Ch 9
The first thing Bowie saw when she opened her eyes was John. He was slumped in one of those stiff, ugly hospital chairs. His head hung off the back, and he was snoring loudly.
Bowie was on her side in a hospital bed, with an IV leading from one hand to a bag of fluid suspended above her head. Her forehead itched badly, and as she went to scratch it with her other hand, she was nearly knocked out by a purple cast.
"Bloody hell." She mumbled.
"Hello miss. Feeling better?" Sherlock was leaning against the wall at the foot of her hospital bed, one foot on the ground, the other tucked beneath him.
"What the hell is this?" she asked incredulously, brandishing her bandaged right hand above her turned head.
He chuckled. "Nice to see you too. It's fractured, happened when you fell. You didn't answer my question though. You know how much I hate unanswered questions."
"I'm as good as a stab victim with a fractured wrist could be, I guess." She grinned and made a move to roll over.
"No no no! Don't!" he yelled, jumping up. Bowie was startled, and tensed up.
"Why shouldn't I move?" she said, not looking at him, but straight ahead.
"Honestly I don't know. John told me not to let you move. Ask him."
"But he's asleep."
"Not for long! Let's ask the good doctor now!" with that, Sherlock balled up his leather gloves, and tossed them at John's head. John woke with a snort.
"Wha- what is it?" he sat up and looked around. "Oh! Hello Bowie! How are you feeling?" he asked when he saw her.
"I'm well. Sherlock says I shouldn't move though. Why not?"
"Well, you can move but-"
"Oooaaaaaaaah, that hurt."
"-not… too… quickly. You ok?" he asked, leaning towards her.
"Oh I'm fine. So how long have I been out?" She scooted up more in the elevated bed.
"About a day. The doctors had to anesthetize you while they were giving you stitches. You were trying to fight them off. And you did a pretty good job of it." Sherlock said. He had returned to lounging on the wall.
Something occurred to Bowie, and she thought it over before asking Sherlock.
"How on earth did you find me?"
John and Sherlock looked at each other for a minute. Sherlock breathed in.
" Well, we received a cryptic message stating that if one lined up each letter in the alphabet with a number, for example: A equals 1, B equals 2 etc, and added all the letters in 'Moriarty' together, we would get the street number. From there, I contacted my homeless network to find every street in London with an address of 119. I told them to break in to each one, and then contact me if anything suspicious was going on. Within an hour, they had located an abandoned warehouse in east London with all of the windows and doors bolted, with 2 black cars parked outside. I arrived, and kicked down the padlocked doors, and rescued you while John got Lestrade and his clever little officers."
Bowie scoffed.
"Nice try, but I'm not stupid. Lestrade doesn't have any clever officers."
"You've finally picked up on that. Congratulations." Sherlock laughed.
"I want the real story. Now, please." Bowie said, looking to John.
"We contacted Moriarty's phone carrier to see where he had sent his most recent text to Sherlock was sent from. Turns out he had a GPS on his phone, so we knew exactly where he had taken you. Sherlock was disappointed that Lestrade and I figured it before he did." John gave her a proud smile.
"You didn't figure it out, you just asked someone else!" Sherlock spat, with his brow creased.
"Ok, so we asked someone before Sherlock figured it out." John admitted.
"Doesn't matter to me. As long as you found me." Said Bowie, looking down at her hands.
"There's something we wanted to talk to you about." Sherlock said quickly, making her look up suddenly.
"You're very lucky you weren't killed." John butted in. "The knife missed the bottom of your lung by millimeters. We feel awful that we ever put you in harms way…"
"Yes?" Bowie said, looking at the both of them, confused.
"… and we think the safest thing for you would be to leave our care." John finished. His faced was creased and sad looking,
Bowie felt hot tears welling in her eyes. She felt the room spinning. She felt her heart thudding in her throat.
"You… you… what?" was all she could think to say.
" I'm so sorry Bowie." John said, looking her in the eye.
"John is right. It is the safest option." Sherlock spoke up. "But you could always settle for second best." A smile ghosted his lips.
"Wha- second best?" She asked, looking at him.
"You could stay with us." It wasn't just a trace of a smile now. He was beaming.
"I can? You mean, you're serious? This isn't some sick practical joke?" she sat up straighter, practically yelling at him.
"I'm not joking at all, Ms. Bowie Holmes."
Woooo! I finally updated this story! Happiness galore :)
I'm currently working on "The Memoirs of Bowie Holmes" which are one shots written from Bowie's perspective, but I'm not uploading those until this book is done, which it isn't entirely. Also, I want to know what countries my readers are from! Let me know in the comment thingy! Love you :)