A.N: For some reason, I like the idea of how the character of "Mummy Holmes" could be portrayed. We don't get a good enough insight into what she's like. So that's part of the reason I've introduced a bit of her into the story, just to play around with this unfamiliar character. Hope you enjoy an extra-long chapter to compensate for the amount of time it will take for me to write the next chapter and my terrible literary quality!
Chapter 12
John knew that Sherlock had been discharged.
It was obvious the moment he woke up in a different room. It was much nicer than the other room, and definitely the nicest he'd ever been in. After about an hour of sitting alone in his room, boredom crept up and he found himself fidgeting and itching to get up and walk around. Occasionally, he would try to sit straight up, but eventually decided it was all in vain. At that point, Karen had entered the room to check up on him. She was the first person he'd seen since he woke up.
"How are you, Doctor Watson?" she smiled warmly.
"A bit bored, to be honest. Why did I change rooms?" John asked. The previous room was comfortable enough for him.
Karen smiled again, pulling the clipboard out of the tray at the end of John's bed. "Mister Holmes arranged for you to have this room after his brother went home. You're very lucky; this is usually the room that we use for high-profile patients, y'know, like celebrities, businessmen, the royals – that sort of thing. Mister Holmes insisted that you were given complete attention. Unfortunately, you're stuck with me until you're discharged," she joked, writing down the readings from the various beeping machines.
John laughed, "Rather be stuck with you than some of these others. Can't even spare a second to look us in the eye!" he laughed. Karen giggled as well.
"Mister Holmes won't be able to visit for a few days. Detective Inspector Lestrade will be up tomorrow to visit," Karen informed. John frowned a little.
"Has he been grounded?" he asked light-heartedly to cover up his disappointment.
"He's gone on an important business trip for a few days," she replied, and then smiled, "Looking at your charts, you're definitely getting much better. I'll take a look under the bandages and we'll see about changing your physiotherapy appointments to an earlier date".
John smiled wide. In his head he was thanking the Holmes boys for leaving him in such caring hands. "That would be absolutely fantastic, thank you so much," he exclaimed with audible appreciation. Karen excused herself and left the room for a moment, returning quickly with a stainless steel trolley. She parked it up against the bed and pulled back John's blanket.
She opened the drawer of the trolley and pulled out a pair of scissors and a dish. Cutting carefully through the thick bandage that shielded his calf, Karen finally exposed the horrific bullet wound to the open air. John winced as the gauze pad was peeled off. Karen took a good look at it, feeling around the area for any new swelling or infection.
"Healing nicely, the swelling is going down well, and it's definitely closing up beneath the stitches. How does it feel?" Karen queried, retrieving a bottle of strong antiseptic and a gauze pad.
"Can't really feel it at all, for the most part, sometimes it itches though. That's the worst one I'm pretty sure," John answered, drawing in a sharp breath as the burn of the antiseptic started. Karen wrapped the wound in a fresh bandage and started unwrapping other wounds to check on.
The two had a friendly conversation whilst Karen finished cleaning and bandaging the last of John's leg wounds. She moved to clean the torso injuries.
"So, you and Mister Holmes?" she asked, coating a particularly nasty gash in antiseptic, "Are you two like friends, co-workers, boyfriends? If you don't mind me asking, that is".
John looked at her. "You could say we're co-workers, and friends I guess. It's a bit complicated after that".
Karen grinned, "I reckon you're more than that. He was always asking about you, kept saying that he didn't need help and just to keep you healthy. Getting him to actually go back home was a challenge and a half; he flat out refused to leave you. I think he wants to be more than friends".
John blushed at that, and Karen giggled. "Y'know, part of me really hopes you're right, but nobody really knows what's going on in his head. I'm probably deluding myself," John said quietly.
"Listen, it's obvious you fancy him, why not say so? I'm willing to bet my right arm that he fancies you too. Sherlock is incredibly intelligent, so don't be vague," Karen replied encouragingly, still working on John's torso and arms.
John smiled slightly, "I wouldn't get five words into the confession and he'd have me deduced to the bone. We kissed that first time he sat by my bed. I'm not thinking much of it because of how much morphine he had in his system at the time. He was delusional," he said sadly.
"Then don't give him time to deduce you! Just come straight out and assert yourself. Don't let him figure it out. Somebody like that would respect a little authority every once in a while. It's so painfully obvious that you two can't live without each other. Life's short, John," Karen looked him in the eye. John knew she was right. He nodded and smiled gratefully.
"Thanks a heap, really. And thanks for not getting uncomfortable with it," John was really grateful for the advice and the kindness shown to him.
"I'm really happy to help. And you're nearly well enough for proper physiotherapy. I'll see if I can change your appointments now," Karen stood and pulled out her hands free. She dialled a short number and waited a moment. John couldn't help but smile.
Everything in the room was in exactly the same place as he'd left it when he moved out, like it had been sealed in time. There was no dust, which led Sherlock to believe it was tidied often. Sherlock walked around the room, taking in the look of his childhood bedroom. He touched the various items on the bookshelf that used to mean so much to him. Things like his first microscope and his collection of novels. Running his eyes over the titles, he noticed an old looking stuffed bear. He pulled it from the shelf and looked it over, remembering how that bear served as his best friend during his younger years.
