I haven't spoken to Anderson since the accident. You dearest John, have visited him quite often. He is to be released from hospital today. I stand just outside his room, listening to the myriad of home care instructions the doctor is giving to you. God, what fools we all are. Protecting what doesn't need to be protected, giving up what is most scared life, hope, happiness.
"So, do we need to send a home care nurse round to look after him?" the doctor's voice intones.
"Nope, Sherlock and I will take him home with us." You answer.
Then Anderson speaks. "Sherlock, is here?"
"Yeah, he's hiding around the corner. Sherlock, you can come out now."
I hold on to the door jam, then slide around the corner. I look at Anderson. God, he looks awful. He is thin, and gaunt, the skin of his face is stretched over his skeletal structure like a tarp, which make the color of his eyes stand out. They are so blue, like a newborn's. I clear my throat. "Hi, Anderson."
You sigh. "Come on Sherlock, you can do better than that."
I fidget, then Anderson speaks. "It's alright he doesn't have to say anything."
You stand between us. "Yes, he does. He needs to learn how to be a decent human being. Sherlock, say something nice."
I clear my throat. "Umm, your eyes look really blue and if you drape your blanket like this," I then rearrange the blanket on his lap, "no one will see the colostomy bag."
You put one hand over your face. "Oh god, Sherlock, you really don't have a clue, do you?"
Confusion settles over me, like it always does in these types of situations. "What, no good?"
Anderson smiles. "It was fine, Sherlock just fine."
We go through the final check out process, then we wheel Anderson out to the curb and wait for a cab. The cab arrives and while we help Anderson in, he clenches his jaw in pain. A sheen of perspiration gathers on his upper lip. You ease him into the seat, but I can tell that the ride is going to be a painful one for him. Once again guilt washes over me.
By the time, we reach Baker Street, Anderson's lips are clenched between his front teeth in a grimace of pain. You pay the cabbie, then exit, extending your hand to him. He takes it, allowing you to pull him to his feet. When I come around, he looks up at me. He is done in. Mrs. Hudson opens the door, clucking at us like a mother hen.
"Oh Sherlock, he looks so bad."
You put her at ease. "It's alright, Mrs. Hudson, we'll take care of him."
Anderson leans against me, looking up at the narrow staircase in dread. Without a word, I sweep him up in my arms and carry him up to your old room, then deposit him on the bed. He looks up at me, then smiles. "Thanks."
I smooth a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Thank you, Anderson." I stare at him, hoping that my glance will convey more than my simple 'thank you' has.
Anderson takes my wrist between his fingers. "It was my pleasure, Sherlock," he whispers.
My eyes narrow and I jerk free from his grasp. "Are you taking my pulse?"
Anderson doesn't answer. He just looks up at me with a coy smile. I hear your laughter from the doorway. "Oh Sherlock, he got you good, but no matter I'm a doctor and I could tell your pulse was racing from here."
You and Anderson laugh together. I look from one of you to the other, not sure if I should join in or not. A gasp from the bed relieves me of a decision. "God, please don't make me laugh any more. It hurts."
You are by his side in an instant, the doctor, the friend, the lover. I note the curve of your back when you bend over him. Your shirt comes untucked revealing a bit of skin. I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to stroke myself. My hot doctor.
"It's time for you to take another pain pill. You want me to get some biscuits to swallow it down with?" you ask.
"Yes, please," Anderson and I both answer in unison.
You look over at me in exasperation. "I'll be right back." Then you look back at me, taking Anderson' bottle of pills with you. After you leave the room Anderson looks at me.
"You already palmed one, didn't you?"
I look over at Anderson in mock outrage. "Of course, not."
"Come over here and show me your hands."
I slink over to his bedside, resting my upper thighs near his head, then I hold out one hand and then the other. They are both empty. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I must have been mistaken."
I nod then go to over to a chair, flopping down in it with one leg hooked over the arm. My legs are spread wide and I lean my head back and breathe with my mouth open. You come into the room with tea and biscuits, knock my leg off the arm, then turn to Anderson.
"Never mind him, he's clueing for fucks, the little tramp."
Anderson smirks, then takes the pill you offer him. When your back is turned, I open my mouth, curling my tongue around a little white pill, flicking the tip, then swallowing it with a sip of tea. A stream of liquid runs down my chin, and I take out a handkerchief, making a show of wiping it clean.
After you are done seeing to Anderson, you turn to me. "Alright you, I'm going to check his sutures and bag. You can leave now and give us some privacy."
I stand up, relishing the wave of dizziness that overcomes me. Chewing that pill was disgusting, but god it's worth it. Hmm, I feel good. I walk over and watch while you unbutton Anderson's shirt. "I want to watch."
You look at me. "You are a little wretch. I suppose you are going to get turned on by a colostomy bag?"
I look down and scuff the floor with the tip of my shoe. "Maybe, but it's mainly in the interest of science."
"Sure, it is. Anderson, do you mind if he watches while I look you over?"
Anderson shakes his head. "No, that's fine."
I peer over your shoulder and I almost loose it when I look at the jagged scar that disfigures Anderson's abdomen. "That's a wicked looking wound."
You look at me, your eyes are serious. "Yes, Sherlock it is."
My stomach churns. I should have had a biscuit. I feel like I'm going to puke.
You look at me. "Sherlock, you don't look so well. Go have a lie down in our room."
I nod then leave. Once inside our room, my skin starts to crawl and itch. I shouldn't have taken that pill. I rummage around in our drawers, looking for a bottle of aloe vera gel. By the time, I find it, I feel like I'm on fire. I strip off my clothes, then slather the gel on. Anxiety claws at me. I'd better take a Benadryl to combat this itching.
You come into the room, stopping when you see me frantically looking for a Benadryl. "Sherlock, you took one of Anderson's pills, didn't you?"
"No," I lie.
You cross the room and take my chin between your hands. "Don't lie to me, Sherlock. Did you take a pill?"
I don't answer.
"God above, Sherlock, we have responsibilities. We have a baby and Anderson to look after. Your last blood panel revealed that your kidneys and liver are under a great deal of strain from your past abuses. I can't lose you again. Why do you feel the desire to hurt yourself? You need therapy."
I look up at you. "Well, it hasn't done you any good."
You look at me. "Oh, yes it has. I haven't beaten you to a jelly yet, have I?"
I shrug. "Only when I've asked you to."
You look down at the ground. "Sherlock, I'm not going to be your punisher. You need help."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, I know you're always sorry after. I'll be in the next room if you need me."
"John, please don't leave me."
You stop at the door, your back is towards me, your shoulders are tense. "Sleep it off, Sherlock. We'll talk about this later."
I am starting to panic. "You aren't going to move out, are you?"
A silence fills the room. It terrifies me. "No, but we are going to have to make some ground rules. I casually brought up our proposal to Anderson in hospital. He is considering it, but you've got to get it together. There is too much at stake here. Goodnight, Sherlock and Iā¦love you."
I curl up in a ball. "I love you too and John?"
"Yes?"
"Leave the door open a crack, will you?"
You walk over and kiss my forehead. "Of course."
When you leave, I curl my knees to my chest, comforted by the fact that I can hear you puttering around the flat with Mrs. Hudson. I fall asleep to the sound of your muted voices.
