Hello everyone. I don't have much to say about this chapter other than the fact that I am so sorry that it's been so long since I've updated. Life's been pretty hectic lately, with finals coming up, personal issues, not to mention the fact that I've been spending more time on my artwork have all combined so that I haven't had much time to write. But here it is, the final chapter of Pulse, also the longest chapter, so I hope it makes up for it.
Constructive criticism is always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. I do, however, own a drawing I made of Sherlock.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It was the first thing he became aware of. A sound both insistent and piercing, yet even and rhythmic, never straying from it's pre-determined pattern.
It was the kind of noise that could be regarded as either soothing and relaxing, or unbearably annoying.
For him, it was the latter. The noise was too steady, too even, too boring.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It grated against his nerves. He willed it to stop, to change, anything that wasn't that same exact beeping over and over.
There. In response to his frustration, the beeping sped up.
Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
Not much of a change, but an improvement none the less.
Then there was a voice, "Sherlock! Can you hear me?"
He knew that voice. He heard it everyday, reprimanding him, praising him, and just generally talking.
"What's the matter with him?" The voice asked, and he felt a strange urge to let the owner of the voice know that he was okay.
Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
He had to open his eyes.
The light was blinding, causing him to immediately shut them tighter. Even then, the light still streamed past, assaulting him with almost physical pain.
He groaned. There were several voices now, overlapping, adding to the already overwhelming noise. None were as comforting as the first.
Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
"He is showing signs of distress...possible nightmares...could wake up-"
"Sherlock," the comforting voice was back again, "you've got to wake up."
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
He tried again, voice hoarse, but understandable.
Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
"John," he said, "Turn off that infernal machine."
"Tell me everything that happened." Sherlock sat propped up in the hospital bed. He was feeling much better, having convinced the worried doctors to turn off the heart monitor. "I am aware that Moriarty baited you, most likely using my phone, which was taken when I was kidnapped, and that you eventually found me in the warehouse where I was being kept. You thought me dead, and I was sent to the morgue. Based on your relief at seeing me, I can assume that you were fooled for quite a while. I also know that you cut it very close in finally figuring it out," He paused to glare disapprovingly at John, "I was aware of my surroundings while in the morgue, as well as when the dissection began. However I soon faded from consciousness and I am unaware of what happened after that event. Based on the amount of pain currently radiating from my chest, I estimate that Molly succeeded with a three inch incision before you stopped her."
John blanched at the thought of Sherlock being conscious throughout his ordeal.
"Um, yes," he said, "I'm guessing you want me to start from the beginning?"
"Obviously," came the reply, and John found himself relieved that Sherlock was not only alive, but also back to his usual snarkiness.
"Well," he began, settling back in his chair in preparation of the long explanation to follow, "At first, I just thought you were being a git, refusing to text me back, but then I started to get suspicious…"
He spoke for a long while, recounting the events of the last few days. John attempted to recall as many details as possible, even if they seemed insignificant, knowing that Sherlock may find them of use. Said detective, for the most part, seemed satisfied, sitting silently, except for the occasional question of clarification. However, when John got to the part about his dream, Sherlock just had to interrupt.
"You had a dream? About me not being dead?" He asked, seeming not able to wrap his head around the concept.
John sighed, "Yes Sherlock, most people have dreams."
"Yes, but dreams are simply the subconscious part of the brain continuing to respond to previous stimuli gathered throughout the day. Something must have triggered you to have that dream. Something must have hinted you towards the conclusion of me not being dead."
John blinked. He had never considered why he might have had the dream, only been glad that he had.
"I don't know." He admitted, "I guess I was just thinking of the last time...I was praying that it wasn't real, that you had tricked us, tricked me..." John choked, overwhelmed with emotion.
Sherlock looked bored, "Moving on," he said, tired of the sentiment.
John glared at him. He muttered something nasty under his breath which Sherlock heard perfectly well, but decided to ignore. Knowing it was pointless to expect any less insensitivity from the sociopath, John decided to continue his story.
