Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 92

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.

*****.***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. :)

Note:

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.

"The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination." ~

Tommy Lasorda

Day Six

John did not quicken his steps or say a word as he heard shouting.

John saw the two agents that were assigned at the door seated just outside the room. Their faces were unreadable. A nursing staff walked from the room so quickly, any faster would be considered a jog.

John exhaled noisily.

There was a loud crash.

A second medical worker exited the same room. This one was running.

He cursed silently as he tried not to spill the soup that Mrs. Hudson cooked for Sherlock as he quickened his steps.

John pursed his lips together as he walked into the room to find the walls decorated with food. He put the soup down on the table.

"You're getting stronger," John looked at the wall, "Your aim has improved," John, said as he walked toward the wall opposite the hospital bed. He studied the wall for a few seconds before speaking again.

"Can't I leave you alone for a minute?" John asked as he stood staring with folded arms.

"Apparently not." Sherlock said without humor as he sniffed with a superior look on his face.

"So…" Sherlock asked quietly as he tried and failed to sound casual and uninterested. "When do I get released from this prison?"

"You do realize that you could have died Sherlock, that you were in a coma and that your heart stopped for a few terrifying seconds?"

"Boring," Sherlock said with a trace of impatience and irritation in his voice as he dusted imaginary lint off his shoulder.

"Not boring Sherlock," John said quietly as he swallowed hard, "Not boring." John locked eyes with Sherlock. Sherlock frowned and looked at his feet as he moved them under the thin bed sheet. He had thrown the thicker blanket off hours ago.

John looked down himself then sighed before looking at Sherlock again. Sherlock seemed to be studying John, looking not just at him, but also almost through him.

"John," Sherlock's voice was surprisingly gentle now. "You were saying when I would be released."

"When you can stand Sherlock," It was John's turn to be irritable and he was not trying to hide it.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose as he looked toward his feet and gracefully pulled the covers off his legs.

The irritation abruptly left John's face, as his eyebrows rose as well.

"What are you doing?" John had asked already knowing the answer.

"Standing," The younger Holmes said simply.

He wiggled his toes and bit his lips as he made an effort not to make a sound. The grimace on his face betrayed his discomfort.

"So you've been awake an entire sum of eleven hours. That, by the way, does not include the times you've napped, slept, or passed back out, and you think that you can just get up and dash about London?"

Sherlock said nothing but managed to get one foot sort of half way off the bed. He took a few seconds to catch his too fast breath, as sweat started to pour down his neck, and forehead.

"Sherlock, even you can't be serious." John unfolded his arms and stepped closer.

"Time that I rally the troops, John." Sherlock said breathy. He was trying to sound cheerful but his panting ruined the desired effect.

Sherlock, having gotten his short rest, resumed his mission. He took his other hand and cheated by using it to help his other leg to the edge of the bed. He stopped now and seemed to be deep in thought. His breathing was still coming too quickly. He ignored it.

John was starting to worry and thought about calling the nurses. He eyed the call button on the side of Sherlock's hospital bed rail.

Sherlock seemed to have noticed where his eyes traveled and said. "Now John, let's not do anything that we will both regret." Sherlock looked proud at both feet that were off the bed. He put his hands behind his body and tested the strength of his arms.

John thought better of calling the nurses. No one could stop a determined Sherlock Holmes. Almost no one.

"I'm calling Mycroft!" John threatened in a loud voice. He took out his mobile and angrily pushed the keys and waited for it to connect.

"John!" Sherlock yelled back. "Don't you dare!" He hissed a little more quietly.

A nurse ran in the room. "Is everything alright?" There was alarm in her voice as she looked at the two men warily. Her eyes rested suspiciously on Holmes. Sherlock glared at her and opened his mouth to speak.

"Ms. Allitt, come to finish me off…" Sherlock started to say before John's voice stopped him. The nurse opened her mouth in shock.

"Oy," John muttered.

John quickly disconnected the mobile phone call without even thinking about the fact that he might have heard Mycroft's voice.

"Yes, all is fine. It's all fine." John said as he put on his most convincing smile. "Can I just have a minute with Mr. Holmes if you don't mind?"

Sherlock smirked at the nurse as John led her out by the elbow even as she was stuttering a protest. "And, a fine job you all are doing here," he said with a smile as he closed the door gently in the face of the nurse who still had her mouth partially opened.

John wordlessly walked back over to Sherlock, closed his eyes, counted to ten… slowly, then opened his eyes and stared.

At the look on John's face, Sherlock's smirk left. Sherlock cleared his throat and pushed his hands back even as he prepared to resume his work.

John quickly covered the short distance between him and Sherlock and stood a few yards away with his hand flexed by his side. He watched as Sherlock struggled and started to breathe fast again. He grunted in pain despite his best efforts to be quiet. He was fooling no one.

"I won't catch you. And, if you fall on your bum, don't expect me to pick you up… I'll just watch and laugh." John lied. He was already prepared to catch his annoying friend.

"Almost… there… John." Sherlock said with a breathless cheerfulness, as he gave one final push with his hands, and stood on severely shaky legs. His hands had a death grip on the side bed rails, and shook from the effort of helping to hold his body upright. His hands more than his legs, seemed to be keeping him from falling.

"I'm standing John." Sherlock said while he concentrated on not falling. The shaking was getting worse.

John squeezed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He now looked at Sherlock and almost whined. "You can't even walk Sherlock. Besides that, I'll give you two minutes with your stubborn nature, maybe, four before you collapse."

Sherlock was sweating profusely now. "J… John you said, and I do quote…, When you can stand." Sherlock hand slipped slightly. John jumped forward but Sherlock caught himself. His face was strained with effort.

"T… Technically I am standing. You did not say for how long and you did not mention walking as a condition."

John's eyes narrowed.

"Language is precise John… really." Sherlock scolded.

For a minute, John thought of letting him fall.

"Sherlock M. Holmes." An irritated voice from the doorway floated in.

Surprised, Sherlock momentarily lost his grip at the same time that his legs finally could not hold his weight any longer. John caught Sherlock and lowered him to the chair that was beside the hospital bed.

Sherlock sat in the chair. His shirt was sweat soaked now and he closed his eyes, and thinned his lips, against the pain as he attempted to even out his breathing. After several minutes, Sherlock opened his eyes. John and Mycroft were staring at him with crossed arms. They did not look happy. Sherlock frowned at first but then thought quickly as he put on his best fake smile.

"Sooooo. I stood. John said that I was fit to leave when I stood." Sherlock looked sweetly at Mycroft completely ignoring John. "Could you make arrangements, brother dear?"

Mycroft turned accusing eyes at John. John's eyes widen as he opened his mouth to defend himself but was cut short by Sherlock's voice.

"I don't need an exact time. Perhaps someone could bring me a suit and I could start to get dressed?"

Both Mycroft and John looked from Sherlock to each other. Both men at exactly the same time turned slowly to observe Sherlock, who looked a little too innocently back at them.

"Oh, is that soup?" They heard Sherlock ask.

A/N: Lots of Love. Update as soon as possible. Let me know what you think.