Everything was warm.
Everything was slow.
Everything was numb, and Felicity was very confused. Pictures were flashing through her mind- a puddle of blood, a blond head, dog-tags, a gun, the wool of John's jumper, and the pale, distraught face of Sherlock. None of it made sense, not even the sensations she was feeling in the present. There was a cool, bony hand holding hers protectively, rubbing her knuckles. A warmer, more calloused hand was softly stroking hair from her face. When it disappeared, the soothing sensation it had produced also disappeared, making Felicity panic for some reason. She wanted to leap up and find the source, but every limb in her body was heavy and her mind was tired. She stirred instead, hoping to find the nice hand again to make everything better. "Felicity? Can you hear me?" The deep baritone of Sherlock Holmes suddenly floated into her senses.
"Sh'lock," she managed, trying to open her eyes. It made her worried that the last time she'd seen Sherlock he'd been so distraught. She wanted to make it better for him, and was slightly panicked that her body was so slow. Why was it slow? Drawing upon deep, inner strength, Felicity forced her eyes open. She could tell that she was drugged and that she was in a hospital, but that did nothing to answer her questions.
"It's ok, Felicity. Just stay calm; it's ok, we're here," The comforting hand was back and John was suddenly by her again, off to her right. "You're in the hospital because of your shoulder and arm." John told her, seeing her confusion. Sherlock moved so that he was sitting more within her eyesight and Felicity relaxed a bit. It calmed her to see both of her parents at once, looking, for the moment, alright. She was a bit confused as to why her arm and shoulder were hurt like John had suggested, but she wasn't going to dwell on it. John said she was safe- and with her doctor and her detective by her side, Felicity knew she was.
"You—al'ight?" Felicity was horrified internally that she slurred those words, but she was still fighting a sedative after all. John looked pained by her question and Sherlock seized her hand and gave it a gentle kiss, his expression helpless.
"We're fine, Felicity. You're going to go into surgery to fix your arm and shoulder and then we're going home, ok?" John told her when the lump in Sherlock's throat was too big for the detective to talk around.
"Mmkay. Tired." Felicity told him, pleased in her fuzzy mind that things were somewhat in order. Someone let out a hoarse, choked laugh and she felt another kiss pressing against her knuckles. The laugh had come from Sherlock as he hopelessly tried to burn off some tension. For someone who seemed so above emotion, Sherlock Holmes let it control him at the worst of times.
"That's fine, honey. Rest." John told her, seeing that his lover was completely unable to speak. John needn't have bothered; as soon as Felicity confessed her exhaustion she'd drifted off again. "Are you alright?" John asked Sherlock, reaching over Felicity to take the detective's other hand and give it a good squeeze.
"I-yes," Sherlock managed. After a moment, he realized he was lying. He was keeping his emotions hidden, as he had warned Felicity not to. "No, no, John, I'm not alright." Sherlock revised, unable to meet John's gaze.
"Tell me what's wrong," John told him softly, not relinquishing his grip on Sherlock's hand.
"I-my-I hold myself above my emotions for a reason, John. When they control me I'm helpless. I can't do anything for Felicity and it hurts." Sherlock forced his emotions into words, closing his eyes and sucking in a fast breath as he fought for control. John got up, pulled Sherlock to his feet wordlessly, and hugged the detective. The comfort it brought helped to calm Sherlock down, so he returned the gesture.
"I feel the same way, Sherlock. I'm a doctor and I can't even help my own daughter when she's hurt. But there is something we can do," John told him, pulling away to make eye contact to drive his point home, "we can be here for Felicity when she wakes up. We can continue to support her and be a family. She will recover and we will move forward from this, ok?" John told him, and just like that the synapses in Sherlock's brain started firing.
"Yes, of course. We need to organize, be prepared, tie up loose ends-" Sherlock pressed a brief, feverish kiss to John's lips; pulling away to spout more ideas when there was a knock on the door. Both men stepped away from each other as Felicity's doctor returned, along with two nurses.
"It's time for her to go into surgery; it's time to say your goodbyes." The doctor said, and Sherlock immediately leaned over to plant a gentle kiss to Felicity's forehead. John followed suit, a calmness settling in his heart. He still felt horrible that his daughter was going through so much pain on partly his account, but he knew that things would turn out alright. Both doctor and detective stepped out of the way as the nurses wheeled Felicity off to surgery. "We'll be in operating room C, Doctor Watson. I've been told that you have special clearance to observe if you wish." The doctor said, and it took John a moment to contemplate what he'd said. Suddenly, it made sense; of course Mycroft would begin pulling strings. John wouldn't be surprised if the man that was the British Government wasn't outside the door.
