Chapter Two
Worrying about Sherlock - and his irritating habit of running away from police during cases when I wasn't there - had kept me awake for most of the night. I was supposed to go to work at the clinic today, but I was only just drifting off with a few hours to go. Suddenly, my ringtone burst into life beside me, and I glared at it angrily. The chipper little song had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I was fighting the urge to destroy it.
Grabbing the phone off my bedside table, I glared at the caller ID. I didn't recognise it, but it was probably Sherlock phoning to tell me that he had got in trouble with Lestrade, and I needed to bail him. Tough, he could stay in prison for punishment. I rolled over, trying to get back to sleep, but the phone kept ringing until I gave in and picked up the phone,
"For God's sake, Sherlock—"
"No, it's not Sherlock. It's Lestrade, and you had better get to the hospital right away?" I stared at the phone for a second, wondering what Sherlock had managed to do this time,
"What's happened? Is Sherlock alright?" Lestrade was silent for a second, clearly thinking of how to put it delicately for me, before he said gently,
"He's been stabbed." Shock flooded me, and I dropped my phone. It took me a second, my mind blank as I listened to Lestrade shouting my name, before I clicked back into action and jumped to get out of bed. I grabbed my coat and my phone, but didn't even bother getting fully dressed. Mrs Hudson's curler covered head peeked out through the door as I passed, but I didn't have time to tell her what was going on.
It took me a few minutes of running through the gloomy streets, which were only just beginning to show signs of life as people emerged for work, and I grabbed the first cab I could find. I screamed the address, telling him to step on it and he would get all of the money in my wallet. We got there in five minutes, and I sprinted up towards the front doors and over to the receptionist,
"Sherlock Holmes, where is he? Is he still alive?" She stared at me, bewildered by my shouting, but was saved from answering by Lestrade appearing in the doorway,
"I tried to tell you on the phone, but you hung up. He's through here, and he's stable." I nodded, letting out a huge sigh of relief, "Come on, mate. Let's get you a coffee." His hand gently pressed against my back, pushing me down the corridor and towards a coffee machine. The coffee was God awful, but welcome after no sleep and being woken with that sort of news.
A few minutes later we were sat outside Sherlock's hospital room, drinking our coffees, as Lestrade updated me on what little he knew and what had happened the night before, "He'll be alright, John. He's got the best doctors; someone higher up must have pulled some strings."
"Well, that has Mycroft all over it."
"Mycroft?" Greg asked, sipping his coffee.
"Sherlock's brother. You've never met him?" The detective inspector shook his head, looking slightly shocked,
"There's more than one Holmes? That's a terrifying thought. I always thought that Sherlock had just sort of popped out of nowhere, fully functional… well until today." I frowned slightly in confusion,
"What do you mean?"
"Something weird happened when he was on the phone with me. He started coughing up blood, and I thought he was about to pass out, but then... it's hard to explain, but his voice changed. It was like he was a kid all of a sudden; he was crying and speaking with a high-pitched lisp. He kept calling me Greggie. It was weird, John." I stared at him; it was so surreal that I almost wanted to laugh,
"I've never heard him speak like that. Maybe it was the blood loss?"
"I hope so, because it freaked me out, John. That's not even the worst part, though. The worst part was that he kept begging me to make the pain go away, and to make them stop touching him." I could feel my heart beginning to thunder in my chest, and my mouth was dry when I asked,
"Touching him? What did he mean by that?"
His answer was cut off by a doctor emerging from the room, removing his gloves. We jumped to our feet at the same time,
"How is he?"
"Is he alright?" The doctor nodded, putting his hands up to calm us,
"He's going to be fine; the wound wasn't too deep thankfully." He looked at me, "I was told that you are his brother." I nodded instantly, Mycroft had probably phoned ahead, and I would take whatever opportunity presented to find out more,
"Yeah, that's me, Mycroft." The doctor looked slightly sceptical, but nodded,
"He's stable for now. He'll need another transfusion when we can get one, since his blood type is rather uncommon, but physically he'll be fine. Emotionally, however." He looked at me sympathetically, and I knew the worst was yet to come, "You may want to sit down for what I am about to say."
I obeyed automatically, collapsing back into my seat and staring up at him,
"What's happened?"
"I am afraid that we found evidence that your brother may have been sexually assaulted." The whole world was spinning and then there was nothing.