"Hannah, I need you up in Sherlock's room immediately," ordered Christian as he sprinted past her office, returning to Sherlock and John's room. She ran out and joined him in the elevator, watching as Christian jiggled nervously waiting for it to reach the fourth floor.
"What is it?" She asked. Christian thrust a sheaf of papers at her, still twitching nervously.
"His blood glucose levels are through the roof. His ketones are sky-high, and I'm surprised he hasn't fallen into a diabetic coma," said Christian.
"What the hell has the nursing staff been doing with his insulin?" Asked Hannah incredulously.
"I've got no idea, but we think Alice has done something to his IV line. We're not sure," said Christian.
"Alice?" Queried Hannah.
"Apparently." The door opened, and Hannah and Christian raced to the end of the corridor, the new additions of two security guards not missed.
"Molly, tell me what's going on," asked Christian.
"He's had three seizures since you've been gone, and he's not recovered since. What is going on?" She replied.
"Hyperglycaemia. Christian, grab me one of the insulin kits," ordered Hannah. She leaned close to Sherlock, inhaling deeply.
"Ketoacidosis. Why didn't we see this sooner?" She muttered. Sherlock tensed up again, seizing as Molly had predicted, and the two women worked to hold him still and safe. Christian returned with the insulin kit and handed it to Hannah as the seizure waned.
"Alright. We need to bring this down slowly, otherwise we risk organ damage. What's with the security outside?" Asked Hannah, taking the first dose on insulin and injecting it into Sherlock.
"Mycroft sent them; Greg hasn't come back yet, and the entire hospital is still on lockdown," answered Molly. Hannah shook her head in disgust.
"Well, hope they find whoever did this; I'm tempted to give them a peace of my mind."
"I feel sick," whined Sherlock four hours later.
"I know, and it'll settle down, you just need to be patient," replied Molly, scrolling through her text messages.
"But I'm bored," he replied.
"I can't help with that Sherlock. Just be grateful that you're alive," snapped Molly.
"What about John?" He asked.
"He's resting too. For Christ sakes Sherlock," sighed Molly. Sherlock stopped, preferring to look away from her to disguise his upset. Christian entered the room, Hannah closely behind him.
"Blood sugar levels are evening out. Once everything is back in balance, we can talk about you going home," said Christian, grinning.
"Wait, what about Alice?" Asked Molly. Christian glanced at his shoes.
"Mycroft wanted to assure us that Alice and Carter have been appropriately disciplined," answered Hannah.
"Fine," answered Sherlock.
"Listen, do you mind if I go see Greg? I was meant to have dinner with him tonight, but with all this…" gestured Molly.
"Go," replied Sherlock. Molly grabbed her bag and dashed out the door, leaving Christian and Hannah to deal with a difficult Sherlock.
"Sherlock? Everything okay?" Asked Christian quietly.
"Go 'way," muttered Sherlock. Christian glanced at Hannah, and shrugged his shoulders.
"I'll check in with you later," said Hannah, taking her leave. Christian took a seat next to Sherlock's bed.
"Talk to me Sherlock, tell me what's going on," pressed Christian.
"I want to go home now," pleaded Sherlock.
"You know if I could do that, we would. You've still got to meet your physio and start your exercises, Hannah wants to teach you how to manage your diabetes, and I want to make sure you're not going to end up in my emergency room again," said Christian, cracking a small smile. Sherlock felt tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and he hurriedly wiped them away with the heels of his hands.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"It's alright. The sugar highs and lows mess with your emotions a little, and it's to be expected. We'll get you home as soon as I can, alright?" Promised Christian. Sherlock burst into tears, clutching Christian's hand. Christian soothed him until he finally fell asleep.
"John. John. John," said Sherlock.
"What?"
"I'm bored."
"I know."
"What can I do? I'm stuck here," said Sherlock despondently.
"Do the crossword puzzle in the paper," suggested John, working on his own Sudoku.
"I already did. The answer to five down was incorrect," lamented Sherlock. It was two weeks later, and Sherlock was starting to climb the walls in boredom. Alice had been removed by Mycroft, along with Carter, and they'd been replaced with two new nurses. Sherlock had promptly sent both of them packing after deducing both of them, and making one cry. Mycroft had stern words with Sherlock after that, and had hired two extra nurses to share the load.
"Well, find something else to do," muttered John, sitting next Sherlock. John had been discharged two days ago, and had still occupied the bed where he had lain for over two weeks.
"I want to go home," sulked Sherlock. John ignored him, continuing to read his paper.
"John, I'm bored." John flipped to the next page, absorbed.
"John, I'm going to have a seizure," said Sherlock.
"No, you're not," answered John.
"How do you know?" Asked Sherlock crossly.
"Your monitors haven't changed," responded John, flicking the pages. Christian walked in, observing the pair, and having a little chuckle to himself.
"You could take him home if you wanted John," said Christian, smiling. Sherlock sat up in bed, mouth gaping open.
"Are you serious?" Asked Sherlock.
"As they come. Physio are happy to do a home visit, John's well enough to manage you on his own, Greg and Molly have offered to stop by, and Mark said he'd call each week for an update on the medication. So far it seems to have settled, so we're happy to send you home," said Christian. Sherlock launched himself upright, careful of the new walking boot encasing his leg, and pulled open his bag.
"Come on John, no time to waste! There are several experiments left in the fridge I may be able to salvage before all data is lost," said Sherlock happily. He pulled out a dress shirt, and put one arm through the sleeve, before stopping and taking a seat.
"You okay?" Asked John, concerned.
"Just… a bit breathless," answered Sherlock.
"Okay. You might need to let me help for a while as you start to gain your strength back. It's not forever," promised John, helping Sherlock tuck his other arm into the shirt, then moving around to button it up. Sherlock let his head rest on John's shoulder, already weary.
"So you've got permanent pins holding your leg together, and the walking boot will help the healing time as long as you wear it. It's not an optional accessory Sherlock, it's a necessity," said Christian sternly.
"I'll leave it on," mumbled Sherlock.
"Mycroft said he'll come and pick you up, and get you both home." Christian handed them each a card.
"This is my number. If you need anything, let me know," offered Christian. John nodded, kissing the top of Sherlock's head.
"Thank you," he whispered. Anthea appeared in the doorway, hands and eyes glued to her phone.
"Mr Holmes is waiting downstairs for us," she said, bored.
"Thanks Anthea." John looked at Christian, who left swiftly, returning with a wheelchair. Sherlock didn't even complain, allowing himself to be transferred and wheeled out of the room. John took the handles of the wheelchair, steering it into the lift.
"Thanks Christian. No offence, but I hope I never see you again," said John, grinning.
"Me too mate. Me too." The lift doors closed and they headed for the ground floor.
"Going home. Going home," repeated Sherlock under his breath.
"We're going home," assured John. The lift doors opened, and they followed Anthea out to the waiting bays. Mycroft's sleek black car was waiting, and John helped Sherlock onto the back seat, noting as his breathing became more laboured.
"I'll be back in a moment," said John, kissing Sherlock's forehead. John returned the wheelchair, and headed back to Sherlock. Mycroft had moved to the front of the limo they were in, facing the unlikely pair. Sherlock leaned against John as the car pulled away, exhaustion setting in.
"We're going home," he whispered. John rubbed his shoulder, then kissed him again.
"We're going home."