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll wait here." John said, offering the man a weak smile. He didn't think he could handle watching the surgery. He'd had no trouble observing medical procedures before, but he'd never known the person going in for an operation. John didn't think he could stand watching Felicity go under the knife.
"We'll treat her well. As soon as we're done you two will be the first to know." The doctor told Sherlock and John before ducking out. Not seconds later John's assumption proved true; Mycroft swept in, looking surprisingly ruffled.
"I must offer the deepest of apologies to both of you, and to Felicity." Mycroft started, and John felt his eyebrows shoot to his hairline. Mycroft was apologizing? What for? "It was my security team that failed in protecting your flat. If my men had done their jobs correctly, none of this would have happened." Mycroft said sourly, and John realized that he was upset with himself.
"They're all dead, aren't they?" Sherlock asked very quietly, slipping an arm around John's waist, past caring what his brother thought of his relationship with John. Mycroft grimaced at the question.
"Yes, all. Moran was a gifted sniper, very gifted. He rigged up a system that allowed him to kill them all at once." Mycroft admitted. "It is embarrassing to see that my men were so easily defeated. I apologize."
"Mycroft, they were only human. So are you. So was Moran. If we have to assign blame to someone, assign it to him." Sherlock said in an unusually compassionate voice. The Holmes brothers made eye contact and then swiftly looked away from each other. John could have sworn that they were communicating telepathically- in the briefest of moments they had passed a message to each other.
"Yes, well, that aside- I have assigned two guards to Felicity's operating suite and they will accompany her back here and then the three of you back to 221B when she is recovered. They will stay for as long as you wish." Mycroft said, checking his phone briefly when it buzzed.
"Thank you," John said gratefully. Until he or Sherlock received the all clear from Lestrade, John hadn't ruled out a lone survivor from Moriarty's network coming to attack. Even if John was worrying for nothing, the media interest had exploded over Felicity's abduction, increasing the danger of another criminal wanting to take advantage. The guards would ensure them private, safe protection from the outside world until they were ready to move forward.
"Let's hope these two are more professional than your previous guard." Sherlock said artlessly, beginning to tease and be generally rude to Mycroft again now that their silent moment of communication was over. It brightened John's spirits to see Sherlock acting like himself again; seeing him be polite to Mycroft was very odd and unsettling, no matter how ridiculous it seemed.
"Indeed. Oh, and Mummy sends her love and concern. She's disappointed that she didn't get to meet Felicity so soon and wishes her the speediest recovery possible." Mycroft said, leaning on his umbrella with more of a gentle smile than a smirk.
"Oh?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. John didn't know why Sherlock seemed so surprised by that, and he was slightly nervous as to why Sherlock's mother expressing concern was seen as such to the detective.
"She's taken quite a fancy to Felicity, despite our unspoken assumption that Mummy is incapable of loving anyone but her sons and her gardens." Mycroft told Sherlock, and Sherlock visibly brightened. Sherlock had hoped that his mother would love Felicity (as Sherlock knew his daughter, he couldn't see how she couldn't) but he had been carrying some doubt. Mummy Holmes was better at reading people than even her own sons and often took umbrage to people for the smallest offenses in personality she saw in them. Despite that, once she enjoyed your company she was a life-long friend or ally with unwavering affection. If Felicity was already in her good books, Sherlock (and Felicity especially) had nothing to fear. Sherlock had done investigating and found out that his mother highly approved of John as well. Sherlock would have pursued his relationship with the doctor regardless of his mother's approval, but it made the detective slightly proud to know that his family liked his relations with John.
"Don't forget the machine gun collection." He reminded Mycroft through a chuckle, the good news managing to lift him higher from his worry about Felicity's surgery.
"Oh, yes, of course." Mycroft agreed mindlessly, checking his phone again with a dissatisfied sigh, ignoring John's confusion and downright worry. "She's insisting that you visit as soon as possible; she's even suggested that you go to the Holmes estate on holiday so she can take Felicity out into the countryside." Mycroft elaborated as he pocketed his phone again, starting to frown.
"Hmm. We'll have to consider it," Sherlock said, tightening his grip just slightly on John's waist as pleasant ideas of a holiday with his lover raced through his mind.
