A/N: Yay! Sherlock finally makes a real appearance.
Allusions to torture
Special shout out to hjohn302 who keeps posting such encouraging reviews!
Chapter 8 – 10 minutes later
Michael directed John to Mary's room. She had fled from Mycroft's office straight back there. He tentatively knocked on the door and called her name. He knew that she probably was in distress and was he afraid of the possibilities of flashbacks. John knew all about flashbacks. His could and had been induced by small things. Mary had been 3 days with a man who as far as John was concerned sounded more like a rabid animal. If she was hiding somewhere reliving events from 5 years ago he needed to approach her with caution and care. He would have done that anyway.
"Mary?" he called out again, quietly.
He heard a noise coming from the bathroom. It sounded like his name.
He found her on the floor next to the toilet, her knees up, her arms around them and her head down. She was rocking slightly back and forth.
"I'm sorry," he heard her mumble into her knees. "I was just sick."
John spoke reassuringly. "I'm not surprised. Don't worry. I'm a doctor. I've seen all kinds of sick." She just nodded her head and didn't reply. "May I join you?" he asked keeping his voice gentle.
She nodded again, refusing to look at him. He lowered himself slowly to the floor, leaning against the sink. He was as far from her as the bathroom allowed. He didn't want to crowd her or accidently touch her.
He sat with his knees up and didn't say anything for about 10 minutes.
"If I wet a cloth and pass it to you, would you take it? It might make you feel better to wipe you face."
There was a hesitation and again she nodded.
He slowly stood up, found a flannel, wet it and crouched down closer to her.
"Mary?" he said softly, holding out the cloth.
Mary glanced up at John and he struggled to keep his face neutral. In her eyes he could see seven kinds of hell. Gone was the confident, dangerous woman from last night and this morning. Also no longer present was the righteously angry woman who had stared down Mycroft Holmes. In it's place there was a frightened and hurt girl. His heart broke a little to see it. She must have read some of that in his face.
"I'm fine, John," her voice sounding anything but.
John just looked at her and then snorted.
"No your not. I know I'm not fine after everything we discussed in there and I'm the king of 'I'm fine', so, no you are not fine."
She looked at him and nodded again and took the cloth from him and wiped her face. She placed it on the floor. He was pleased that she didn't lower her head again, but looked at him. He smiled at her. She turned her head and looked at the wall. Another 10 minutes passed.
"What happened after I left?" she asked in a quiet voice.
He knew she wouldn't let him lie to her so he said gently. "Mycroft told me that you were with Moran for 3 days." She flinched a little at Moran's name and John regretted he'd only hit Mycroft once. "Then he said some things I didn't like and I punched him in the eye."
She turned and looked back at John. "You punched him? Why?"
"Well he's had it coming for a while now and that was the last straw." He refrained from telling her what exactly it was that Mycroft had started to say. She nodded her head and continued to rock.
John was a very patient man. He was fully prepared to wait for her forever, but he'd had a rough night and morning and his shoulder, face and head were complaining. The cold floor in the bathroom was not helping.
"If I go and close the bedroom door and sit on a chair will you come out and sit on the bed? It would be more comfortable. Or I can go and wait out in the hall."
She shook her head violently. He wasn't sure which part she was saying no to.
"Please stay," she whispered. "I'll come out."
"Do you want the door closed?"
She nodded.
He got up trying not to groan and padded out to close the door. Michael was standing outside and looked at him. John hesitated and said. "She will be ok, but she in shock and will need some fluids. I need you send for some cold water and some tea. Make sure there's sugar on the tray. Then when it comes I want you to place it on the floor outside the door, knock and keep out of sight. Do you understand?"
Michael nodded. John closed the door.
He then turned and went to the bathroom and stood at the door. She looked at him and slowly stood up. He backed into the room to give her space and sat down in a chair similar to the one Mary had sat in this morning, ages ago it felt like but it had only been an hour.
"It's ok," he said softly. "Come and sit."
She climbed on the bed, lying down on her side, but facing him. She closed her eyes and sighed.
"Mary, I'm going to cover you with a blanket. You are probably in shock. Is that ok?"
She nodded again. He went to the other side of the bed and rolled the duvet over her. He went back to the chair and sat down.
There was a knock at the door and Mary jumped, turning her head to the door.
"It's ok. I just ordered up some tea and water. You look like you could use it." She didn't say anything, but put her head back down. John went to the door, waited a bit and then opened it. The tray was there with tea, two cups, milk, sugar, two glasses of water with ice and a plate of chocolate digestives. He wondered briefly if the biscuits were Mycroft's idea of a piece offering, but then dismissed it. He brought the tea tray in and set it on the bedside table.
