Smith released Sherlock instantly, turning around in alarm while Sherlock choked and flailed as his lungs quickly sought the air it had been deprived of.

John stood stock-still for a moment, staring at Smith incredulously while Marie removed her mobile from against her ear with narrowed eyes, just as a voice called: "Mr. Holmes! You okay?"

The police officer, who was supposed to have been guarding the room came rushing back, pausing in the doorway as John dropped the fire extinguisher and began to storm up to Smith. Marie rushed over to check on Sherlock, going behind John as the doctor grabbed Smith by the neck, hauling him away from the bed as he hissed: "What were you doing to him?"

"Sherlock?" Marie asked desperately, and his eyes finally focused on hers, his heart returning to a steady beat, as Smith whimpered while John repeated, shouting furiously: "What were you doing?!"

"He's in distress!" Smith cried in protest as he gestured desperately at Sherlock while John hauled him to the edge of the room. "I-I'm helping him!"

John didn't buy a single word, his faith in Sherlock having been fully restored (aka he'd finally admitted to himself that Sherlock was not to blame so he was free to acknowledge he had and probably always would trust Sherlock) and he basically threw Smith at the police officer as he ordered: "Restrain him, now. Do it."

The officer held onto Smith, still looking mostly bewildered, while Smith cried, his face flushed and agitated: "I was trying to help him!"

"Sherlock, what was he doing to you?" John demanded, turning to look over at the man who was still struggling to breathe properly as Marie stroked his cheek soothingly.

"Suffocating me," Sherlock answered though still rather breathlessly, "overdosing me."

He gestured at the drip machine as he spoke, while his eyes drifted shut.

"Sherlock." Marie called sternly, bringing him back to them, while John demanded urgently: "On what?"

"Saline." Sherlock answered, and John repeated incredulously: "Saline?"

"Yeah, saline." Sherlock agreed, while gesturing at Marie. She understood, moving his bed back up into a propped angle while holding him down with her hand before Sherlock could impatiently raised himself up onto his elbows.

John meanwhile walked over to look at the drip bag while he asked with a confused frown: "What d'you mean, saline?"

Sherlock groaned, letting out a shaky breath, and Marie checked his pulse and shaking hands while Sherlock still managed to explain to John through his unsteady breathing: "Well obviously I got Nurse Cornish to switch the bags. She's a big fan, you know? Loves my blog."

John turned back to him, frowning, and he asked skeptically: "You're okay?"

"No-no, of course I'm not okay." Sherlock dismissed, as though it were obvious – which is was. "Malnourished, double kidney failure, and frankly I've been off my tits for weeks."

"Don't forget your damaged teeth and liver." Marie muttered severely as she let go of his arm, and he nodded at her with a wince.

"How could I forget?" He agreed, before squinting at John as he added in conclusion: "What kind of a doctor are you?"

Marie tucked his blanket around him silently, while John could only stare as Sherlock groaned before his eyes moved over to Smith.

"I got my confession, though, didn't I?" He added rather smugly, though the tone was almost lost in his breathy voice. Almost.

"Huh!" Smith scoffed as he wrenched his arms away from the police officer. "I don't recall making any confession."

He started forwards towards the bed, and Marie straightened while John held out a hand to stop the man as he warned: "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa."

"What would I be confessing to?" Smith demanded as he stopped, but only to give John and Marie an indignant look each.

"You can listen to it later." Sherlock muttered tiredly, though his hand still reached out to hold Marie's tentatively. She didn't loosen up her posture – if anything, she tensed further – but at least she didn't pull away. Sherlock supposed that was something.

"But there is no confession to listen to!" Smith retorted at Sherlock, before he paused.

With a false gasp and an equally false apologetic expression, Smith clasped his gloved hands together as he said: "Oh, Mr Holmes. I-I don't know if this is relevant, but we found three potential recording devices in the pockets of your coat."

Sherlock frowned just slightly as he glanced over at Smith again, looking faintly perturbed, while Smith continued with false regret: Um, all your possessions were searched."

He glanced at John and Marie as he added: "Sorry."

Sherlock's gaze had lowered just slightly, still looking rather disgruntled, as John and Smith turned to look at him.

Marie was rolling her eyes, an action that gave the couple away before Sherlock even murmured with a frown: "Must be something comforting about the number three, people always give up after three."

He raised his eyes back to Smith, just slightly cocking a brow, and Smith's face fell as he stared back at Sherlock in horror. Sherlock's eyes then flickered to the side, looking no at John instead, who frowned back in confusion.

"What?" John asked, glancing between Sherlock and Marie. "What is it? What?"

Sherlock didn't reply, but he didn't have to. Marie just pursed her lips while Sherlock bit his lip just slightly like a child fighting back a smile as he waits for his parent to figure out his latest prank.

John paused, then sighed in exasperation.

