Chapter 22 – Disruption – Part 5

Sherlock woke to semi darkness and sounds nearby.

Despite the initial disorientation, his memories of what had happened came back the moment he spotted a young attendant sitting on a chair beside his bed.

He was in his cell in the asylum.

To enlarge the distance to the man, he sat up and scooted back on the bed, driven by the horror of what he remembered of his earlier distress.

The sudden movements caused black dots to appear in his vision and he fought to blink them away.

A few feet away, the slim man raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender and Sherlock relaxed a bit. He was more a boy than a man, barely sixteen from what Sherlock estimated.

"I am only here because you had an episode and your breathing needed to be monitored."

"What year is it?" Sherlock asked.

"1867," the man answered, frowning.

Sherlock was relieved to actually hear it being said. The asylum was full of newspapers from various dates, he had spotted them in the dayroom, but they could be years old.

Until now, he hadn't asked, feared they might tell him again he didn't want to remember the date.

"I am fine now, you can leave," Sherlock said, his need to sort out what had happened in privacy overwhelming, hut he regretted it a moment later.

The boy seemed so young he probably was inexperienced and not as indifferent as the rest of the staff. He might get answers from him others wouldn't give him.

Luckily, he seemed to have orders to stay.

"I will monitor your sleep. Feel free to continue to rest."

If Sherlock wanted to gain his trust, he needed to try conversation.

"Did I hit my head? It hurts," Sherlock stated carefully, trying out how much of a little helper the man was.

"Let me see," the other man offered.

Sherlock turned his head a bit but it was obviously not enough to examine it.

"Stay seated, face the wall," the man demanded.

To show his harmlessness and ground himself from the touch he knew was coming, Sherlock followed the instructions and additionally placed his hands besides his buttocks on the mattress so the carer could see them.

Carefully, the attendant parted his hair and lifted the lamp from the table to see.

Then he heard him suck in air and for a moment he feared the man might be seeing what he had felt earlier, a gaping hole in his skull.

"You have a large gash there, nothing too serious. When did this happen?"

"I don't know," Sherlock stammered, flabbergasted by the fact that he hadn't noticed it earlier.

He had been so caught up with trying to leave his mind palace and ignoring the input it gave him that he had ignored it.

"It doesn't look fresh, but there is a lot of scab. This should have been noticed earlier, but it wasn't in your file. It is a bit of a mess. We should take care of that... and your leg while we are at it. Let me get some supplies."

The boy bustled away but didn't forget to take the lamp and lock the door.

Sherlock was left in darkness.

He used the few minutes of loneliness to use a Buddhist technique to calm down, he had learned during his time in Nepal.

He had not blown out his brains. What a ridiculous thought!

Slowly exhaling, he reminded himself that episodes of severe anxiety and/or irrational agitation were part of the withdrawal process, as were vivid nightmares. Maybe this was just a nightmare, maybe he was just in a very long and complex dream.

Then he scolded himself for actually being so naive to consider that.

He stupidly stared at the wall, feeling desolate, still unable to think clearly.

A moment later, the young nurse from before and one of the attendants he had seen earlier came back.

"Mr Greenbaum, my name is Walker. We will see to your injuries."

"Oh, I forgot," the young man added, "my name is Cooper."

The older man gave the other a reproachful look for forgetting to introduce himself to the patient.

They first cleaned the head wound, which meant a lot of eschar came off and it started to bleed again. Then they wrapped a bandage around his head to keep the compress in place.

They were not trying to make small talk, Sherlock noticed.

Maybe the young man didn't have too much of the older nurse's approval, but Cooper didn't seem to care much.

When they unwrapped the wound on his leg, he clenched his teeth.

There was a long gash that had required stitches.

In this decade, catgut sutures were widely used, and although absorbed by the human body, the detective was not happy to see them in his own leg. They were only just starting to try to sterilize things like suture material.

The wound was red around the edges, but it didn't look inflamed. However, it felt taut and hurt. When asked, they told him the gauze was in fact sterilized - with carbolic acid.

Sherlock flinched a bit when he suddenly remembered the events of recent history he hadn't had one single thought about since his arrival.

The case was still unsolved.

It is the dose that makes the poison, he reminded himself and watched them work with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

Once more, he wished John was here – or Watson. He would so much prefer to be touched by his friend.

They cleaned the wound with a diluted solution of iodine and rebandaged it while Sherlock's focus shifted to their tool kit. It contained forceps, tweezers, scissors and several other slightly curved or sharp instruments. He was careful not to let them see his attention.

When they were finished and turned to go, he was relieved that they both showed signs of leaving.

They offered him another dose of the sleeping draft and Sherlock asked if he could have, but decide later if to take it - only if he couldn't sleep. He was not ready to face any more of his demons tonight.

They hesitated and Cooper was sent to ask a doctor if Sherlock's request could be granted.

Walker was carefully packing away their utensils and Sherlock decided he needed to pinch one right now or the chance would be gone.

"Could you get me another blanket? I had trouble sleeping last night because it was so cold," he asked, well aware they were stored in a cabinet a few metres down the hall. He had seen another nurse fetch one yesterday.

"I will get one in a moment," Walker responded and continued to pack away the kit.

Sherlock realised he was instructed to never leave a patient alone with sharp tools and hope to get his hands on one dwindled.

