Hi guys, can't thank you all enough for all the kind comments. Woke with a spring in my step because of all of you :) Without further ado...
In the hospital, Sherlock's first question had been why followed with narrowed eyes by who. He braced himself and allowed her injuries to tell the story of the attack:
One approaches from behind and the other from her left. An elbow to the back of her head. She falls forward (concussion). A kick in the ribs (Two ribs fractured, punctured lung). She falls back but rolls back onto her feet. A punch to her face. (bruising) Another and she's down. An attempt to scramble away as one man stands on her ankle (fracture). The other stands over her, smacking her face repeatedly (facial lacerations indicating large signet ring). She slips out of consciousness. They drag her by the scruff of her neck back up the block (broken pinky finger, arms scraped) dumping her on the brownstone's bottom step.
They could have killed her, he notes with nausea, but they did not. This was a warning. They took her money but left her phone- therefore they were hired hands not paid enough to ignore the lure of cash in a victim's wallet but paid sufficiently to ignore credit cards or a cell phone. He examined the handkerchief he found stuffed in her pocket- white, crisp and embroidered with the Dominican flag.
Obviously saving Rhys' daughter and outing the DEA agent of the hastily acquired gang tattoos had angered the Dominicans. They wanted him to stay out of their business. His mouth set in a grim line. We would see about that. But for now there was Watson. He put his head in his hands, blinking back tears.
"Are you her husband or partner?"
The ICU nurse asked. He takes a moment to weigh his answer according to visitation rights.
"We're engaged… She, ah, left her ring behind before going out." He sighed, thinking quickly, "Washing the dishes."
The nurse's eyes oozed sympathy, her hand pressing against her chest.
"I'm so sorry. Have you contacted her family?"
He nodded again, remembering in a haze.
"Her parents are on a cruise in the Indian Ocean- Seychelles I believe, they like to be away for the winter. But I've left word for them. Her bother lives in Beijing."
"So you're all she has by way of family?"
The nurse looked at him, waiting for an answer. Poor man looks shell shocked. Sherlock looked up at her, but looked through her. This had not occured to him.
"I suppose that I am."
He exhaled. The nurse finished changing Watson's IV. She was about to go but turned.
"She will wake up. The doctor said in a few days, hopefully. Scans look okay, concussion is bad but not severe, lung should correct itself in time and ribs will heal…I've seen worse. She's actually pretty lucky. Might even be able to leave after a week."
All Sherlock could do was nod, desperately wishing the nurse gone. She smelled of baby powder and disinfectant- it was cloying.
He muttered his thanks. As he heard her footsteps moving further down the hall, Sherlock dragged his chair to Watson's bedside, looking at her slight figure in the hospital bed and the tubes full of liquid that were trying to heal her. He made tiny sound as he ran a thumb over the vivid bloom of bruises on her arm. Finally, he lowered the bed's side rail, took her hand, lay his head on her shoulder and fell, exhausted, into an uneasy sleep. One where he dreamt he was playing violin for Watson who sat on their living room floor, smiling up at him.