~~~~~24 hours later~~~~~
A persistent "beep" woke him from his slumber.
He had not been dreaming, a rare event that left him feeling calm and serene, thought he wasn't sure why.
He left his eyes closed and had taken a deep breath in, enjoying the warmth of the blankets that surrounded him. When he did breathe in, he noticed a distinct smell as the air passed through his nostrils. Was that…. Disinfectant? The air smelled…. Sterile.
He only recognized that smell in hospital settings. Why did he know that?
Was he in a hospital?
He suddenly realized he didn't know where he was.
He wanted to bolt upright and start shouting, but his body protested. He could hardly move. Just breathing in had caused a slight pain in his chest…
From what? He thought.
I must open my eyes, he said to himself.
Just then, another beep cut through the silence.
Definitely a heart monitor, he noted. How did he know that?
Damn, his eyes felt like weights.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was able to open his eyes. He immediately began squinting because the lights were so bright. He rubbed them with his left hand.
Now that he had his vision, sort of, he began trying to remember what happened to him, hoping that seeing his surroundings would help jog his memory.
Once his eyes seemed to focus, he noticed the tubes, wires, and IV's sticking out of hands, arms, nose, and chest.
What the hell happened to me?
He began looking around the room. He was the only patient in the room, which he found surprising. The walls were tan. There was a window to his right. He could tell he was several floors up. There was a bathroom across from him and to his left was the glass exit door. A young man sat staring at him intently from the chair next to him on his right, blocking some of the light coming in from the window. The man was well dressed, but looked disheveled, as though he had been through something traumatic. Is he a part of the reason why I'm here?
If he is, why is he holding my hand?
He panicked for a moment and heard the heart monitor start beeping a bit faster.
He suddenly became aware of his situation. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten into this hospital bed. He couldn't remember his own bloody name or what he did. He couldn't remember this man, though he seemed important. After all, he was holding his hand. Was he my brother? No… our fingers were interlocked. That's much too intimate for that… Lover, then?
The thought made him panic again and the heart monitor started beating even faster. The man at the side of his bed glanced quickly at the monitor, then back to him. He leaned forward, still holding onto his hand. He squeezed it a little. He pressed the nurse "call" button on a remote sitting on his bed.
"It's ok, you're safe. Everything is ok now." Said the man in the chair. He had a deep, soothing voice that for a moment flickered recognition in his head, but it was gone almost as fast as it came.
He could feel his chest heaving up and down and Christ did it hurt.
He felt like screaming, but nothing came out. His throat was dry and he felt powerless and weak.
A nurse scurried into the room.
"He's awake." Said the man to the nurse.
"I'll tell the doctor," replied the nurse quickly, then added, "has he said anything?"
"No… he seems agitated at the moment as his heart rate has increased in just the past few minutes as he's woken up." The man responded.
The nurse left the room. The man in the chair pulled it closer and got right in his face.
"Just try to breathe. Relax." He said, glancing worriedly up at the monitor again.
Just then, a tall, muscular man in a white coat entered the room. He had more salt than pepper hair and he, too got close to him.
"Mr. Holmes… " he said looking at the man in the chair.
"Do you mind if I take a few minutes to assess him?" the doctor asked Mr. Holmes, as he now knew him.
Mr. Holmes only grunted and leaned back in his chair, watching everything the doctor did like a hawk.
The doctor took that as a yes and got close to his face.
"Sir… sir? Can you hear me?" he spoke in a loud and urgent voice.
He nodded his head.
"Good. Can you speak a little for me? Do you know where you are?"
He sighed. He gave it his best go to say "hospital" but instead his voice sounded scratchy and his speech slurred between the consonants.
"H-hosssss-ptal." He croaked out.
"Very good." Responded the doctor.
"My name is Dr. Dembowski. Can you tell me your name?"
He wanted to cry. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He shook his head slowly.
"Ok, that's ok. Your name is John. John Watson. You're a doctor. Do you remember any of that?"
He shook his head again.
"Ok. Do you remember how you got here?"
He shook his head again.
"That's alright. John, on the count of three, I want you to squeeze my fingers. Got it? One, two, three."
John squeezed with all his might, but it didn't feel very strong…
"Excellent. Now. I just want you to stay very still. Don't move your head. Follow my finger with your eyes."
John tried to focus. He was getting so tired. He completed the task.
The doctor didn't ask him any more questions. He said, "John, you had a little bit of an accident, ok? You might have trouble remembering things for a little while. That's ok. If you have any questions, just hit the 'call' button and a nurse will come in and tell you what they can, ok? The best thing for you right now is to sleep. I'll come check on you again in a few hours."
John looked from the doctor to Mr. Holmes.
"Oh, yes. This is Mr. Holmes."
"Sherlock…" the man interrupted.
"Yes. Sherlock Holmes. He's your flat mate and colleague. You work together. He should be able to answer any personal questions you have too, though you really shouldn't strain yourself."
John's head was spinning. Nothing made sense. His head ached.
What kind of name was "Sherlock"?
He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again.