I can hear sirens screaming in the distance they are coming for me. Dearest John, you squeeze my hand begging me to stay with you. I will comply if nature allows. I look over at you, my breath fogs up the oxygen mask. Your shirt is covered in blood, mine and Mary's. The coppery substance is comingled-inseparable-the same. You smooth my damp curls away from my forehead. "Sherlock," you whisper.
I grin back at you and then everything fades….
I sit up in bed, pulling at plastic tubes as I do so. "Beethoven's Symphony No 6 in F Major, Op68, the Pastoral Symphony," I say aloud. My voice is hoarse, my speech slurred.
You rush to my side. "Sherlock, it's me John. I'm here. Look at me."
I do as you command. You look terrible. Your face is white and the skin underneath your eyes is swollen. I reach over and run my thumb along your bottom lip. "You're dehydrated, John."
You place your forehead against mine. "Sherlock, Sherlock, yes I'm dehydrated. Now what's this about Beethoven?"
"I can hear the Symphony with perfect clarity in my mind. Make a note about the pain med's I've been given. I may want to experiment when we get home." I say as I listen to each note as they swirl around my mind palace in perfect detail and color.
You frown at me as you read my chart. "It sounds like you're having a drug reaction. I'm going to call the nurse."
I fight to enjoy the music. I should have thought it through before I told you my observations. No doubt I will soon be given a counteractive drug and the aural perfection in my mind will fade and then disappear.
Sure enough a dour nurse pumps something into my IV and you, dear John and Beethoven are gone.
When my eyes next open the music is no longer drifting through my mind palace.
"Sherlock, how do you feel?" You ask in a voice heavy with grief.
I fix my bird of prey glance on you as I say, "John, you're still dehydrated. For god's sake get something to drink."
You smile in triumph. "And that's the Sherlock we all know and love." Then we are both silent.
I speak first. "John, Mary is…"
You nod as a tear slides down your cheek. "Yesss…," you stutter.
I fight back tears as I swallow two or three times. "I will hunt down Mary's killer, John, until we are both dead if need be."
You are at my side in an instant. "You will do know such thing. I can't lose you, Sherlock. We will work together on this. I am willing to give it all up thought if it means that you could be…be killed. I just… just…."
I hold out my arm to you. I stretch as far as I can until the IV wiggles a warning in my vein. You clasp my fingers and bring them to your lips. "Somehow we will get through this, Sherlock…."
I smile. I hear Beethoven again. This time I keep silent about the music. I caress your thumb with my thumb. "We will get through this together, John." I close my eyes and fall asleep to the angelic music of a deaf composer long since dead. A tear slides down my own cheek as I realize that Mary is gone. The only place I will ever see her is in the recesses of my mind palace, for unlike you dearest John I do not believe in heaven. No angels await, only darkness.