"Milk?" he asked.
"No just sugar, please." She murmured.
John added extra sugar to one of the cups and poured tea for them both. He brought one cup and a glass of water around to Mary's side of the bed. She looked up at him and sat up, pulling the pillow up behind her to lean on. He handed her the glass first.
"Water first," he said.
She took the glass and drank it almost greedily and put it down on the tray. He handed her the tea. She grimaced at the sweet taste, but didn't say anything. John had purposely put in lots. She needed it.
"Biscuit?"
She looked confused for a moment and her face cleared. "Cookie. No thanks. Maybe later."
John got his glass and cup and sat back in his chair. He sipped his tea. And waited. Mary set the cup down and lay back on the bed. John settled his cup on his knee and closed his eyes for only a minute. He must have doze off. When he woke up, Mary appeared to be sleeping. He got use to use the bathroom. While in there he took a look at his face. He peeled of the gauze and threw it away. He looked at the stitches underneath. There were three. He vaguely remembered a man whom he presumed was Mycroft's doctor stitching him up last night. He'd done a neat job. There was some swelling, but not a lot. His cheek was turning a lovely shade of purple.
He went back and started to sit back in the chair when Mary spoke.
"John, don't be stupid. Lie down on the bed. Your exhausted." Mary said all of this with out opening her eyes. He hesitated.
"I don't want to bother you."
"I'm not going to bite." She said with faint sarcasm.
He remembered the remark from earlier. He was too tired to argue, so he nodded, even though she couldn't see and walked around to the other side of the bed. And lay down with his back to her and not touching.
"I'll apologize in advance just in case I have nightmares. I don't usually get violent in my sleep, but I might hit you," she murmured.
"Let's make a deal," said John. "If we both have nightmares, we'll call it even."
Mary chuckled softly and they both drifted off to sleep.
oOo
Sherlock lay on the couch in the room next to Mycroft's office. It wasn't as comfortable as his couch at Baker Street. That couch was worn and sprung in all the right places, but it would do. It was far better than some of the places he'd been recently.
Sherlock interrupted plans to take on a narcotics ring belonging to Moriarty's organization in order to come back to London because he had heard Moran was here. He'd arrived a few weeks ago. Moran was the one person he was desperate to find. He had been the assassin who had had orders to shoot John if Sherlock hadn't jumped. He had a personal grudge against Moran. No one threatened to kill his friends. He hadn't forgotten what Moran had done to Mary all those years ago. It still made him exceptionally angry that that man had escaped. But if he had gone after him then Mary would have died. There had been no other option. Mycroft had lost Moran's trail, despite all of his best efforts and intensive searches.
Mycroft then discovered that Moran had connected with Moriarty. In light of that it made sense that they had been unable to track Moran. Only Moriarty had the resources to make someone disappear completely. Two dangerous psychopaths, almost perfectly suited to each other, the dark mirror images of him and John. It almost made one believe that letting Moran escape the first time had resulted in John's life being put in danger. As if it were fated. This was utter nonsense of course. Even though Sherlock didn't believe that he was responsible for causing all of these situations to align, as if by the stars, he was taking it very personally.
He was going to have to get rid of Moan. That would save John and that would also save Mary.
He needed to plan his next move. Mycroft had overstepped his bounds and was making life difficult for Sherlock's friends. This utter nonsense of using Mary as bait, especially after Sherlock had put his foot down. He had surmised that bringing her in would make her a liability if she became aware of what she had been up against. And he had been proven right given the reaction he had heard through the door. He'd almost forgotten how daunting she could be when aroused to anger. She was usually more calm and controlled. He did give her leeway for her feelings in this instance. It was understandable that she would feel some emotional trauma after what had been done to her.
He would have to leave of course and track Moran down and personally punish him for all the difficulty he was causing. Eliminating him would remove his friends from that particular danger. He would go alone in order to protect them. After all that is why he had faked his suicide in the first place. It was perfectly logical. He would leave at once.
Sherlock moved to sit up, when he was stilled by a revolutionary line of thought.
Sherlock had gone after Mary without backup. That resulted in Moran escaping. He had gone to the Pool without informing John. That had resulted in John being captured and used as a hostage. He had jumped off the roof at St. Bart's in order to protect his friends, but what might the repercussions be of continually doing things alone. Without help. What if 'going it alone' caused further harm? He irritably dismissed the idea. It made it difficult to think.
No he would leave at once, alone. It was better that way.
He paused again. And he finally saw the pattern of his life. He had been skirting the edges of it. If he went in to take on Moran without help, there would be consequences that even he could not see.
Sherlock lay back again.
There really was only one possible course of action.
He needed John.