Author's note: The plan is put in motion...
Okay, let's be honest: The plan was going to be put in motion, but then I realized I needed to save someone else too... Just didn't seem right to let... this someone (okay, you probably already guessed who it is) all alone while our "merry band of misfits" go off saving the world. Sorry for that.
I don't own anything, and –
Okay. I know how this will sound. It will sound like begging. Because it is begging, let's be honest. I want to reach a hundred reviews, because I never had that many before. Of course, the story already has more reviews than I ever had before, but... a hundred reviews would be so cool...
Ahem... sorry about that.
The night passes quietly.
Sherlock spends it in his old room – well, „his" in the way that says „Whenever Mycroft forced me to stay overnight, this is where I was", where he found his violin – while John and Greg each occupy a guest bedroom.
Sherlock stays awake, at first. After all, he's slept rather more than average in the last few days – in a way, in the real world, he's still "sleeping", though, seeing as he is in a coma, John would probably disagree with him.
Mycroft tells him goodnight about eleven pm, though it's clear they won't go to sleep for a while.
He stays up, thinking about tomorrow, Moriarty, the treatment that's apparently gone wrong, his real world.
Cold November wind howls outside, seems to fill the room, touches his very bones, and he feels terribly alone in this world he woke up to out of the blue, despite the fact that he suddenly has three allies in his last fight against Moriarty.
However it may turn out.
He tries not to think about the various possible outcomes.
It doesn't work that well.
At one am he hears John screaming. Of course. John never met him, which means the nightmares are still there – although he is able to put more weight on his right foot and his left hand stopped shaking.
Sherlock does what always helped John in the past – he slowly walks down the corridor and plays his violin.
The screaming stops and he knows John is asleep.
Because he hasn't anything better to do, other than try to live with the ghosts that inhabit his subconscious for yet another night, he checks up on Greg.
The DI sleeps soundly, but, for the first time in God knows how long, there's no bottle lying next to his bed on the floor, and Sherlock is grateful for that.
He closes the door and returns to his room, as quietly as possible.
Mycroft is standing in the door of his bedroom. He shares a look with Sherlock, just a look, and nods.
Sherlock nods back. Then he enters his old room and closes the door behind him.
Somehow he manages to fall asleep. His sleep is deep and dreamless, at first, but then –
The blonde man and a stout one with glasses.
"Still no response" The blond man says. "I don't want to believe it, of course, but there's always the possibility that –
That he's slipping away." He swallows. "I caught Mrs. Hudson crying in the kitchen yesterday" he adds, sounding close to tears.
"John..." the other one replies. "Reactions can be delayed, you know that better than everyone else." He smiles. "You'll see, he'll be up in no time..."
"Thank you, Mike. It's just – thank God Mycroft made me the supervisor, I can't believe that young chap who calls himself Sherlock's "doctor" – where did he learn medicine anyway?"
"If I remember correctly, he was one of my students."
"Oh". They look at one another. "Not one I had great hopes for, though".
They laugh. The blonde man claps the other one on the shoulder.
"It's great of you to drop by... How's Sue, by the way?"
"She's visiting her mother". The stout guy seems to hesitate, then is silent. "Anyway, I better be off. I'm sure Sherlock will be alright when I visit the next time."
"Thanks, Mike. Bye".
The door closes.
He turns to Sherlock.
"You have to wake up soon, you know... God, Sherlock, I don't know why this is so difficult for all of us... Maybe because we lost you once already. We... I... I couldn't stand it again. Sherlock, please..."
He'd really like to do him the favour of waking up, but the darkness is rushing towards him again, and he can't resist...
It's still dark outside when he wakes up, frustrated yet again. How he wishes he could just wake up and put this wrong world behind him, once and for all.
And he'll definitely have to have John take the Stamford family out to dinner now. Seems like he's always underestimated Mike.
There's a knock on the door, startling him.
"Yes?" Sherlock asks.
John enters the room, limping slightly, but without his cane – so adrenaline still works for him, apparently. Which means that, at least, he's going to get rid of his psychosomatic limp today.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I think I heard something... Are you alright?"
"Yes, thank you John. I just had – I just had a nightmare" Sherlock decides to finish the sentence, even though he can't help but wonder how this John will react.
The doctor just nods and closes the door, and suddenly Sherlock is very conscious of the fact that they haven't been together alone since Greg came into the lab.
