Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 90
A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.
Notes:
*****.***T rated ****. ****
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.
…. The Game…
Busy times ahead of me so I wanted to get these to you.
1. I wrote several chapters so read all at once
Or
2. Section out the chapters until the weekend
Those on holiday, stay safe.
To the one of you who had a lose. I am thinking of you. :)
1. Beverly Allitt, born in the sixties, worked as a nurse and was one of Britain's most well know female serial killers.
2. A skip is a really big bin (trash container) which is for large amounts of rubble. Skips are hauled away by trucks.
3. An Ambu bag is a medical device used to provide assisted ventilation to people who are either not breathing or are having trouble breathing.
"If patience is worth anything, it must endure to the end of time. And a living faith will last in the midst of the blackest storm." ~ Mahatma Gandhi
He took a breath.
Mycroft noticed the doctor walking toward him and rose from the hard plastic chair first. He briefly wondered if he had said goodbye when he disconnected his mobile. John a moment later stood beside him.
Mycroft took one look at the doctor and frown but said nothing.
"Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson." There was a hesitation. "I'm sorry, even with the antidote, he lost a lot of blood." There was another hesitation. "The electrocution sped up the poison in his body, we did all we could." Still, another hesitation.
"What are you trying to say?" John asked impatiently.
The doctor sighed quietly. "Mr. Holmes is in a coma."
Twenty-four Hours Later
John sat in the room and looked at Sherlock. He had not left his side. Mycroft came in and out. He needed to do something.
Sherlock was still, so incredibly still. It seemed like a law of nature was broken. Sherlock Holmes was never still.
Sherlock skin was an incredibly pale contrasts next to his dark curly hair and bruises. His lips had a bluish hue. A heart monitor, blood transfusion, and IV fluids lines ran to and from his body. They took Sherlock off the ventilator hours ago. That was a good sign, John thought. At least that is what he would have to tell himself. Bandages were wrapped around various points on his torso, and various places on his body, including his wrists and ankles.
Various machines beeped away in soft rhythm. It was almost soothing. Oxygen, monitors, tubes, and fluids crowded the room.
John sat the chair by his bed and continued to wait and watch over him.
"Time to wake up," John said casually. He waited hoping to hear an irritated voice answer him.
None came.
"You've forced me into this," John said. He took out a novel that he knew Sherlock hated and started to read.
"You'll just have to wake up and tell me to shut up," John said, as he suddenly needed to clear his throat.
John held his book in shaky hands, and read.
Two Days Later
The nurse was stopped by the two agents that were outside the door. She was pulled from another unit because the regular nurse was unable to make it at the last minute. The two agents checked her ID against the name list then let her in the room after everything was verified.
It was the graveyard shift and everyone was fatigued because it was three-fifteen in the morning. The nurse smiled when her back was to the agents and moved into the room. She saw John's sleeping form and quietly walked over to the bed where Sherlock lay.
Her hands came silently up to inject something in Holmes IV port. As her hands contracted to push the plunger in, a piece of unyielding metal was felt as it dug into her side.
"It's not time for any medication. Who are you? Hands up slowly." John's voice was deadly and low.
Her hand slowly moved up as she smiled.
"Very good. I was trying to get in and out before you saw me John," A familiar voice said smoothly.
"Irene, I could have shot you. I didn't know who you were." John said as he sighed with relief.
"That was the point John. Sorry I did not mean to wake you." She said as she kissed him gently on the cheek.
John looked at her curiously, "Is there any point in asking you where you were, how you got past the three levels of security, or how you got past Mycroft's men?"
Irene only smiled in the dim light.
"Do you want the light turned on?"
"No."
"This will counteract the poison. It is similar to the antidote that he has already received but is a little stronger."
"John looked her in the eyes for a moment then nodded.
She injected the substance in the IV port slowly before stopping and gently running her hand through his soft curls.
