Chapter 8

When Erika woke up, every inch of her body ached and she felt like her shoulder was being pricked with a million knives. She hissed in pain and closed her eyes tight. Looking around she saw she was in a different room. The room smelt mustier and it was smaller than her room in Moriarty's home. The bed was also firmer. It was then the night's activities returned to her and her eyes flew open. William.

She sat bolt upright before the pain sunk in and she fell back in bed with a short yell. It was then she felt a warmth on her hand and she looked to see Sherlock Holmes standing over her. He looked like he hadn't slept and his chin had a day's worth of stubble. He looked down at her with a mixture of concern and sorrow. Finally Erika found her voice. "William?"

Sherlock looked away from her and that was all she needed to confirm what she already knew. She let a sob pass her lips and she cried. Sherlock held her hand as she emptied all her emotions out that she had kept locked up for so long. He watched her silently until her tears stopped because she had wept all the tears she had. She looked up at Sherlock brokenly when there was a soft knock at the door. Both turned to watch John walk in with bandages and other medical equipment.

"Sorry," he said, making to shuffle out but it was Erika who stopped him.

"It's alright Doctor Watson," she said, barely above a whisper. "Do what you have to do."

John looked to Sherlock for approval and received a short nod in return. The taller man stood and pressed himself against the wall while the doctor sat on the edge of the bed. Erika watched them both quietly.

"I'm sorry but I need to know how you got all these wounds and how old they are," John's voice, though sympathetic, was trying to uphold his clinical view. Erika felt obliged to answer.

"Chronologically or Anatomically?" She saw Sherlock smiled a little in the background and managed a weak smile herself before turning back to John for an answer.

"The first."

"The bite marks were about a week ago."

"How did you get them?" John asked, fairly sure of the answer. Erika looked over to Sherlock hesitantly before answering.

"It was Moriarty," she said, her Russian slipping through. "He wanted…information."

John nodded and Erika saw Sherlock clench his fists angrily. She looked back at the doctor who motioned for her to continue and she did so.

"The rest all happened last night."

"What happened last night?" This time it was Sherlock who was speaking. She looked up at him before looking down at her hands. John knew his friend was about to push her for answers but he knew that wouldn't be good for her. He motioned for Sherlock to get out and, unwillingly, he did so. Erika looked up, frantic.

"If he knew what happened…If he knew all of it…it would destroy him."

John sighed and put a hand on hers. "You don't know what he was like when he came back. He was a broken man. He didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't talk. He just stared at the wall. The only things he ever said were about you or-"

He stopped himself, but the damage was done. Erika's eyes filled with tears which soon spilt over and ran down her cheek. John was unsure what to do so he just sat there. She looked at him and muttered softly, "It's my fault."

"It's not your fault."

"It is!" she said with a voice strained with agony. "You know I had cancer when I got pregnant. Jim snatched me away after I…died. He restarted my heart and destroyed my cancer. But, only my cancer."

John's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand."

"You are a medical man. I will speak to you as such. I was dying because the cancer cells in my tumour were seeping into my blood. William," she choked on the name, "William also shared my blood. He got the cancer, not the cure."

John was speechless. He couldn't imagine what she was going to have to live with. Her life saved but her child's lost. She continued, "An adult might have stood a chance but an infant…a baby…"

She trailed off, unable to finish before her tears started again. John patted her good shoulder sympathetically, unsure what else he could do. He was trying to think of something to say when a baritone voice cut through the air.

"It wasn't your fault." Sherlock entered slowly, and walked so that he stood beside her in the bed. Erika looked up at him with tear stained eyes.

"You must hate me."

"No," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I hate him for what he has done to you; before and now."

He brushed his hand over her collarbone where her scars lay. John watched as the two looked at each other before Erika completely fell apart, sobbing into Sherlock. To his surprise, the man who avoided physical contact didn't back away. Instead he cautiously wrapped his arms around her, careful not to hurt her, and hugged her to him. John swore he saw tears on the taller man's face and stood, leaving the two alone for the first time in far too long.

After he left, the pair remained frozen in that position, both too tired to move. Sherlock watched her as she cried, occasionally muttering, "I'm sorry," into his shirt. He simply pulled her closer and waited for the tears to subside and, eventually, they did.

Erika raised her head to look at him and he managed a slight smiled. She returned it weakly but neither could pretend they were happy. She let go of him and lay back down flat. Sherlock looked her up and down again, trying to find all the details he missed but knowing he couldn't without her help. Finally, he spoke.

"Erika please," he said, getting off the bed and kneeling beside it, almost begging. "What happened to you last night?"

She looked up at him and her eyes were moist with tears again. She bit her lip and took a deep breath. "Are you sure you want to know?"

He nodded.

"Forgive me," she whispered, before starting her recount of the horrible night before.