Author's Note: Welcome to the second chapter, which is by far my favourite (you might see why a little further down the page). Anyway, please review, otherwise I don't know if I'm doing a good job or not, and I wouldn't liketo be disappointing my readers! Enjoy!
Love, Ruby xx
Within seconds of John being wheeled into the corner of the large room, the three medics swarmed around him and began busying themselves with wiring him to machines and running numerous tests on him. I remained in the doorway and let the men who'd wheeled John in out.
I felt a hand on my should and snapped around, knowing immediately who it was, and scowled at my brother.
"You know I didn't mean it like that Sherlock." he said. I might have detected a little remorse and regret in his voice, but I didn't care. It was him who'd said it, not me. I was in no mood to deal with his emotional manipulation at the moment anyway.
"Just don't, Mycroft. I don't need your emotional support, I never have. Just leave me alone." I may have wanted John at the manor, but it was only for the better medical care. I didn't want for anything but John's safety and survival at this moment in time.
Once the doctors had finished faffing around and irritating the hell out of me. I'm really getting fed up of repeating myself, of course I'm fine, it's John you need to focus your attention on you idiots!
The doctors all left within fifteen minutes, which was very considerate of them. Mycroft probably told them about me. I resumed the position that I had taken up earlier in the hospital, near the head of the bed, next to John. The rhythmic beeping of the machines reassured me that he was still alive.
"There's a bathroom across the hall, you should really take a shower you know. Your clothes are on the side in there. You don't smell too fresh." God his voice grates on me. Does he not everget the message? I probably did need a wash after the amount that I'd been through tonight, but at three in the morning, I really wasn't overly concerned.
"What have I told you Mycroft? Leave me alone. I don't-"
"Need your emotional support and all the rest of it. I know. I'm just-"
"Trying to help. Well don't. You've done as much as you can; and whilst I'm grateful that you have moved him to here and taken care of the medical issues, I don't need you constantly hovering around me like sone sort of lost puppy. I don't need it Mycroft!" I snapped, I was getting quite irritated by now.
"Just take a shower and get some sleep Sherlock. I don't particularly care for an argument right now so would you just take basic care of yourself? I'll see you at nine for breakfast." He turned on his heals and went, finally getting the message. Why did he care all of a sudden? He never did before when we were younger, so why take an interest in my adult life?
I took a shower and freshened up, deciding it would be beneficial for the majority if I did. I was no longer covered in dry blood which was a positive take on the situation, and I was clean.
"When will you let him wake up?" I asked the next doctor who came in. A small, stout fellow with bright orange hair.
"I'm not entirely sure, Mr Holmes. It could be anything from days to weeks; but we'll be monitoring him closely and let you know when he's ready." I was fairly satisfied with this answer as I was a little drowsy.
Running across London in an attempt to save your brother, being blown up and then shot at with your only friend being seriously injured and knocking on death's door really syphoned all of my energy.
I must have fallen asleep at some point as I woke up in a bed, not mine. So someone had to have moved me. I cursed myself for succumbing to the depths of sleep, I didn't need sleep. I needed John o be alive.
Mycroft was not my favourite person right now as I recalled our frank exchange of views last night. He must have moved me from John's side and to a room I didn't even know. I would be able to find my way back to John, but that was beside the point. He should not have moved me. He'd know how I felt if he actually had a friend as opposed to only collegues.
I decided I was going to get up, admittedly I felt better after a nap, but I'd had much rathered staying with John. I felt guilty enough for his injuries, and felt compelled to reside next to him throughout the whole of his healing process.
Where did this come from, this compulsion and guilt. It was irrational and concerning, Mycroft would pick up on it the moment I walks down the staircase to breakfast, I reek of guilt and emotional turmoil. I just hope he's still in a state of shock after last night. I'll admit that I am.
I stepped out of the room and took a moment to pinpoint my exact location within the manor. Three doors from a staircase to my right, faded blue carpet; I was in the west wing. Balcony above the hall with a large grand piano, five doors to my right, John would be in the room directly below me. To get to the main table, down the stairs, along the corridor to the left, immediate right, followed by the fith door on the left, then out the window, down the drainpipe and through the front door. That was the quickest way down. I was not walking all the way though the manor getting sypathetic looks and stared at since I hadn't been here in years. I also didn't really want to talk to anybody.
I'm a bit taller than I was last time I scaled the drainpipe down from the third floor, but it felt no different. The wind wipped through my coat, scalf and hair as I slid down. I jumped the last few metres, I needed to know if I was still as physically agile as I was aged fourteen; answer, yes, possibly more so.
I pushed the front door open, took off my scalf and coat and gave it too the doorman who gave me a very odd look. He's clearly never seen a man run through a mansion and scale a drainpipe before. People should do it more often, it's quite an adrenaline rush. Good for the heart. Maybe I should recommend it to Mycroft, although I'm not too sure how long the drainpipe would remain standing.
I walked into the first room to the left, the dining room. Awful place really. All the memories of food fights and cathartic brawls rushed back into my head and I felt a little giddy. Good thing I'm intelligent enough not to say anything, but it appears that somebody else lacks that particular intelligence.
"The drainpipe Sherlock. Why? And this whole thing is not your fault so stop thinking it is. You could not have prevented this in any way so stop sulking." He gets more annoying by the day.
"Piss off Mycroft. It's not as if it's your friend in a critical condition just across the hall now is it?" I retorted. This was going to be a long breakfast. And no, I did not eat; my stomach would have rejected anything I swallowed. After my rather hasty and well worded reply to Mycroft's variation of 'Hello dear brother, it's good to see you this morning. Oh and thanks to you and your friend for saving my life last night', the table was silent apart from people's thoughts. These people drive me crazy; they must be some of Mycroft's 'advisers' although I doubt one of them is. She keeps looking at him as if she's searching for some kind of reassurance. Ah! They're sleeping together.
"Stop it, Sherlock" He grunted from the other side of the oval table that sat in the middle of the grotesquely large room.
"It would make things a whole lot better if she'd stop looking at you and you'd all at least make a small effort to conceal your thoughts." I replied in with a nonchalance I did not feel. I'd had enough of this and just wanted to check up on John.