"Excellent, I'll let her know. Now, if you'd excuse me, the ambassador to China has made an egregious error." Mycroft said, sending them a hasty, tight smile before ducking out, phone already in hand once more.
"Machine gun collection?" John repeated as Sherlock pressed a kiss to his temple, his hands fisting around John's jumper.
"Mmm, yes," Sherlock agreed, pressing his face into John's hair with a low sigh before pulling away, sitting limply in his previously vacated chair. "There is still so much that needs to be done." He said to himself, bowing his head and fluffing his hair furiously in an attempt to concentrate. He was interrupted from saying anything more by a knock on the door. Moments later an incredibly large and lethal looking man in a tailored suit ducked around the door.
"There is a Mr. Anderson here on behalf of DI Lestrade. Would you like to see him?" He asked in a flat, professional voice.
"Yeah, of course," John said, more distracted than put off by the idea of seeing Anderson. Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the floor but said nothing, and John silently willed him to behave. After a second Anderson appeared, the door closed behind him by the guard. He had a large file folder in hand and looked very out of place.
"I'll get right to the point then, shall I?" He said after clearing his throat, walking over and extending the folder to Sherlock. "This is the report of everything we found on the rooftop and at Moran's flat. Every photograph, piece of evidence, and lead we had is in that folder for you to review. If you say the investigation is closed, Lestrade will close it. He wants your word on it before he makes the final call." Anderson said, and Sherlock accepted the folder, opening it briefly and raising a surprised eyebrow as he scanned the contents. He was oddly pleased that Lestrade had worked so quickly and efficiently.
"Thank you," Sherlock said briskly, attempting to be polite. He closed the folder and looked at Anderson expectantly. He wasn't being his usual rude self, but he wasn't being nice either. Either way, John could tell that Anderson appreciated it.
"One more thing," Anderson said, reaching into his suit coat and pulling out a sealed evidence bag. "This is supposed to be housed on secure lock-down for another two weeks until the investigation is declared officially off the books, but I'm willing to make an exception." Without another word he handed the bag to Sherlock so the detective could take a closer look. Inside the bag, meticulously cleaned and polished, were Felicity's dog-tags. The sight of them made most of Sherlock's previously conceived notions about Anderson change completely. He was breaking rules, at the risk of his own job, to return something of sentimental value to Felicity. Sherlock stood and offered Anderson his hand. Under John's shocked gaze, the two nearly sworn enemies shook hands, letting that action speak louder than any words they wanted to say. "Everyone at the Yard wishes her a speedy recovery." Anderson said, pushing his hands into his pockets a bit awkwardly now that he'd done something so kind.
"Thanks; it means a lot." John saved Sherlock from having to answer and both detective and forensic specialist seemed relieved.
"We'll be in touch," Anderson promised before giving them a sheepish nod and leaving. Sherlock and John stood in silence for a moment before Sherlock broke the seal on the evidence bag and slid the necklace out into his palm to inspect it.
"She called me Charley. Up on the rooftop." Sherlock told John suddenly, still inspection the stamped letters that held no traces of the blood that was previously smeared across them. Sensing John's unanswered question, Sherlock continued, "She was in so much pain, and I was holding her hand, and she mistook me for him." Sherlock searched John's face for answers, but found that his lovers' expression was unusually blank.
John didn't say anything either; all he did was to extend his palm, asking for the tags. Sherlock slid them into his hand, the cool, sterilized metal feeling pleasant on John's warm skin. "It's no wonder she confused you two. You were and are both good men who she loves very much." John offered Sherlock a weak smile as he closed his hand into a fist around the last living testament to Charley Muller. Sherlock blinked furiously at him to disperse tears as the love behind John's words hit home. John was absolutely right, and that brought waves of sentiment crashing down on Sherlock's head to a point that he had almost never felt before. John could have dismissed Felicity's mistake as a hallucination from her delirium and he could have downplayed the whole thing. Instead, he had shown Sherlock his own significance, which not many people had ever done for the detective. "And I love you just as much," John continued, slipping the tags into his pocket and pulling Sherlock down for a slow, passionate kiss.
When they pulled apart, Sherlock felt a muted sense of determination. He needed to review Lestrade's work as well as pursue his own leads to officially declare this disaster over, to know for sure that Moriarty's network of crime really was finished. To do so, he would need to leave the hospital. The idea of doing so twisted at Sherlock's stomach- he didn't want to leave his daughter, especially during a surgery. At the same time, he felt a burning need to go; his own stupidity and lack of action on taking Moran down was what had caused all of this in the first place. He needed to clean up all the loose ends once and for all. There could be no more mistakes. "I need to leave." Sherlock said hollowly, tucking the folder into his coat. "When will Felicity's surgery be finished?" He asked John, and the doctor checked his watch.