"You cock." John muttered, and Sherlock agreed: "Yup."

"Utter, utter cock." John sighed, and Sherlock nodded as he answered: "Heard you the first time."

He turned his head back more comfortably on his pillow as he settled in while John stepped across the room, and picked up his walking stick.

"So," John asked resignedly as he turned back to his friends with the walking stick held up uncertainly, "how-how does it open?"

"Screw the top." Marie muttered, and John mumbled back: "I knew you were in on the whole thing."

"I wasn't completely lying." Marie answered. "I really didn't like, and refused to help, Sherlock's idea to use those stupid drugs, again."

"It was the only thing that would really convince John." Sherlock replied with a shrug that showed the pair had had this argument many times before.

John chose to stay silent, unable to counter Sherlock's statement or offer anything of comfort to Marie. Instead, he worked on pulling off the handle of his old walking stick, revealing to a grim Smith, the unsurprised trio, and the surprised police officer, a small round device hidden inside that was glowing red.

John pulled out the recording device, examining it briefly before looking back at Sherlock and Marie.

"Two weeks ago?" He asked, and Sherlock corrected: "Three. I texted Marie to ask her for the favour, since Mycroft had me under surveillance."

"Of course, bloody-" John sighed, before demanding: "And am I that predictable?"

"No." Sherlock replied, smiling slightly, and John exhaled through his nose while Sherlock's gaze moved to Smith.

"I'm just a cock." Sherlock grinned as he watched Smith, who had stumbled back in despair upon seeing the recording device.

"You really are." Marie muttered, just as Lestrade came striding into the room with a squadron of his men.

John and Smith looked over in surprise, but neither Sherlock nor Marie were surprised as Sherlock called: "Ah, Lestrade."

"Sherlock." The DI sighed, before nodding at Marie.

"I heard you." Lestrade said as he waved his mobile. "I'm assuming this means you two have all the evidence now to back up Marie's call for the police to come?"

"Of course." Sherlock answered, nodding at John who sighed again in exasperation as Marie held up her mobile and finally cut the call.

Smith stared at her now in dismay, while Lestrade rubbed his face tiredly but nodded at the couple before turning to Smith.

"In that case," Lestrade stated loudly so his men and Smith could hear his orders, "Mr. Culverton Smith, I hereby arrest you under charges of suspected murder, and attempted murder…"


As Smith was led out by the police a few minutes later, Sherlock coughed slightly, and he glanced at Marie.

"Er," he asked, "any chance I could get some morphine?"

"I thought it was bad for thinking?" John asked in surprise, while Marie's eyes narrowed at her husband.

"Well, yes, but when one's close to death's door, it is rather painful." Sherlock returned calmly, before glancing back at Marie. "Marie? Some help?"

She gave him a measured look before abruptly turning on her heel and walking towards the ward door.

"Marie-?" John began, when she called over her shoulder: "Go to hell, both of you."

John sighed, while Sherlock barked out a laugh, which soon turned into a wince of pain.

John could only shake his head; though a small smile quirked his lips when Marie returned some time later with the desired morphine. And he had to laugh when she irritably stabbed the needle into Sherlock's arm with a little more force than was necessary, making Sherlock wince.

It was petty, but it helped ease some of the frustration she'd had to go through for the past months. And besides, no-one got away completely with hurting her husband – not even Sherlock himself.


A few days later

"I had, of course, several other back-up plans." Sherlock explained. "Trouble is, I couldn't remember what they were. Though I did have Marie helping me whenever she could; though she was very unwilling, she wouldn't really leave me to deal with all of it on my own."

"Probably because she knows you'd end up actually killing yourself." John noted as he took another sip of his tea.

The pair were sitting in their respective chairs in the sitting room off 221B, each holding a nice warm mug of tea as they faced each other across from the warm fire burning in the fireplace.

The room was completely tidied, thanks to Marie, Mrs. Hudson and John, who'd come by to help before Sherlock's release from the hospital, so Sherlock didn't have to worry about cleaning up that mess. Instead, he could focus on cleaning up the mess he'd made of himself, something all of them were demanding and supervising.

As it was, it was a much cleaner – both inside and out – Sherlock sitting in his chair, his hair washed even if he hadn't yet shaved his small beard, and his eyes back to almost their usual sharp, focused blue; except for the left one, which was still bruised and bloodshot.

"And, of course," Sherlock added thoughtfully, "I hadn't really anticipated that I'd hallucinated meeting his daughter."

John nodded slowly, before glancing up as his vision Mary listed from where she stood behind Sherlock: "Basically he trashed himself on drugs so that you'd help him, so that you'd have something to do, something doctory, so you could recover. It was the only reason Marie even let him be instead of stopping him. You get that now, though?"

John didn't answer, while Sherlock began again with a sigh: "Still a bit troubled by the daughter. Did seem very real, and she gave me information I couldn't have acquired elsewhere."