"Here is more," She took a vial out of her pocket and gave it to John. "I know that you will not feel comfortable until you can examine the substance."
"I'm sorry that I am late. I have to be more careful nowadays. My contacts are slower getting information to me now. It seems as if Moriarty wants me for tea John." Irene smiled. "What do you think John," Irene said quietly, "Will he serve cake as well?"
John sighed as he stood by Irene. "Are you sure you should be off on your own now Irene?"
"It's complicated." Irene said simply. "I don't have long before I have to go. My flight leaves in seven hours. Give me that long before you tell Mycroft that the antidote was given to you by me."
John looked at her. "I have to get coffee. I'll be gone for ten minutes. Could you stay with him until I return?"
"Of course," She said distracted.
She started to speak quietly to the still form in the bed as he walked to the door.
"Come back to us. Come back to John. Remember me…" He heard her whisper as she sat on the chair next to Sherlock. He glanced at Irene as he closed the door.
Smell.
That was the first thing that came to his mind. The smell of disinfectant was the first thing that was noticed.
Next were sounds.
Sherlock heard sounds. The sounds weaved their way in and out of his consciousness. At first, the sounds seemed to be just disorderly noises. Soon the noises started to take order and have meaning. One of the sounds was identified. It was a soft yet persistent beeping of the monitors. The sound floated in from his left.
Somewhere inside him came words. Disinfectant and Hospital danced in the back of his mind.
He felt a touch. He battled to open his eyes. His body felt like lead. Everything seemed to hurt but the pain was held at arm's length.
Pain medication, his mind informed him.
Meaningless words and sounds slowly knitted together with voices. Then the voices solidified into coherent thought.
"… Sherlock, say something mate. Sherlock do you hear me…" John face slowly came into focus.
John, it was John.
Sherlock looked at his face and tried to smile.
"J… John," Sherlock whispered.
He must have said the right thing because the smile on John's face could not have gotten any wider. He coughed weakly. His throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Strong hands were lifting his head up as water came to his lips.
"Just a few sips," John said gently.
The water tasted like liquid gold and he almost sighed. He nodded his thanks to John.
John's voice floated into his mind like a warm blanket as words weaved their way in and out of his consciousness again. A comfortable gray enveloped him.
As his eyes closed in rest, he thought he heard John's voice say, "Welcome back."
"Well," Mrs. Hudson sighed as she sat tiredly drinking tea. There were scattered teacups, eat off trays with half eaten food, and cups of coffee in the small room. She sat as she looked around at the agents that have been stationed on in her flat day and night.
She had visited Lestrade and Sherlock. It took a bit of arguing before they agreed to let her out of the flat. That nice agent Mary Myers had personally escorted her there and back.
She took another sip of tea.
At least Lestrade was better. She frowned when she thought of how bruised he looked. He looked a bit ruffed up but once the drugs wore off, they could not stop the man from talking, correction, arguing to leave. He also threatened to walk himself into Sherlock's room so they wheeled him into see Sherlock.
She smiled.
Being with Sherlock had made them all a bit more stubborn than they use to be.
Her smile left.
Sherlock had looked so still. Mrs. Hudson had to look at his chest rising and falling to assure herself that he was not dead. So, very still. She sighed more dramatically this time.
Her mobile rang. She frowned. They said that the next few hours would be the most important. Sherlock would start to get better or…
The mobile rang again. Agents now looked at her. Ms. Hudson ignored them. She picked up her mobile and recognized that it was from John.
The mobile rang for the third time. She raised her chin and pushed the connect button."John."
"He's awake," John's voice said.
Mrs. Hudson closed her eyes and bit her lips. She did not trust her voice for a moment.
"Mrs. Hudson, are you there?" John's voice asked again.
Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat, and dabbed at her eyes to catch the tears. "Well, I'd better start cooking soup. You know he'll never eat the food there, love. He'll be a pure terror if they try to feed him."
She smiled as she heard John's voice as he laughed.