"Out of the way!" called Christian. He pushed John and Mycroft out of the way, a crash team pouring into the room.
"Sirs, you need to leave," said a nurse quietly. She led John and Mycroft outside, and sat them down.
"What's going on?" Demanded Mycroft.
"I'll get the doctor out in a moment to explain what's going on," she said quietly, before joining the team in Sherlock's room. John wrapped his arms around himself, trying to contain the anxiety.
Hadn't Sherlock suffered enough?
Ten minutes later, Christian stepped outside the room, looking weary.
"What happened with my brother?" Asked Mycroft.
"His glucose levels haven't settled, and his blood sugar dropped. The endocrinologist is in now, and we're going to check Sherlock's blood sugar levels every ten minutes until they start to even out. The neurologist is also going to come in and double check his cognitive functions once we've sorted the glucose problems out," said Christian.
"Can we see him?" Asked John, standing up.
"For now, I think it would be best if you went home and got some rest. We'll keep you apprised as we can, but you both need rest. Sherlock is going to need you at your best while he's at his worst. We've not only got physical issues, but his psychological issues to manage as well, and you two are going to be vital to the healing process," said Christian quietly. John took a seat, resting his head in his hands.
"How long do you think this will take? A week, two?" Asked Mycroft. Christian snorted.
"You've got to be kidding me. Broken bones alone can take two months to six months to heal, and he could be in therapy for a while. He'll also need neurological consults for the first few months to make sure that there isn't any lasting damage from the head injury. This is the calm before the storm, believe me. You'll need the rest," countered Christian.
"John, I'll drop you home," said Mycroft softly. He stood up, straightening himself before turning to the doctor.
"Thank you Dr Shaw. We'll see you tomorrow," said Mycroft tightly. He starting walking down the hall, John tottering behind him.
"You're going to come back tomorrow?" Asked John incredulously. A dark sedan pulled up next to the curb.
"What makes you doubt that I would?" Responded Mycroft, climbing into the car, John hot on his heels.
"The fact you've never really been there for him except to watch him over those bloody cameras makes me feel like maybe you're not as invested in this as you think," snapped John.
"I'm related to him, and as much as you think I'm not 'invested' I assure you, I am," replied Mycroft.
"How long before you're not? How long before something comes up and you're pulled away?" answered John. The car pulled up out the front of 221 Baker Street, and John turned to Mycroft.
"How long will you be there before I have to pick up the pieces?"
"John? John," whispered Sherlock. He whimpered a little, realising he was alone, and glanced around the darkened room.
"John?" Sherlock threw off the blanket, and flicked on the bedside light. Determination overrode the pain, and he tried to stand, unwavering in his urge to find John. Monitors started beeping, alerting nurses and doctors to his change in status, but he ignored them, his focus on finding John. His legs gave out first after two steps, and he hit the floor hard. A wave of pain swept over him, and he moaned.
"John," he whimpered. He pulled himself across the floor, new skin stretching to accommodate the movement. A nurse entered the room, and quickly leaned out again, calling for help.
"Oh Mister Holmes, come on, let's get you back to bed," she simpered.
"No! John! John!" Called Sherlock. He fought against the nurse, his head pounding.
"John!" He felt his body tighten, and for a few moments, he couldn't catch a breath.
"John," he exhaled, before everything went dark…
"He's seizing!"
"How long this time?"
"Coming up on three minutes."
"This is far too long. Someone page neuro and ortho, and get me some Lorazepam!"
"Carter is getting it now."
"Geez Sherlock, not going to do this half-heartedly."
"Lorazepam going in now, Doctor Wainwright and Doctor Marsden are on their way up."
"There's something going on here. We need to sort it out."
"Someone call John Watson and Mycroft Holmes and get them here now."
John was fast asleep when his mobile rang. Scrabbling around in the dark, he found the vibrating module and picked it up.
"'Lo?" He answered groggily.
"John, it's Christian from St Barts. You need to get down here as soon as possible." John fell off the side of his bed, and flipped on the light switch.
"What's happened?" He asked, worried.
"It might be easier to talk to you when you get here. We're calling Mycroft next to ask him the same thing. Can we expect to see you soon?" Asked Christian.
"Of course, I'll get dressed and I'll be there." John hung up, and scrambled to find his clothes, pulling on the first things he found. His phone started vibrating again a few minutes later, and he picked it up.
