Adele's eyes wouldn't work, and she wasn't even completely sure how to open them. She could hear the buzz of various machines, the beeping of a heart monitor. A hospital, then. Feet shuffling, out of place. Awkward. Quiet conversation. Fuzzy, muted. Adele strained to hear, but couldn't make out much. So much for information.

Now there was a bright light. Adele could probably open her eyes now, but she didn't want to. She wouldn't benefit, not really. Keep them closed forever. Or for now at least. Someone was moving near her, muttering to themselves. She recognised their voice, but couldn't place it… Someone she had heard speak before, frequently… But she couldn't make it out, not unless they began to talk louder.

Whoever it was called her name. Adele. It sounded far off, and the voice was hollow, hopeless. And then it clicked.

Sherlock.

Adele knew that she wouldn't be able to answer. Even trying would be pointless. But she could hear it, which must have been a good sign. Adele tried to give a sign of consciousness, but she couldn't open her eyes, let alone talk. Adele resolved to clenching and unclenching her fist, which was possible, but hurt.

Someone else spoke now.

'Sherlock. Look.'

'What?' Sherlock, it appeared, snapped.

'Her hand.' This voice was harder to place. It was definitely one that Adele had heard recently, and quite a lot as well. Her head was fuzzy, and she couldn't think for long.

'It's nothing. Always happens. Can't possibly mean anything.'

'I'm a doctor; look, at least try to think positive.'

'Try.' He scoffed, clearly unimpressed by the idea. 'No. I'm not getting my hopes up.' He said the second sentence much quieter, as if he was scared of being mocked. But it was only the two of them, and so was unlikely.

Adele wanted to call out, to tell them that she was there, and could hear. But nothing except her hand seemed to work, which was pretty useless.

'I'll leave you to it, okay? Back at the flat?'

Sherlock murmured in agreement. Now Adele knew who the second man was. John.

He left, quietly, leaving Sherlock, apparently pacing the room. From the sound of things, he was debating with himself. The word 'possible' came up a lot. It didn't last long, and soon quiet resumed.

'Adele, please, please, wake up. I know you're the most stubborn child in the world, but if you do this for me I promise I'll let you do whatever you want, even if it involves tearing down the wall of the flat.' He was almost pleading with some non-existent presence. Adele wished she could do something, and went back to clenching her fist. This lack of communication was annoying her.

There was someone else there now. Adele could tell instantly. More was coming back, and she could recognise Sherlock's movements. She heard the door open and close, and someone, probably who worked here, had clearly walked in.

'What?' Sherlock was becoming increasingly snappy, and seemed stressed.

'Broken ribs, completely severed an artery, lost a lot of blood. She's in critical condition.' Another voice that she recognised. It was easier to place, and Adele knew that she didn't like this person. Not much, anyway.

'There's more.'

'Missed her heart by a centimetre or so. Not much. It doesn't look… good.' Whoever was speaking clearly didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. Then again, who would, when faced with a stressed out Sherlock?

'The next few days are crucial. Then you might have to… It would take a miracle, at this stage. But maybe not later. We don't know.' She sighed, and Adele immediately placed her as Molly. Who worked in the morgue. At Bart's. Which wasn't where she was. Because Bart's didn't have the facilities to deal with whatever this was. What the hell was she doing here? Because Adele was pretty sure that, for all of this, she most certainly was not dead.

When Sherlock didn't answer, she continued. 'And you need to sleep. You've been here for ages.'

'No.'

'Look, Sherlock, you can't live off coffee for the next however long it is.'

'I can, and I will.'

Silence.

'I have to go.' This was definitely Molly. That was a Molly phrase.

Sherlock didn't answer, so Adele assumed that he had just nodded. So, he'd been here for ages? No one had thus far mentioned a date, so Adele couldn't be sure how long ages was. But it did mean that she'd been out of it for a while. And they said that people in comas had less chance of recovery after a certain amount of time.

Things were becoming blurry now. Sherlock had gone back to talking to himself, but the words were harder to make out. Adele felt the darkness descending back over her. She wouldn't be able to do anything else until it cleared.

Gone.