He was frowning just slightly, his expression thoughtful, and John asked: "But she wasn't ever here?"

"Interesting, isn't it?" Sherlock mused. "I have theorised before that if one could attenuate to every available data stream in the world simultaneously, it would be possible to anticipate and deduce almost anything."

He sniffed as he peered thoughtfully down, while John nodded.

"Hm." He summarized. "So you dreamed up a magic woman who told you things you didn't know."

"Well, it sounds about right to me." Mary noted, before grinning at John as she added cheekily: "Possibly I'm biased."

"Perhaps," Sherlock said pensively, "the drugs opened certain doors in my mind… I'm intrigued."

He took another drink from his mug, while John scoffed: "Oh, I know you are."

He nodded back towards the door to indicate all the people who came by to take shifts watching Sherlock as he said: "Which is why Marie's keeping the twins at your parents' house for now, and why we're all taking it in turns to help her keep you off the sweeties."

Sherlock lowered his mug as he joked lightly at John: "I thought we were just hanging out."

He smiled a little, a hint of nervousness on his face, and John returned it in like kind.

He then quickly checked his watch, before looking back at Sherlock as he added: "Marie should be back soon, maybe in twenty minutes."

"Oh, I do think I can last twenty minutes without supervision." Sherlock smiled, and John glanced down, his expression thoughtful.

"Well, if you're sure…" He said, lifting his mug to take another sip of tea, while Sherlock nodded though he shifted his head a little to hide his hurt and Mary groaned from behind Sherlock: "Christ, John, stay. Talk!"

"Uh, sorry," John explained quickly as he placed his mug down on the side table, "it's just, um, you know, Rosie."

"Yes, of course, Rosie." Sherlock breathed, nodding in understanding even though he clearly wanted to say something more, anything to try and lessen the gap they could still feel between their old friendship.

"Go and solve a crime together." Mary scolded John. "Take Marie, she needs a break, too. Or make him wear the hat!"

John opened his mouth, hesitated for a beat, before asking instead: "You'll be okay for twenty minutes?"

Mary glowered at him, while Sherlock said quickly: "Yes. Yes! Sorry, I-I wasn't thinking of Rosie. Really should have."

"No problem." John said just as quickly as he stood up, while Sherlock added, though very hesitantly: "I should, uh, come and see her soon. With Marie."

He glanced up at John, part hopeful and part wary, but John replied firmly: "Yes."

Sherlock nodded, as though satisfied though he still looked a little uncomfortable – both of them were.

Mary wasn't as she said meaningfully to John: "Actually, he should wear the hat as a special tribute to me. I'm dead. I would really appreciate it."

John ignored her as he started to walk out of the flat, when Sherlock finally and very abruptly called after him: "Are you okay?"

There was genuine concern in his tone, and it finally broke John as the doctor laughed sarcastically before turning back into the room.

"Uh, what, am I ... no, no, I'm not okay." John answered as he stared at Sherlock… and at 'Mary' behind him. "I'm never gonna be okay. But we'll just have to accept that. It is what it is; and what it is, is... shit."

"John, do better." Mary ordered firmly, while Sherlock nodded in understanding as he lowered his eyes slightly.

John inhaled deeply, knowing what Mary was referring to – what had been on both his and Sherlock's minds since John's breakdown in the mortuary, when he'd pounded Sherlock in a rage, breaking the detective's nose and even cracking a rib when he'd kicked at Sherlock while the detective just took each blow without any attempt at defending himself.

But most of all, on what John had said as he'd left Sherlock bleeding. What he had spat out in a moment of anger and anguish, lashing out at Sherlock because he was the easiest person to blame. Even though it wasn't true.

"You didn't kill Mary." John finally blurted out now.

Sherlock's eyes snapped up to look at him in surprise, while Mary watched proudly as John took a deep breath but met Sherlock's gaze as he said firmly: "Mary died saving your life. It was her choice."

He took another breath before continuing: "No-one made her do it. No-one could ever make her do anything," Mary smiled at that, "but the point is: you did not kill her."

Sherlock's gaze lowered, accepting John's words as forgiveness and as the plea for forgiveness they were for the false accusation he'd spat at Sherlock in the mortuary.

Mary bowed her head too, finally feeling some peace, while Sherlock murmured at last: "In saving my life, she conferred a value on it, even more so than the birth of my children did."

He hesitated before admitting: "It is a currency I do not know how to spend."

John smiled a little, and he finally answered quietly: "It is what it is."

He looked at Sherlock, who lowered his head once more while Mary watched them fondly. John hesitated, before adding: "Uh, I'm tomorrow, six 'til ten. I'll see you then."

"Looking forward to it." Sherlock answered, raising his mug in a toast, and John muttered, still sounding a little uncertain: "Yeah."

John made to leave once more, only to almost bump into Marie as she walked into the flat.