"Hello?"
"John, I'll pick you up in a few minutes." John sighed.
"Mycroft, it's polite to at least announce who you are when you call," responded John.
"Nevertheless, I'll be there momentarily." The phone call ended as abruptly as it started, and John exhaled noisily. He pulled on a jumper then grabbed his phone and wallet, heading for the door. He crept down the stairs, sneaking past Mrs Hudson's flat before exiting onto the street. Mycroft was waiting for him, and John climbed inside.
"Did Christian tell you anything?" Asked Mycroft.
"Just that we needed to be there as soon as possible. It could be anything Mycroft, I just don't know," replied John wearily.
"I suppose we'll find out when we arrive," mused Mycroft. John ignored him, watching the passing scenery until they pulled up in front of St Barts. Mycroft got out first, striding towards the glass doors, John trailing behind him like a shadow. They took the stairs two at a time, coming to the second floor, where Christian was waiting for them outside Sherlock's room.
"Mycroft. John. Please, come with me to the family meeting room," said Christian quietly, pointing down the corridor further. They followed Christian down the hall and entered the room, where three other doctors were waiting for them. He indicated for the pair to take a seat at the large table, then took a seat with his colleagues.
"Mycroft, John, this is Doctor Mark Wainwright, neurosurgeon, Doctor Hannah Parker, endocrinologist, and Doctor Tim Marsden, orthopaedic surgeon. All three have been on Sherlock's case since his admittance, and tonight we've called you in after we had an unusual turn of events," started Christian.
"John, for some reason, he's developed an attachment to you. When you were not to be found tonight, he got out of bed, fell to the floor, ripped his stitches, yet still kept searching for you. Can you enlighten us as to why?" Asked Mark. John flushed a scarlet colour, and glanced at Mycroft. He mumbled something under his breath, refusing to look up.
"What?" Asked Mycroft.
"We were sleeping together," muttered John. Christian struggled to contain his laughter as he watched the odd pair in front of him.
"How did I miss that?" Asked Mycroft incredulously.
"It doesn't matter right now. It's good to know though for Sherlock's treatment plan," said Christian, intervening.
"When a nurse found him, she tried to help him to bed, and he fought her assistance, still calling out for John. I came in as he started seizing. We timed the seizure, hoping it would wane as the others have, but he was still seizing after three minutes, and we administered a dose of Lorazepam. The seizures abated, and Mark and Tim were brought in to assess," said Christian.
"He's going to need another surgery to fix the damage he caused when he stood on his leg, as well as x-rays to determine if there is perhaps a better treatment option that would suit Sherlock," started Tim.
"While he's under, we're going to suture up the wounds he's torn open in moving, and make sure that none are presenting any infection," added Christian.
"Tomorrow, after his morning round of bloodwork, we're going to take him for another MRI to assess for further brain injury, before bringing him back to his room, and hooking Sherlock up to an EEG, and run some tests, see what we can ascertain," said Mark.
"We're still monitoring Sherlock's blood glucose levels, which I'm not happy about. We're still not sure what was in the vial that he was injected with, but so far all our lab can tell us is that it wasn't normal insulin," said Hannah, voice soft.
"What was it?" Asked Mycroft.
"We're conducting further analysis. Until we have results, I'm treating Sherlock as a diabetic, and I'm trying to keep his blood sugar levels somewhere near respectable. He's not making it easy," she replied.
"No, he never does. You may have trouble getting him to eat," said John quietly.
"We'll wait and see what the test results reveal," said Hannah.
"For now, a proposal; John, we're going to move Sherlock to a different ward with a larger room, one with a second bed. If possible, we'd like it if you could stay; it's not ideal for us to sedate Sherlock in his current state, and being able to sight you may help," said Christian.
"Whatever needs to happen, please let me know, and I'll make sure no-one is inconvenienced in any way, and that they are recompensed as required," said Mycroft stiffly.
"Mycroft, I'm sure you could stay too," said John quietly.
"I believe you were right earlier; I am not always available to care for my brother. He has not always been one to allow someone else into his inner sanctum, yet he allowed you. You are the first John, and he has already demonstrated in his poor state of mind that you are the most important right now. I'll send Anthea over with a bag for you, and I'll apprise Greg and Ms Hooper of what has happened." Mycroft stood up, and walked to the door before turning around.
"Good luck John."