Chapter9

"Sherlock!" John shouted, smacking his fists against the door that separated him from the consulting detective. The patients he spoke to before had been right about where Sherlock was. John had not wasted a second getting there, but now he was trapped on the wrong side of the door. John kicked at the metal frame bolted with locks and swore under his breath in hate. "Answer me, Sherlock!" he screamed louder. There was silence. John's heart pounded hard against his chest. He had to get in there. With a deep breath John took a few steps back and smashed his body against the door, which opened instantly. Once inside John felt like he was going to be ill. Something flashed behind his eyes for a moment, sending a pain through his head and body. A man with pale skin and dark curls was in the flash. A blue scarf was tightly wrapped around his throat and a big black coat was draped around him, but John could still see the deep gash in his wrist over the sleeve of the majestic coat. John watched as the man's head lolled to the side and those familiar blue eyes stared into his weekly.

"John-" and then with another throb of pain the image was gone and John was left staring at the horrific sight in front of him. Sherlock was strapped against the metal table. His shirt was unbuttoned, allowing wires to connect to his chest and abdomen. Sherlock's head was slumped to the side, his sweaty curls hiding his face from John's gaze, but the doctor could still tell that he was in unspeakable pain. John's eyes blazed at Henry, who was manning the machine behind the burns scattered on Sherlock's body.

"John, can you give us a moment please?" Henry asked coolly before nodding at the doctor John had seen inject some kind of drug into Lestrade his first day. The female doctor nodded back and swiped the hair away from Sherlock's eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked him. Sherlock didn't respond. Impatiently the doctor slapped his face lightly to get his attention. Sherlock's eyes flickered open and closed a few times, glaring at the woman.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street," Sherlock croaked. His voice was so raspy and so full of pain John wanted to die right there and then. The woman frowned at Sherlock, flipping her elegant hair back.

"Is that your final answer, Mr. Holmes?" She asked gingerly. Sherlock's eyes swept over to John, searching John's eyes for just a second and then his attention was back to her.

"No, actually, it isn't. Are you cheating on Dr. Henry with Dr. Miller, Dr. Harper, or did you just happen to use the same shampoo as him?" Henry's face along with the woman's grew bright red and their eyes burned into the consulting detective. Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut as Henry turned the knobs on the machine and flicked a switch, sending a current of electricity into Sherlock.

"Stop!" John shouted, rushing at the machine and turning the knobs off. Sherlock gasped as the pain ended and his body went limp against the cool table, sweat falling in rivers down his face. John ran to his side, ripping the wires off of him as fast as his hands could.

"John?" Sherlock croaked, looking up at him with weary eyes. John shushed him gently, brushing the hair out of the detective's face and said soothingly over and over again,

"It's alright, I'm here." A small smile curled over Sherlock's lips, which were bloody from biting down on them so hard.

"I knew you'd come…you always do…" Sherlock trailed off as the pain and energy spent on talking became too much for him to bear.

"What are you doing?! He was talking to himself! We need to treat him!" Henry shouted, snatching up Sherlock's file and waving it in John's face. This only made the explosion bubbling in John blow.

"Treat him?!" John shouted, not stopping from unstrapping Sherlock from the cold table. "You're torturing him!"

"What is going on in here?!" Mr. Darcie thundered, stepping into the room. His white lab coat was ruffled like he had been running in a hurry to see what all the commotion was about. Even his glasses were slightly tilted to the side.

"We were treating Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson just barged in and interrupted his treatment!" Henry shouted, pointing an accusing finger at John. Dr. Harper stated a few words as to help defend Henry, but John didn't hear them he was too worried about Sherlock. The man looked absolutely demolished. Scars lined his shivering body and his clothes were absolutely drenched in sweat. He looked like he had been tortured longer than just an hour or two.

"Tell me, Dr. Henry; is Sherlock Dr. Watson's patient?" Mr. Darcie asked, straitening his glasses and smoothing back his hair.

"Yes, but-"

"So then Dr. Watson decides on his treatment." Mr. Darcie turned to John, who had finished un-strapping Sherlock and was now holding the energy drained detective in his arms. "Dr. Watson, take Sherlock back to his room and handle him in how you feel fit," Mr. Darcie said, stepping aside to allow them to get to the door. John nodded his thanks to his boss and looked down at Sherlock's body as it lay in his arms.

"Can you walk?" John asked the consulting detective. Sherlock nodded tiredly and John helped him off the table and out of the room.

Once they were back at Sherlock's room John treated the burns on Sherlock's body and lay him down in his bed. Sherlock watched John carefully check over the burns, looking for anything that may have been too much damage.

"Thank you," Sherlock croaked.

John looked up at Sherlock wide eyes as the detective spoke the two words. "You're welcome," John stated. He didn't know why he seemed so surprised to hear those words come out of Sherlock's mouth. Maybe this long day was just messing with his mind.

John stood up as he finished checking the burn scars blotching Sherlock's pale body. He had done everything he could for Sherlock, but he still felt like he needed to do more. The detective was worn out and stiff from his treatment and looked desperate for sleep now. His head was bobbing and his eyes fluttered tiredly as he stared away into the distance of the small badly lit room.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" John stated, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. Sherlock lifted his head from his knees and stared at his doctor.

"I'm fine," he stated, letting his head fall heavily again on top of his knees. John frowned at the man's stubbornness, but quickly softened. He had figured the very first day he met Sherlock that he didn't sleep like he should and he had a feeling he knew why.

"No you're not, Sherlock, you're tired," John stated. Sherlock remained silent. "Do you trust me?" John asked suddenly. This got Sherlock's attention. The man's head shot up and his sharp blue eyes searched John's.

"With my life," Sherlock finally stated. John tensed in surprise. He knew that Sherlock had trust in him, but he never thought that Sherlock trusted him that much. John shook himself and then stated gently to Sherlock,

"Then trust me when I tell you that you can sleep in peace tonight." Sherlock hesitated for a few moments, but John felt a smile spread across his lips as Sherlock let his head rest against the pillow and let his eyes fall shut. John watched the even rise and fall of Sherlock's chest has he drifted farther and farther away into sleep. Once he knew the detective was sleeping for sure John then lifted himself from the bed and strolled over to the doorway. There was no denying it now. He believed Sherlock and there was no way he was going to allow him to stay in this horrible place for another day. It was time they left.