"What are you doing?" John asked Sherlock when his friend suddenly told the cab to stop and he jumped out quickly, moving along the path as John told the cab to wait and he got out of the transport and followed the consulting detective.
"Sherlock!" He snapped. "What are you doing?"
"I have to quickly pick something up," Sherlock told John and he moved into a shop and John stood outside for a moment, just looking up at the building before moving in with his mouth agape.
"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock declared himself to the woman behind the counter and she went to checking the book in front of her before nodding at Sherlock.
"I'll be back in a moment," she said and moved into the backroom. Sherlock rocked back and forth on his heels whilst John continued staring at him.
"Close your mouth John," Sherlock told his friend. "You'll catch flies."
"You...what are we doing here Sherlock?" John managed to ask and Sherlock simply just rolled his eyes at his friend in complete and utter annoyance.
"Well normally John," Sherlock began, "when people are in hospital they have people buy them things known as flowers. I thought you'd know that with you being a doctor."
"But this place Sherlock?" John gasped. "It is an actual expensive florist..."
"And I'm not allowed the buy flowers for Scarlett?" Sherlock wondered "Oh," he suddenly gasped "I see. You thought I would settle for some cheap flowers from a local garage."
"I never said that," John replied quickly.
"You didn't need to," Sherlock responded. "It was written all over your face."
"Mr Holmes," the woman said, handing Sherlock a large bouquet of flowers whilst Sherlock handed her the notes which were needed to pay for them.
"Thank you very much," Sherlock said and walked out from the shop which smelt of all types of flowers.
"How much did you just spend on flowers?" John asked Sherlock.
"And is that your concern?" Sherlock raised a brow as they once again sat in the back of the cab and began to drive again, the flowers settled in between them, the smell potent.
"Well no...they're...they're very nice Sherlock..." John commented.
"I was assured they were the best bunch in the shop," Sherlock drawled and John nodded;
"Yes," he replied. "Very nice indeed."
...
"Sherlock!" John snapped as his friend continued walking quickly off in one direction, ignoring the sign which John was looking at.
"What is it now?" Sherlock asked his friend.
"How do you know where you're going? You completely blanked the map," he informed him and Sherlock rolled his eye, taking a turn on the left and down another corridor.
"It's quite clear where Ward 12 is John," Sherlock informed him and John's brows knitted together.
"Is it?" he asked.
"Just stick with me," Sherlock said. "I'd hate to have and come fetch you if you were to get lost."
"Very funny," John whispered and they entered Ward 12. Beds were lining each side of the room, some were occupied and some were not. But the one which caught Sherlock's attention was the one right at the end of the room next to the window. The same bed he had been visiting every single day for the past week. He stood in the doorway for a moment and took in her appearance. She had a large purple bruise just under her eye, her blonde hair did look clean and back to its normal bounce, but she had lost weight. She looked thinner than normal, somehow gaunt. Sherlock had told her that not eating properly was unwise but she had insisted the food wasn't edible. And so, he had managed to sneak in a freshly made sandwich from the local sandwich shop. She was sat up in the bed, her legs crossed and a book in her hands as Sherlock walked down to her.
"You're still reading that thing?" he checked and she looked up at him, smiling widely as she saw the large bouquet of flowers in his hands.
"They for anyone nice?" Scarlett asked him and he looked at the flowers in his hands. Scarlett only just managed to see his head poking from the top of them as she smiled over at him.
"Yes," Sherlock replied. "I have a date later on...with that receptionist who slipped me her number."
"If the nurse wasn't watching I'd get out of bed and hit you Sherlock Holmes," Scarlett informed him and he just chuckled deeply, resting the flowers onto the table which went over the bed as Scarlett allowed a hand to delicately skim the tips of the roses and tulips, inhaling their scent.
"They're beautiful Sherlock," she said and he perched himself on the edge of her bed, removing his dry cleaned coat and scarf and resting them on the end of the blue duvet.
"I thought that people bought the ill flowers when they're in hospital," he informed her.
"I'm not ill Sherlock," Scarlett complained.
"Until you're discharged from hospital then you're ill," he responded. "And I bought you some food. You need to start eating properly."
"That's slightly hypocritical," John retorted. "Considering that you never eat correctly."
"I'm not ill," Sherlock replied through gritted teeth, setting the sandwich down onto the table next to the flowers as he did so.
"When are they planning on discharging you?" John asked, settling himself down into the chair as he asked her. She shrugged lightly as she picked up Sherlock's scarf and began playing with it in her hands.
"I have no idea," she replied. "They don't tell me anything...it's maddening...and so boring...the temptation to discharge myself is growing."
"You'll do no such thing," Sherlock said lowly, "you're going to wait until they tell you that you can leave."
"Yes boss," Scarlett mock saluted and Sherlock watched as she played with the scarf in her hands.
"It's for the best Scarlett," he promised her. "The doctors know what they're doing...well...some do..." he allowed a sly glance over at John who simply just chuckled to himself.
"Can you do me a favour then?" Scarlett asked Sherlock. "I need more clothes."
"You mean pyjamas?" Sherlock checked and she shrugged;
"Yes," she said "they're in my bottom bedside drawer."
"I shall bring them tomorrow," Sherlock said and he looked at the clock;
"Is that the time?" He drawled. "I could do with a coffee John."
"I'm on it," John said, recognising the hint that Sherlock wanted to talk to her alone.
Scarlett and Sherlock watched as John left and then Sherlock allowed himself to grasp onto one of her hands, only lightly, not wanting to damage her when he felt she was in such a fragile state.
"They'd best let you out soon," Sherlock informed her. "I'm going mad in that flat."
"No one to cook your tea?" Scarlett teased him and he smirked to one side at her as she bit her lip, her eyes wide as Sherlock leaned in to kiss her;
"That's my main issue," he tormented and kissed her softly.
"Excuse me." A stern voice spoke and Sherlock pulled away from Scarlett and the two of them looked up to where a nurse stood. The woman was small and plump as she had her hands on her hips and looked down at them.
"We'll have none of that in here," she warned and then walked off. Scarlett scowled as Sherlock simply just rolled his eyes.
"Cantankerous old bat," Scarlett hissed. "She has a hatred for me for some odd reason."
"Seems there are many people who have it out for you," Sherlock chuckled and Scarlett rolled her eyes, swatting him on the arm;
"Use the past tense," she told him. "He's gone..."
"How are your dreams?" Sherlock asked her and she went quiet before releasing his hand and playing with the corner of her duvet.
"How did you know?" she sighed.
"You have bags under your eyes, indicating a lack of sleep. Also...it would only seem natural..." Sherlock told her.
"I...he keeps coming back Sherlock...and I'm back there..." she stammered and Sherlock placed a finger to her lips, kissing her gently on the forehead.
"You don't need to remember it," he assured her. "It's over..."
"I know," she replied.
"Just," Sherlock sighed. "Get better and come home...before I contemplate using your hair straightners for an experiment."
"Dear God," Scarlett moaned, "I may contemplate discharging myself now."
...
A/N. So Moriarty is gone. But I have more ideas in my mind...that is if people want to continue reading this fic! So please do review and let me know what you think!