"Depending on how severely her arm shattered it could be anywhere from half an hour to two." John said with a wince, remembering his shock at finding out it had taken surgeons three hours to retrieve the bullet from his shoulder and find all the pieces of his shattered scapula.
"I'll be back before then," Sherlock swore, his eyes shining with promise. He pressed one more lingering, burning kiss to John's lips before hurriedly striding from the room, his iPhone already in hand. John paced the room once, twice, three times in Sherlock's absence, free to let his worry out without an audience. He was sorely tempted to watch the surgery; after all, Mycroft had gotten him access. He could probably stand on the operating room floor and pass the surgeon the forceps necessary to pick out bone fragments. He could be allowed to press gauze to the cut wound to soak up his own daughter's blood, if he wanted. John's problem was that he wasn't sure if he wanted to know that much or not. As a doctor and a father, he wanted to be absolutely sure that Felicity's surgery was completed with perfect precision. Part of him wanted to be there to look at the surgical site himself, to know that the procedure was followed to a tee. On the other hand, John wasn't sure how he'd react, and he didn't want to put any unnecessary pressure on the surgeon and his team. He was sure that Mycroft had already threatened the poor surgeon and John didn't want to flip out during the operation and add even more stress to the situation.
In the end, he decided to leave the operating team in peace. Deciding not to leave Felicity's room (a guard would follow him everywhere, even into the loo as John had found out in a past experience), John sat in Sherlock's vacated chair, staring at the dog tags in his hand as he waited for Felicity to be returned for recovery. One hour and thirty minutes later, Sherlock came back in, looking flushed with success. He stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the fact that Felicity wasn't back yet. He was thrilled that he hadn't missed her return, but was also worried that it was taking so long. "How'd it go? Everything squared away?" John asked, slipping the dog tags into his pocket and standing up to receive his lover. Sherlock crossed the room in three strides and planted a firm kiss to John's forehead, rubbing his arms.
"Yes. This is the end of Moriarty and Moran as we know it." He said lowly, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of John's hair. Both men relaxed then, happy that their nightmare was almost over. Before Sherlock could ask John anything else, or vice versa, the door opened and a nurse came in first, walking backwards, guiding in the stretcher that held Felicity. The doctor was on the other end and locked down the wheels as the nurse ran a quick check of all vitals and Felicity's IV before excusing herself.
"How did it go? Any complications?" John fired off right away, dying to know every detail that he hadn't permitted himself to see.
"None. We took our time in an effort to be as accurate as possible and it paid off immensely. All broken or dislocated bones were reset and we removed all of the bone fragments that were piercing her muscles. That area will take at least a month to heal and physical therapy will be necessary for another three, but there should be no lingering problems besides occasional soreness." The doctor summarized quickly, clasping his hands in front of him. John breathed a sigh of relief. There was of course a low risk of infection, but other than that Felicity was out of any more danger. All she needed to do now was heal.
"Thank you, for everything," John said, giving him his hand to shake. Both he and Sherlock shook hands with the doctor before they were left in peace with Felicity. A large bandage covered the top of her shoulder and her clavicle, and her arm was done up in a tight sling to keep the area still. Overall, Felicity looked very white and very clean, the bright hospital lights making her already pale complexion and the cream bedspread an unearthly white. John instantly went to find the dimmer switch, knowing first-hand how bright the world seemed when waking up from being unconscious. With that taken care of and the door being meticulously manned by the guards out front, Sherlock and John were able to relax in the chairs at Felicity's bedside, waiting for her to wake.
OoOoOoO
A/N: See? It's all going to be okay. :) We've got Mummy in the picture, the Holmes brothers being civil with each other, Johnlock goodness, Nice!Anderson, and a nice finish to this story heading your way. They'll be a minor bump in the road, but everyone will make it safe and sound. (I actually hate writing endings, especially nice ones, the sadist that I am, so I have to remind myself that I'm writing such fluff. Weird, I know. Shut up.)
Reviews are joy- it's like the spirit of the holidays compressed into text. So thank you!
louisuperwholocked is awesome, just saying. Find her on Tumblr. She's the best beta ever.