"Whatever the cause was, that dream really put me on edge. It was the middle of the night, I should have just gone back to sleep, but I kept thinking that maybe it could be true. I didn't have any proof, and anyone else would have said I was crazy. But if I hadn't been so determined to check, you wouldn't be sitting here now." He paused to glance at Sherlock, hoping for some reaction to his words. He was sorely disappointed.
"I ran all the way to Bart's. It kinda reminds me of our first case together, running through the streets, dodging traffic. Of course it wasn't quite the same, this time I didn't jump any rooftops," He chuckled slightly at the memory, but at Sherlock's pointed look, he pulled himself back on track. "When I got there, Bart's was closed, but there were still a few people there, including Molly. I got to the morgue just in time. You were laid out on the table, and Molly was starting the autopsy."
"Details John!" Sherlock interrupted, seeming more interested now that he was involved.
John barely skipped a beat, "She had her scalpel mid-incision when I got there. I yelled for her to stop, and I think she was so surprised that she stopped immediately. She turned to look at me, and asked what I was doing there."
"What did you say in reply? I need it exactly, word for word."
"I don't remember!" John cried, exasperated, "I was frantic okay, I probably babbled something about you not being dead and that we needed to check for sure. Molly thought I was crazy, but she was sympathetic. Your 'death' impacted her a lot too, you know."
The detective snorted, "I'm sure she's fine. She's a pathologist, she deals with death everyday."
John just stared, not sure how he could possibly not think that someone you saw everyday dying was different than the deaths of random strangers.
"Anyway," he continued, deciding to ignore it for now, "After I explained a bit that it could be possible, there are ways to fake death, you've done it before, I managed to convince her to at least humor me. I was quite horrified, I mean, you looked dead, and had a three inch gash along your sternum. At first, I simply took your pulse again, hoping that something might have changed, but there wasn't anything. I convinced her to wheel a heart monitor over from another department, and hooked it up to you, hoping for the best. We hooked it up and waited, it took a moment, but then the machine recognized a heartbeat. It was barely there, but we knew you were alive. Molly was quite horrified at what she had been about to do. She had to step out for a minute, I probably should have checked to see that she was okay, but I was just so relieved that I just stood there for a while. I was in shock, but then I realized that though you were alive, I had no way of knowing what was wrong with you or if you would be able to recover."
"Obviously I did recover." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly.
"Well yes, but only because I called Molly back and she did some blood work to find out what was wrong while I stitched you up. We found the toxin in your bloodstream and figured what to do from there. Turns out that Molly knows a toxicologist that was working late who was able to help us out. After that, it was a lot of paperwork and explaining everything to a lot of people that I'm sure you don't care about." He glanced at Sherlock, who confirmed his hunch with a simple nod. "When all that was done, we finally got you admitted to the proper part of Bart's. That was two days ago, you've been unconscious up until now, and Dear God am I glad you're awake."
Sherlock hummed in what might have been agreement, closing his eyes and steepling his hands under his chin.
John stared at him for a minute. Though he had slept for the past 48 hours, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin looked gaunter and paler than normal, giving him an almost corpse-like appearance. He was obviously still sick, but the doctors had said that he was out of the woods, and should recover fully within a few days. With one last look, John turned around to leave. Moriarty was still out there, and they had no way of knowing where or when he might strike next, but for now, Sherlock needed to rest, and John could use some sleep as well. They would deal with Moriarty when Sherlock got better.
As he walked out the door, John was stopped by a voice.
"Thank you John."
John turned, but the consulting detective was in the exact same position he had left him, giving no sign that he had spoken. None the less, John smiled, knowing in that moment, everything was back to normal.
Tada! The final chapter of Pulse is now complete. I'd like to thank all of the readers that stuck with this story til the end. Especially those who reviewed. You guys made my day and motivated me to continue writing.
Though this story is now over, I am thinking about writing a sequel. However it is only in the idea stage, and if I write it, it probably won't come out for a while as I've got some other stories I'd like to start on. If you would like a sequel, feel free to let me know, or alternatively, if you feel that this story is better left as it is, you could say that too.
Thank you once again for reading! -ConsultingDetectiveOfGallifrey