Chapter Fifty Two
Getting shot hurts like a bitch.
I think that I passed out from the pain, it hurt so much. I think that the most pain was from my stomach, which is where the wound was, but my whole body hurt. It was like it caused a ripple effect. Like I got shot and waves of pain are just coming from the wound, and it doesn't stop.
I remember being rushed to the hospital. Right before the ambulance came, I whispered, "Hide," to the Doctor. He looked upset, but he listened.
...
I was taken to the ER, and they gave me something.
And then everything was faded to black.
...
When I awoke, I was in a hospital room, alone.
A doctor came in, and said, "Hello. You're all better now. We got the bullet out, and stitched you up, but we need to keep you here for a few days."
"Alright," I said. This was bad. I needed to get out of here as fast as I could. I needed to get to Sherlock. "Where am I?"
"Saint Bart's, of course," he said, walking towards the door.
"And doctor?" I asked. He turned back to look at me. "What...year is it?"
"2014," he said, and then walked out the door.
...
It was too late to go back to Sherlock. There was only one thing left to do. I didn't want to, but I had too.
And it would hurt me more than it would hurt him.
I astral projected back to Sherlock's time. He was happy to see me, and I was happy to see him. He looked so adorable. He was tall and lanky, with a mop of curly hair on the top of his head.
"Sherlock," I said. "Let's…go for a walk."
...
"What did you want to talk about?" Sherlock asked.
God, this was going to hurt. I reached down to my stomach, and ripped my stitches. "I'm dying," I said.
"What?" Sherlock asked, as I collapsed on the ground. He examined my bleeding stomach. "I…I need to get back to the house. I need to call 999!"
"No!" I said. He turned back to me.
"Listen to me," I continued. "There's something I want you to do."
"What's that?" Sherlock asked.
"You know how Mycroft taught you to put things away?" I asked. "To lock them in a box?"
"Yes," he said. "And?"
"Lock me in a box," I said. "Lock my father and I in a box, and shove it so deep in your mind that you forget."
"Why?" Sherlock asked.
"You'll know," I said. "Someday."
"Okay," he said. He was almost crying now. He closed his eyes.
And I stopped letting him see me. But I stayed around to watch.
...
When he opened his eyes, he looked around.
"What am I doing out here?" he wondered out loud. He shook his head, got up, and walked back to his house.
It was like I was never even there in the first place.
...
When I jumped back into my body in the hospital, I fell asleep.
I was exhausted. Getting shot will do that to you.
...
I was in a park I used to go to a lot. I would go there whenever I needed to think. I sat on a bench, looking over a lake, watching the ducks swim.
"Hello," Cas said, appearing next to me.
"Cas," I said. "Hey. You gonna tell me what you're keeping from me?"
He shook his head. "No."
I sighed, and was about to say something when Cas interrupted.
"You need to grieve," he said.
"What?" I asked, surprised.
"You need to grieve over your friend. You're throwing yourself into anger over what I'm hiding from you. You need to grieve. She is gone."
I was quiet for a bit. It's been a long day. I found out that my sister was dead, I said goodbye to Sherlock, and I got shot. I haven't really had time to grieve.
I don't really know how to describe how I felt. Probably because I don't really know what I felt. I was…empty.
So I cried. And Cas, somewhat awkwardly, gave me his shoulder. Sort of. I kind of just laid on it and cried. But he reached his hand up and patted my shoulder.
I call that progress.
"Here," he said when he was done. He put his fingers to my forehead, and healed my wound. And then I woke up.
...
As grateful as I was to have my bullet hole gone, this was bad. I was stuck in a public hospital, and people were keeping a close eye on me.
Unfortunately, I had no idea how close.
...
I was about to climb out the window of Bart's hospital when I heard the door open. I was already halfway out the window.
"Hey!" a voice called, and then a man grabbed me and pulled me out of the window. He carefully and gently guided me back into bed. And then, when I was all comfortable, he handcuffed me to the rails.
"Hey!" I said, angrily.
"Hello," Lestrade said. "I'm Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Now, Miss Osbourne, you've been missing for over a year. Your sister, Isabella, has been making a big deal out of your disappearance. When she passed away from a car accident, your search has been an even bigger deal. So tell me, what are you doing in London?"
"I want a lawyer," I said. "No, wait…"
"I want Sherlock Holmes."
...
Sorry boys! I'm sooo changeable! It is a weakness with me. But to be fair, it is my only weakness!
Enjoy the new chapters.