Dear God, He's Gone and Done It: Chapter 7
He couldn't believe how lucky he had gotten. The bitch had wondered off of the radar. He had noticed the black car pick her up. He also noticed it didn't get more than a few meters away before it came to a sudden stop and she jumped out. He watched her run down the street. Not caring about the black car further, he gave chase. He wouldn't attack yet; no, he needed to gather intel. He needed to know the places she frequented, how often she had people with her…..after he followed her for about a week, he felt as though he would know everything of any importance to his work.
He saw her enter one building in particular; he entered into one across the street from it and raced up the stairs. He made it to the roof of his building of choice around the same time as she made it to the roof of hers. It took him a second to get his bearings, but once he located where she was exactly he took out a camera with a 'peeping tom' lens. He zoomed in as close as he dared to take pictures; he would study them to learn what he could about what her frame of mind was as she sat up there. It could be useful information to have when he finally took her down.
He was just damned glad the weather dried up a bit; he was getting awful tired of the English weather…..getting tired of all the damned rain and having to nearly backstroke to get to his destinations.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SH~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlock had just come off of a case that Lestrade had sent him on; it was perhaps an eight, if you squinted just right. For all that it was a decent case, it still didn't take long to wrap up, and not as long as John had previously thought it would. Sherlock had scarcely bothered to notice that it had been several days since the last time he had thought of or heard from Barbary. It didn't mean anything; but the notion still took him by surprise, he was usually the type that would notice a detail like this. At least, if you overlooked all the times he carried on a conversation with himself because he hadn't bothered to realize that John had left the room; there was even a time that John had been able to go to Ireland for two days and Sherlock hadn't even seemed to notice.
He picked up his phone and texted Barbary to ask her if she wanted to grab some fish and chips or if she would prefer the little Indian place that was between both her flat and 221B. Next, he decided to go about his latest experiment in the kitchen while he waited on John to get back from the market.
An hour and a half later, John had been back for quite some time, even put some of his grocery items away, and was now sitting in his chair in front of the fire place. Sherlock was tying up a loose end with this little experiment and he happened to notice that Barbary hadn't texted him back yet. John was watching him quietly; he saw the rather perturbed look that crossed Sherlock's face. The man wasn't used to being ignored. It was rather amusing to John. Welcome to our world you git. John picked up his newspaper in an effort to hide the smile that otherwise would have started an argument.
Fifteen minutes or less into reading his paper, he and Sherlock both heard someone at the front door downstairs. Mrs. Hudson answered it; all seemed to be any other day until they heard Mrs. Hudson yell for them.
"Boys another one!"
John jumped out of his chair, dropping his paper hastily, and racing down the stairs to hear Mrs. Hudson fretting over the person who had apparently collapsed in their entryway. Sherlock was much more composed; taking his time to saunter down the stairs at his own pace.
At least that was until he happened to catch a glimpse of who was crumpled in the floor; at the sight of Barbary lying in a heap on the floor, Sherlock jumped down the last four steps landing next to John.
"Sherlock, we will have to get her upstairs. I will see what I can do until an ambulance gets here. Mrs. Hudson, call one for us please."
Mrs. Hudson turned around and immediately went back into her flat and began to call for that ambulance.
Meanwhile, John and Sherlock got Barbary back on her feet and began pulling her upstairs to their flat; she had a head wound and otherwise she didn't look well either.
Sherlock helped John get Barbary lying down on the sofa. John ran upstairs to his room and grabbed some of his medical gear. With a bit of gauze that had some antiseptic dabbed on it, he began to clean the gash on her head. It was only slightly bleeding now. Barbary was trying to push John away so she could tell him something.
"Barbary, I am trying to get this gash cleaned so I can bandage it. What on earth happened anyway?"
Her eyes blinked slowly a time or two as she tried to gather her thoughts.
"I was coming here anyway. I wasn't feeling well at all….haven't been for a few days I guess…."
"Did you see who attacked you?" Sherlock's baritone broke in.
"No, they got me from behind….I think."
"Sherlock, she's burning up. Barbary, what have you been up to these last few days?"
"Thinking."
"I've been trying to text you and you haven't replied for days. What on earth could you be thinking about for that long?"
"My boss is a real slave driver and I don't think he appreciates me."