John clears his throat. "Sherlock..."
Sherlock stands up and looks out the window, in the cold November dawn. "You have questions."
John chuckles. "Sort of, yeah, but – your brother and you are more alike than you believe".
"I doubt that".
"It's my opinion anyway. Sherlock... "
"If you wish to know how I ended up a cocaine addict, I don't know – well, I know in my world, the problem is that I can't remember anything about this one. Though I am sure that Mycroft already told you and Greg everything about it."
"Yes, he did, I mean, from his point of view, obviously, and I know you can't remember, but I was wondering if maybe you'd have an idea – it's just so unbelievable to me that someone like you could have just thrown his whole life, all his prospects away just for being high."
Sherlock shrugs his shoulders. "You'd be surprised what people throw away just to get high".
"I suppose so..."
John looks at Sherlock. "Sherlock... I have to tell you something."
He can feel his heart clench, and for a moment, he's scared that John doesn't want anything to do with their plan anymore.
It would be only too understandable, after all. Two days ago he didn't know Sherlock even existed, and now he's planning to kill a criminal mastermind with him.
Then John stands up straight and says "Sherlock – I don't know if I believe you, though I want to. But I trust you. Whatever happens".
He leaves the room without looking back and Sherlock is left strangely relieved.
And just a little bit scared.
If he continues to "slip away" in the real world, if he is stuck here –
What then?
He goes downstairs soon after – after he's taken a shower, dressed in another one of his old suits (there's even an old coat and a scarf in the cupboard, so he won't be forced to wear one of Mycroft's or keep wearing Greg's) and, although he wishes he didn't have to, made sure that no withdrawal symptoms will appear in the course of the next few hours.
He suspects that one of the reasons John left so abruptly was that he could see that the coke bugs were once again crawling over Sherlock's skin.
John isn't down yet, but Mycroft and Greg are in the dining room – Mycroft has prepared a small breakfast, Greg is once again filling his flasks.
Mycroft looks at Sherlock.
"I tried to – "
"He tried to make me quit, but I fear his track record of getting people to quit addictive substances isn't that good" Greg interrupts cheerfully, looking well rested. "Morning, 'Lock".
"Good morning" Sherlock replies, and suddenly realizes that if – when he returns, he's actually going to miss the stupid nickname. Though he probably won't miss the sarcastic comments at half past six in the morning all that much.
"What did I say about eye-rolling?"
"Something like "not while I'm still conscious", but considering you probably have enough alcohol in your bloodstream to knock out every other male human being, I think I'm allowed to do it now".
"Please, Sherlock, don't start to" John complains, limping in the kitchen, though his limp is certainly less bad than it was yesterday.
Mycroft shoots a look at Sherlock and nods almost imperceptibly – so Sherlock's not the only one who noticed. Although you can never say with Greg; he might notice it too and just not deem it worth his while to comment on it.
Or not.
"Hey, John, limp looking all better. Which my little preference for alcohol could be dealt with so easily too. On the other hand – I wouldn't be allowed to drink anymore then, would I?"
"No, I think not" John answers. Then he turns to Sherlock.
"Where to first?"
"After breakfast – " John looks at him, rather confused, but Greg decides to clear it all up with "Mycroft prepared something, so you will eat it!"
"Thank you, Inspector – anyway, first of all, we go to Bart's – to get the DNA tests. Greg needs something he can show her Ladyship."
"You're right there – She's upper class, so not even my charming manner and good looks could convince her that I know the truth without evidence".
"Correct. Then – Greg goes to her Ladyship, of course we won't be far off – she's staying at her mother's, isn't she?"
"Yes" Greg answers, "Lady Walter, widow of Sir James Walter, who occupied an important position in the Ministry of Defence for years".
"Naturally" Sherlock sighs.
They eat in companionable silence, then they set out – not in Mycroft's limousine, it would be too conspicuous, although Greg is rather sorry he doesn't get to try out its little bar, but in one of his smaller town cars. Mycroft is driving – John prefers not to because of his shoulder, and neither Sherlock nor Greg are in a fit state to drive, although, as Greg observes "I am pretty much used to it and Sherlock most likely has the reactions of a bat right now". That, however, fails to convince Mycroft.
On their way to Bart's they pass a street Sherlock knows all too well.
"Mycroft, stop!"
Mycroft does so and parks in Baker Street.
