Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter eight
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
It was late afternoon now, and it had been busy. All of the, fluids and monitors had been removed but one.
The only remaining intravenous fluid was removed when Sherlock threatened to "remove it himself." John argued at first but soon conceded since Sherlock could drink for hydration and swallow pills for pain .
In view of the fact that Sherlock was fully conscious and more stable, he was transferred to a private room on a less critical unit. The police detail had also been removed. The search was on for Nidal Ayyad who seemed to crawl back into the dark hole he crawled out of.
Lestrade spoke briefly to Sherlock over the phone. Mycroft was on the phone back and forth with John.
John was not sure where Sherlock was getting the strength, but knew he needed to rest. He was starting to look as pale as he did days ago.
"You need to sleep now," John said simply.
Sherlock's eyes grew heavy, "I'm not a child," he said pouting, "I know when I need sleep."
As if on cue Sherlock yawned.
John folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, trying to make a point without words. Sherlock looked embarrassed as he stifled another yawn.
John received a text. "Mycroft," he informed Sherlock. "I'll pop outside the door for a minute so you can sleep, I'll be right back."
John pulled out his phone as he turned to leave.
"John," Sherlock said as he grabbed the edge of John's shirt, almost reflectively.
Sherlock immediately pulled his hand away, embarrassed.
"Sherlock?"John asked concerned.
Sherlock did not acknowledge his actions in any way. Instead, he played with the corners of the sheets, busing his hands as if he was afraid they would betray him and reach for John again.
"Sherlock," Sherlock stopped his fidgeting and looked at John, "you okay?"
John felt stupid for asking such a question and apologized with his eyes before continuing. "I mean, I can wait until you're asleep to use the phone or I can text from here."
Defiance, fear, pain, and rage flashed in Sherlock's eyes as he folded his arms gingerly around his torso and said "I'm..."
"FINE," John interrupted finishing for Sherlock, his arms now folding around his chest mimicking Sherlock.
"You're fine… fine… bloody fine… never anything less than FINE!" John closed his eyes and raked his hand through his hair making it stand on end, then sighed.
Sherlock's lips were set in a very determined line. He shook slightly but refused to look away from John.
Sherlock waited.
"Lestrade arranged for me to stay with you," John smiled sadly
"He knew I would not leave you just like I know you would not leave me if I was in that hospital bed." Both men kept each other's gaze. A silent battle of wills was taking place.
John approached Sherlock slowly, nonthreatening, and stood by his bedside. Almost close enough to reach but not touching. Wanting to give comfort, but waiting for Sherlock to indicate how he needed to be comforted.
"This is me, John...Sherlock, asking for help or admitting you're afraid doesn't mean you're weak just hurt."
Tears were slipping down Sherlock's face now; Sherlock's carefully constructed self was slipping. A sob escaped as he tried to contain it. Still he stubbornly refused to look away.
John took one-step closer. "Something seemed wrong, so I read the reports. I put everything together… The day I found you, the wounds, and the changes in behavior… Also, you were vocal when you were...asleep."
"I know… not the details, of course, but I have an idea of what… happened. I know Sherlock, I know … everything."
Sherlock looked away now and wept while subconsciously reaching out for John. John closed the short distance to the edge of the hospital bed. Sherlock grabbed his shirt, pulled him close, and wept openly.
Sherlock choked on sobs that left him gasping for air, and feeling like his soul would split in two. John put his arms around Sherlock and allowed him to weep on his chest.
John's voice was steady but heavy with emotion. "You don't have to pretend Sherlock; not with me… not ever with me."
Mycroft had closed back the doors softly. Neither one of them had noticed his return. He leaned against the outside of the door with his umbrella for support. He closed his eyes for a minute and allowed himself to just, breathe.
Mycroft made a decision.
He reached for his phone. Anthea answered, "I'll need medical supplies and a private nurse sent to 221b Baker Street." He paused removing his notebook and reading the information written.
"Mrs. Hudson is still attending to her sick sister. From the medical reports she'll probably be there another few weeks. Use the key you have."
"I'll need a car and the doctor will need to discharge Sherlock tonight." Mycroft continued speaking for a few minutes. He paused and waited for her to repeat his instructions, although it was not necessary; she was very good at what she did.
"Oh, one more detail," Mycroft finished, "I need all medical and other records for one Sherlock Holmes to… disappear."
I have written a few more chapters already and will try to post in a few days. Since this is, my first fan-fiction feedback is always welcome. I particularly want to know if the flow of events is smooth so I can adjust chapters before I post. Thanks to all. I hope you enjoyed.