"What else are you thinking about?" John asked; he was really only trying to keep her talking until the ambulance got there, that head wound at least looked nasty….add that to the obvious fever….and he was really worried about her keeping conscious.
She absently looked for Sherlock, not really seeing anything.
"I have a splitting headache…." John couldn't help but chuckle, even though he knew he shouldn't.
"Sherlock?" Barbary wanted to make sure that he was paying attention.
"Yes?"
The emergency workers could be heard coming up the stairs with the gurney. They quickly started working to get her strapped in.
"Sherlock…." She started again. "They're coming for you."
"Who is coming for me?"
Barbary shut her eyes, as if trying to think, and keep her thoughts straight even though it was a struggle. John and Sherlock watched as two tears streaked down her cheeks.
"They're coming for you….that's all he said when he hit me. They're coming for you." More tears spilled from her eyes in rapid succession.
Sherlock demanded to be allowed to ride in the back of the ambulance with her, although John argued that he should be the one to ride in the back considering that he had medical training. In truth, this argument was all that stood between the EMTs and a violent confrontation with a very angry Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock knew that John would take care of Barbary and decided to back down. After the ambulance pulled away from the curb, Sherlock caught a cab gave instructions to the cabby to floor it to Bart's.
Not going to Bart's. We have been instructed to go to Royal London. Not sure what's going on. JW
"Driver, change of plans. I need to be taken to Royal London. Instructions are the same, do hurry."
In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, Barbary kept trying to talk to John even though the emergency workers kept trying to get a breathing mask onto her face.
Finally, yanking the blasted mask away from her face, she reached out to John, grabbing his right arm.
"What is it Barbary?"
"They're coming for him…"
"Who?"
"Doesn't matter." Her eyes were getting heavier.
"Barbary, who is coming after Sherlock?"
"I won't let them get that close." She was shaking her head in a negative manner, trying to impart to John that she would do whatever she had to do to ensure Sherlock's safety before her eyes slid shut and did not open. John began to wonder if this was the delirium talking or if she was serious. He'd have to find out later. And more to the point, why were they redirected to Royal London instead of Bart's? They were in the same family of hospitals. Both had rather good track rec…..Oh. Mycroft had to be behind this. If Mycroft was behind the rerouting of the ambulance, then what on earth….
Looking down at Barbary as the EMTs continued to work, he began to wonder what her possible connection to Mycroft could be.
As it turns out, John would get no answers about whatever Barbary's connection to Mycroft would be. The man didn't put in an appearance at the hospital; at least not initially.
Sherlock had been sitting by her bedside for hours until he got a text from Lestrade that there was a case that needed a moment of his time. Sherlock hadn't wanted to leave. He was worried that whoever had attacked her would come back after her if they found out where she was being kept. And he was also still troubled by what she had said in the foyer of 221B. Somebody was going to come after him. Had she been beaten to send him a message? And if so, who was coming after him? There was the whole 'Moriarty back from the dead' thing; but he had been sort of quiet as of late.
John finally talked Sherlock into leaving. Sherlock had said, after all that the case was likely only a four at best and wouldn't take so very long; if that was the case he could solve it without John. And, if John stayed behind he could keep an eye on Barbary for Sherlock. Sherlock was even more persuaded to acquiesce when John lifted one side of his jacket to show that he had brought his gun with him; illegal a move as it was. Sherlock gave him a trademark smirk and rushed out to meet Lestrade after all.
John took out his tablet and decided to check his email to see if there were any other possible cases that might become interesting in the near future.
Ten minutes later he was brought out of his reading by the sound of a distinctive tapping on the hard tile of the hospital floor. He barely raised an eye but, John saw Mycroft quietly come into the room.
"My dear girl what have you gotten yourself into now?" Mycroft asked as he looked Barbary over from her bedside.
"I take it you were responsible for rerouting the ambulance then?" John spoke without looking up from his tablet at first.
"Yes. Quite. There are several medical professionals here that are on the payroll."
"What is she to you?"
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, 'I merely noticed that she was someone that my brother took an interest in; that is all."
"Really? And would you be interested in knowing what she said before she went down?"
He watched Mycroft's face carefully, learning a little something from Sherlock after all this time.