"What's going on, Sherlock?"
"Do you remember Mrs. Hudson? Our housek– landlady I told you about?"
"Yes?" Mycroft looks confused.
"She lives in 221B – with her alcoholic and abusive husband."
"Sherlock, considering that Moriarty could very well at this moment be killing someone else – " he takes one look at Sherlock's determined expression and sighs. "Alright".
"Want my help?" John asks, eagerly. Apparently, he's taken a liking to Mrs. Hudson just from Sherlock's story. "What's the plan?"
"Sending him on his way and scaring him enough not to return."
"I'm in, too!" Greg grins. "Can't stand those wife-beaters. And alcoholics too, of course". He takes a sip from his flask.
"Good, then. Mycroft..."
"I'd rather stay here, if you don't mind – But don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you and interfere if – "
"Trust me, Mycroft, I know" Sherlock says and exits the car with a smile on his face.
On the way to the front door, Greg searches for his ID.
"I know I had it on me when we left..." Sherlock passes him his ID with a wink. "Sorry, Greg, I couldn't resist."
He really couldn't; he hasn't nicked it in the last few months, and watching Lestrade's exasperated and yet strangely amused reaction was always fun.
Greg takes it and huffs. "Fine, but don't make a habit out of it".
They decide to simply improvise and John knocks.
As before, Mr. Hudson opens the door.
He looks first at John, and then at Greg. "What do you – " He sees Sherlock. "You again! Didn't I tell you to sod off?"
"Yes, you did, Mr. Hudson, but I think this Inspector of Scotland Yard wants a word with you."
He looks at Greg once again, then checks his ID. "Scotland Yard? Really? Why?"
"Because you are beating your wife" Greg replies smoothly.
"Now, wait a minute..." He screams down the corridor. "Hey, come here, quickly!"
Mrs. Hudson shuffles to the front door, and Sherlock's heart clenches once again at the sight of her.
He can hear John next to him drawing in a breath. He only hopes Mr. Hudson will see reason and leave; John can see red quite quickly when it comes to domestic abuse.
"Yes?" she asks, politely.
"Mrs Hudson" Greg steps between her and her husband before he can shake her by the shoulders, which he apparently wants to do – "I am informed that you are regularly a victim of domestic violence. Is that true?"
She looks flustered. "I – " She is going to deny it, Sherlock knows by the panicked look she shoots her husband. But then she sees John and Sherlock standing there – looks at Sherlock for a moment – draws a deep breath. "Yes, it's true".
Her husband wants to throw himself at her, all while screaming insults, but Greg drags her out of his reach, while John kicks him from behind and Sherlock jumps at him – finally he's lying on the floor, John and Sherlock pining him down.
"I recommend, Mr. Hudson" Greg says, pleasantly, "That you leave this house immediately and don't return. Otherwise you might find yourself in jail - and I'll make sure it's a tough one".
For a moment, it looks like he's going to argue, but then he feels the weight of two bodies pressing on him, and he nods.
They let him go and he leaves without looking back. They watch him stagger around the corner, then turn to Mrs. Hudson.
She looks at them with wide eyes. "I – thank you – but who are you?"
"Let's just say friends" Sherlock replies, smiling. "And I would have that lock changed as soon as possible, if I were you."
"I will, my dear. Thank you". She smiles, and for a moment Sherlock can see his old landlady.
"Well, we must be off. Good day, Mrs. Hudson."
"Goodbye – "
"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."
"Goodbye, Sherlock. Will I see you again?"
"Most likely" He grins and winks at her, then they walk back to the car.
"Well, that was fun" John comments. "Did you see that I kicked him with my bad leg?"
"Yes, and you had every right to" Greg answers. "Drunk at this time of day – shameful. I should know from experience".
They enter the car laughing, and Sherlock, who's sitting in the passenger's side, nods at Mycroft, who nods back and smiles.
They drive off to put their plan in motion, Mrs. Hudson still standing at the front door, following the car with her eyes and smiling.
Author's note: I couldn't help it. The gang saving Mrs. Hudson – how awesome is that? I know, I know...
Mind: You know, you are evil.
Me: You are the one who comes up with the ideas.
Mind: I am you.
Me: Good God, please, don't start talking like Moriarty now.
Mind: Okay. But if don't write the next chapter soon, I will skiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin you.
Me: Sigh. Alright.
I hope you liked it and please review.