"Alexander," he whispered softly, lightly touching the patches he had stitched onto the animal when he was five years old. He smirked, and carried the bear to his writing desk, where he set it down in a sitting position. Nothing else in the room really interested him much. Looking at the desk, he suddenly remembered something.
Sherlock walked briskly to the tall wardrobe that housed his old toys and other playthings. There was a foldable step ladder hidden behind it, and it didn't take anywhere near as much effort to retrieve it as it used to. Opening the ladder, he marched up to the second step and looked at the top of the wardrobe. He was much taller than he used to be, and remembered how as a child, he had to be on his tiptoes on the top step to reach. There was still a metal ruler on top of the wardrobe, and he placed it into a split in the thick wood. With a small push, he managed to separate the splits enough to reach in and retrieve the thin brass key from inside the split. He pocketed the key and returned everything to its spot.
With a small smile, he strode over to the large chest at the foot of his bed. Pushing it aside a few feet, he saw the small trap door in the wooden floor. He used the key to open the lock, and opened it up. Inside, untouched, was a large notebook. He took it out, closed the trapdoor and moved the chest back. The leather-bound book was heavy in his hands, and he grinned from ear to ear.
"Holing yourself up in your room? You haven't changed in the slightest," Mycroft chuckled from the doorway.
"I was just looking around. My Casebook is still here," Sherlock replied, holding the book up for his brother to see.
Mycroft smiled. "Getting a little sentimental, are we? I remember making that hiding place for you. You were five. I can remember you even calling me the 'best brother in the world'," he watched Sherlock grimace a little. "Mummy wants to see you, in the study. You best talk to her; it might be a while before you ever do again. I'll leave you be," he informed, walking off down the hall.
Sherlock carefully put the casebook into his suitcase and went off to his mother's study. He found her sitting in her chair by the fireplace, sipping on her usual cup of Lady Grey.
"Mummy?" he called quietly. His mother gestured for him to sit down with her, which he did.
Violet Holmes smiled sweetly at her son. Even in her age, she was still very beautiful. Sherlock smiled at his mother. Despite caring being a disadvantage in his eyes, he had always cared for his mother.
"Mycroft told me what happened. Tell me it's not as bad as he says," she almost pleaded. Sherlock sighed.
"Well, knowing Mycroft, it is probably worse than what he told you. But it's okay. I'm okay. Really, you don't need to worry about me," Sherlock tried to reassure his mother.
Violet sighed and looked down at her tea. "You're the one that worries me most, you know? We both know that Mycroft wouldn't work a day in the field to save his life. You've always been the opposite," she reminisced.
Sherlock sat forward, "There's nothing to worry about. I'm much cleverer than those people with their funny little normal brains!"
"Then why were you in hospital? It was somebody else, wasn't it? You got hurt because of somebody else. I can see it in your eyes. What on earth made you want to put yourself in harm's way for another person?" Violet raised her eyebrow.
Sherlock didn't know how to respond. Violet's eyes widened, "It was love, wasn't it? You're in love. Your eyes say it all. You're thinking about the girl, your pupils have dilated. I may be old, Sherlock, but don't think you can put anything past me".
Sherlock frowned. "It wasn't love. That's preposterous. I was saving a friend from being held prisoner and tortured. I owed it to him, considering it was my fault he was kidnapped in the first place. And he's not just a person. He's by far more intelligent than anyone else I've come across. A brilliant conductor of light, and besides, he saved my life once," Sherlock's heart skipped a bit. He knew he fancied John. It wasn't something he wanted to admit to Mummy Holmes just yet.
Violet, however, had already realised. Sherlock Holmes had never spoken such compliments about anybody. She leaned forward and placed her hand on her son's.
"It's okay dear; I wasn't incriminating you or them. I know that you fancy someone. I'm certain," she smiled.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "And what makes you so sure?" he questioned.
Violet grinned and leaned a little bit more forward. "Because I'm taking your pulse".
Sherlock knew he was defeated. "Well played. I suppose I do fancy somebody. Right now, he's lying in a hospital bed because of me. Usually, I wouldn't care, but its John. Is it stupid of me for having such childish feelings?" he asked quietly, defeated.
Violet looked at her son, "What makes it childish? If you're worried about your actions being altered, you shouldn't. When I met your father, I was worried about the same things. Do you know what? It made my mind stronger. Trust me, Sherlock Holmes. Now you should trot on off to bed. It's late. Goodnight my dear".
Sherlock stood and said goodnight, giving his mother a quick kiss on the cheek. He made his way back to his room and locked the bedroom door behind him. The tall man undressed down to his underpants, and opened his suitcase. It didn't take long for him to locate his nightclothes. A folded garment caught his attention, and he pulled it out. It was John's jumper that Sherlock had borrowed. Without a second thought, he unfolded it and pulled it over his head. It was a bit short, and very loose on him. Perhaps that was why Sherlock had never seen him wear it. The fabric was incredibly soft, and Sherlock felt extremely comfortable curled up in bed wearing it. He drifted off to sleep after a short time, wrapped in the warmth of the soft garment.
A.N: In case anybody was wondering, I did some research, and found that Mummy Holmes's first name would most likely be Violet, due to the fact that ACD was apparently very fond of the name. I'm just going to run with that headcannon for now until proven otherwise!
Again, sorry for the poor structure and literary skill.