"When she first collapsed in the foyer at Baker Street she told us, she told Sherlock, that somebody was coming for him. She repeated it at least one other time after that. Then, when we were in the ambulance, she swore to me that she wouldn't let "them" whoever they are get close enough to him to do him harm. That added to the fact that you don't allow us to be taken to Bart's, and you are here now. I will ask you again. Who. Is. She. To. You?" John almost bit out from between his teeth. "She is Mary's friend from the theater. What does she have to do with you?"
"So she will be fine in a couple of days yes?"
"She also said that her boss is a slave driver and doesn't appreciate her. What have you done to her Mycroft?"
"Let her know I will be in touch, yes." It wasn't a question….it was never a question with Mycroft.
As he began to walk out of the door, Mycroft turned back and glanced to the woman in the bed.
"And for the record John, I have always appreciated her."
With that the man had swept out of the hospital as dramatically as his brother, leaving John to think over the load of absolute nothing that he had learned. Barbary had to mean something to Mycroft, but what? He couldn't bring this up to Sherlock right now. There was no way. If he brought this up in conversation without having better evidence than a hunch, Sherlock would berate him for not paying attention, for seeing and not observing. However, if he didn't say anything, and something huge was to come out later….he would feel just awful. John had to weigh his feelings of possible future guilt over a certain berating for some perceived ignorance. He also knew that if he didn't act completely natural around Sherlock, then he would deduce what was on his mind anyway.
John watched Barbary's face as she slept off the effects of the fever and the head wound. She just seemed to sleep right on. He went back to going through the emails as he had been doing before. After a few more minutes of this John couldn't stay awake another moment more; he put away his tablet and rested his head against the back rest of the chair he was occupying.
It seemed like no time at all before John was waking up to some sound coming from the direction of Barbary's bed. He carefully looked up and realized that Barbary was having a nightmare. Her face was scrunched up and her breathing….it sounded as though she had been running a great distance. She was yelling 'NO!' to somebody…she began flailing her arms as if to push somebody off of her. And, then, in an instant it was over; she sat up with a scream.
"Barbary, what is it?"
She was breathing deeply, trying so hard to calm herself. Her eyes were wild, as if there was a part of her brain still stuck in whatever nightmare it had produced.
"Barbary, talk to me, please."
She saw John's face in front of her….John's open, adorable face. She smiled at him weakly.
"I'm better now." Barbary nodded her head as if she was trying to make herself believe the words.
"What happened?"
"It's nothing. I promise." Barbary flopped back down onto the bed, finally able to catch her breath. "Sorry I woke you. You should go home to Mary."
"I promised Sherlock I would stay until he returned. He should be back soon enough. He said the case was merely a four. Ordinarily, Sherlock doesn't get out of bed for less than a seven, but he was already out, he figured it couldn't hurt. I expect him back most any minute. Once he's back, I will be returning to Mary; besides, Mary knows you're here. If I left you unattended….I'm a little bit afraid of my wife. It's a healthy fear, more like respecting her skill set really."
"Oh. What skill set is that John?" Barbary asked innocently enough. In truth she wanted to find out what John knew about Mary's former life….what had Mary told him? Not for any major reason. Barbary just wanted to see how Mary had balanced getting a normal life versus having been a trained agent and assassin.
"Well she is a nurse, so she knows a thing or two about saving lives. But, that's the thing….a lot of people who know how to save lives also know a few handy ways to take them as well; or at least it seems that way sometimes. And, you know Mary…"
"Yeah, she is a piece of work, that woman. I'm glad she has you John." Barbary seemed almost a bit wistful or sad. "She's been like a sister to me….I mean, since I came to London. I always hoped that she had a man kinda like you at home. It would be a waste for a woman like her to not have someone to care for and be cared for in return."
They talked a little bit longer. Barbary was skilled player; telling John everything and nothing all at the same time. He would ask her a question, and she would answer with a comment that sounded fabricated even to his own ears; Sherlock would likely congratulate him on finally developing that sense at least. Eventually, Barbary fell back to sleep; John seemed to think she might have just the right idea, he dozed off shortly after she did.
Sherlock returned a mere 45 minutes later, kicking the chair that John dozed in.
"Where is she?"
John snapped awake when his chair shook.
"What are you talking about Sher…." He looked over to the bed where Barbary had been just a little earlier. It was empty. He was about to make a comment about the fact that she could have slipped away to the restroom, except that her IV was dangling from the pole, and the needle was attached to nothing currently.
Post AN: So our girl has split. Stay tuned.