed the bombs, sealed up the HOUND gas."
"But how did they find us at the pool?"
"Chlorine. There was chlorine in the dirt sample, but not in the HOUND gas. Molly remembered the swimming pool from 'A Study in Pink'—"
"For the love of—"
"They checked my blog for the name of the place and…" John shrugged, "surrounded the building."
"Lucky guesses," Sherlock snorted.
"Mary's all right. Mrs. Hudson and your parents, too. Lestrade is tracking down Moriarty's cohorts. My shoulder got busted but, you know, I don't really feel it. Your kneecap is broken. Greg has a couple broken ribs…"
"Who?" Sherlock tried to sit up in bed and John helped him after a particularly big wince. Sherlock cleared his throat. "So, London was saved by the B team."
John's expression flickered between amusement and irritation. "Sherlock. Lestrade is the Deputy Inspector and Mycroft is, as you say, the British government. We're the B team."
Sherlock shut his eyes. The gentlest of smiles appeared on his face. "Perhaps. But this is our story, John."
Something squeaked in the corner of the room. Sherlock's eyes flashed open at the unfamiliar sound. He was about to ask John if St. Bart's was known for mice infestations when Watson's weight disappeared from the bed. He returned to the corner, bent over and stood up again with something in his arms.
Something hiccupped – someone, Sherlock realized. John sat on the side of the bed and angled the bundle towards him. "Oh," Sherlock whispered in awe.
The baby girl in John's arms was wide-eyed and cherub-cheeked. She squirmed, shifting her weight and flapping arms that she didn't know what to do with. Her nose was definitely John's. Mary was in her eyebrows and her cheekbones. Curious, Sherlock reached out to touch one pink, balled-up fist. He was too weak, though, and his hand collapsed back into his lap. Wordlessly, John adjusted the baby against the crook of his elbow. He was as gentle with Sherlock as he was with his daughter as he lifted his friend's hand, cupped it in his and delicately wrapped the baby's in the center of Sherlock's palm. Maybe Sherlock's skin was cold, or maybe it was because of a new sensation, but the baby jumped and fixed her eyes on him.
"Oh," Sherlock repeated, his voice still a whisper. "Hello there you little thing…"
"I wanted to name her 'Emily,'" said John. "Mary didn't like it. We bickered a bit but you can guess who won."
Sherlock smiled at the baby, and she smiled back.
"Mary insisted that we name her after her godfather," John explained. He paused a moment, and then said, "You will be her godfather, right?"
Sherlock gently rubbed the pad of his thumb across Sherl's tiny hand. "I vow," he said. And then he rotated his head to the side and kissed Sherl on the cheek.
The End
Not for you, though. Go review!
Thanks for reading.