Chapter Fifteen
The Warning

-.-

Staying in the freezing rain for so long hasn't done Sherlock any good. He winds up in Lestrade's house eventually, unable to bear the thought of Baker Street, and wakes up the next day with a temperature. That morning, he tries to hide these ailments, but even Lestrade, with his poor powers of observation, can spot the fever. "Bed!" He orders. Sherlock tries to argue. It's of little use. Reluctantly, he heads back to his room and lies down on top of the cover, shivering.

A practitioner comes to visit, at the insistence of the detective inspector. When Sherlock blatantly states that he doesn't want any doctor, Lestrade gives him a sad look. "The only doctor you ever let near you was John." He agrees, leaving him uncomfortable. How close did I let John get? He wonders, thinking in terms of physical rather than emotional intimacy. He wants to ask Lestrade, but he is too ashamed and, besides, the older man has already told him all he knows.

The doctor, who Sherlock takes an immediate disliking to, says it's pneumonia. He has to stay in bed for three days.

Three days… His next session with the therapist is coming up. Whatever happens, he cannot miss it. There are enough questions swirling round his head already. He can't wait for the answers. In the meantime, his head hurts, and he takes advantage of Lestrade's generous hospitality.

If Mrs Hudson was like a mother to him, Lestrade has been a kind of paternal figure in his life. He cares for Sherlock – and Sherlock in turn also feels something faintly resembling emotions – not only allowing him to help with cases, but actually standing up for him when Anderson makes a derogatory comment. Sherlock (though he would never for one second admit it) loves him, in the way a son loves his father…

"Sherlock!" He looks up to find himself in St Bart's Hospital. John Watson, every detail clear, is staring at him from across the room, with frightened eyes.

"John…" His voice fills with wonder and he begins walking closer, but John holds out a hand and stops him, tone urgent.

"You're asleep… This is just a dream. Wake up!"

"But –"

"Sherlock!" He sounds incredibly distressed. "It's Greg… Something's happening… You have to wake up!"

"Greg… Lestrade…?" He asks, unable to think fast.

"Wake up!" And then, with no other option, John screams at the top of his lungs. "WAKE UP!"

Sherlock wakes with a start. His fever has broken and all is quiet. For a second, he struggles to recall the conversation. Then – Lestrade's in danger…The detective is not one to listen to the voices of the dead, but something is wrong and he needs to investigate. His friend is sleeping downstairs so Sherlock makes his way towards him, hand on the banister, gun at the ready.

He hears the front door click ever so softly… Someone is here. Heart beating wildly, he follows the noise as it moves towards his host's temporary bedroom –

And rushes forward, takes the intruder by surprise, grabs him and pushes him onto the floor. A gun goes off – not his own – and he feels a sharp sear of pain in his left arm. Lestrade, on the sofa, cries out, startled. The next second he stumbles up and turns the light on, just in time to witness his guest raise his own pistol and smash it down on the assailant's head. The attacker groans, dark brown hair matted with blood, and slips into unconsciousness.

"Lestrade…" Sherlock says breathlessly, standing up and clutching his bleeding arm. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

The startled man shakes his head, eyes wide. "Does this happen to you most nights?"

"Now and then, yes. I – I'll phone the police."

That had been close. If he had arrived a minute later, Lestrade might be dead. John Watson warned me… He saved him… Sherlock frowns. He doesn't believe in ghosts. As they wait for the police and paramedics, he comes up with his own, rather unconvincing theory, based on empirical evidence as opposed to the supernatural. While dreaming, his keener senses may have heard a suspicious noise outside and unconsciously he must have warned himself. Perhaps…Either way, it's lucky I woke up in time. He remembers how John had looked so real in that latest dream. He has never been able to see him so clearly before.

It can only mean one thing.

His memories are about to start coming back. Fast.

I'm extremely sorry for the late update.