Walker carefully closed the kit and carried it to the cart waiting outside.

When Sherlock heard his steps fade, he hurried towards the door and saw the kit on the cart and the attendant moving down the hall towards the cabinet.

He had only a few seconds and taking the entire kit was not an option, they would notice that immediately.

It was risky to try to open it while out in the hall, but the only chance he had. He made sure the corridor was otherwise clear and slipped into the hallway.

He estimated that he had fifteen seconds until Walker reached the closet, he would turn sideways then and spot him.

He reached for the kit.

Only to flinch back a second later when he heard someone coming up the stairs that were a few metres ahead of Walker to the left.

Sherlock hurried back into his room, listening carefully.

Cooper's voice could be heard a few moments later.

"Dr Winter needs assistance, Rupert is having another seizure," the young man panted.

"Alright. Go lock Greenbaum's door and bring the cart back, then come help us."

A key ring was handed over.

Sherlock sat on the bed.

When Cooper entered, checking if anything was left to clear out of the room, Sherlock decided to give it another try. He asked Cooper instead to get a blanket. But the young man hesitated to do anything that might delay him.

So Sherlock had to pull at his heartstrings to make him comply, told him how bad the other night had been because he couldn't sleep due to the bitterly cold.

Cooper went to fetch the blanket and this time Sherlock was prepared, he was in the corridor only moments later, opened the kit, fetched two pairs of a pair of tweezers and a slim curette, then closed the kit - all before Cooper had even reached the closet.

He returned to his room and hid both items under his mattress but then immediately retrieved them because it was the worst hiding place ever, and placed them on the high sill of the door over the window. Even with his height, it was hard to reach it without a chair or a stepladder.

A few moments later Cooper returned and brought the blanket, which he took with gushing gratitude. Then he asked for the time, which Cooper also provided, it was a quarter to midnight.

The young man had him locked in and was gone a few seconds later.

Within the next two hours, the building calmed down considerately. Sherlock listened to every tiny detail he could spot. His sharp hearing was useful for a change, not just a nuisance threatening to overwhelm him.

There were agitated voices in the distance sometimes, now and then even screams.

Sherlock wondered how many severely disabled persons had been incarcerated here for ages without getting proper treatment.

Step by step, he opened up his other senses, tried to relax, feel the building and what was going on. This had helped him during the hunt for Moriarty; he hoped it would help again.

The lack of a clock was unfortunate, it was difficult to catalogue the night routine of staff without it.

His ability to estimate how much time had passed was useful.

Although he tried not to, his thoughts returned to the events of the afternoon, to Mary. The hallucination had been vivid and had horrified an aspect of him he couldn't really grasp. Even trying to analyse what he had seen unsettled him. He realised that trying to think about it now made things even worse.

He wouldn't be able to sleep any time soon, he needed to do something.

Be active.

Try to solve this. Figure out how to get out.

.

Around two o'clock, someone passed his door, probably making rounds. That meant it was the best moment to take action now. No one would do another round soon.

For a moment, he wondered if this was mindless activism, but then he retrieved the medical tools and set to work.

It took him a few tries but he finally managed to open the heavy lock.

The large key rings of the staff were to his advantage now. Their clinging could be heard from afar. In addition, the era typical architecture provided a lot of niches to hide in, or pillars.

The hallways were only dimly lit by lamps far in between and staff sometimes carried a lamp with them, which made them even easier to spot.

Sherlock sneaked through the entire level he was on, cataloguing everything in his path - until he was stopped by a heavy iron gate blocking his way.

Trying to open it was probably possible but unwise at this point. So he headed back past the row of single rooms that were probably like his.

A few doors before his, he heard someone hum in the dark, it sounded a bit frantic and distressed.

After passing his room, he headed down the hallway in the other direction.

He was especially careful when he passed the dormitories. Some of them were frequently checked by bulky carers and others seemed to have an integrated bureau that was permanently manned.

Behind the dormitories were more staff rooms, but they were empty it seemed – then the padded cell, lavatories, and around the corner to the right, the stairway that lead down to the dining hall.

The building was designed to provide stairs at both ends of a ward and after carefully tiptoeing down the stairs he finally reached the ground level, which was his real goal.

It turned out things were much more active downstairs, manned staff rooms and people passing regularly.

He didn't head for the dining hall and the day room; he had already seen their surroundings but went the other direction. He knew the day room had doors to the enclosed airing court but he was looking for other ways out.

Finally, he found a window that looked out the other side of the building, but to his frustration, he saw that it was 'decorated' with cast iron window trellis.

When he rounded a corner to another part of the building, which was perpendicular to the ward building, he was almost spotted. Only his good hearing and fast reflexes saved him, enabled him to hide behind a pillar. The resulting adrenaline rush was - in contrast to what he was used to - hard to endure. It didn't feel exhilarating, only uneasy and maybe a bit distressing.

He found something useful though, doors that lead a part of the building that probably was not a ward.

He silently went down the hallway that connected the ward wing with another part of the building.

At the point where the hallway opened up into a large open area, he could see another iron gate. It was open, but guarded by a man sitting next to a sentry box. No doubt other guards where relaxing in the room behind it.

This hinted at the fact that there might be a direct exit close by.

For some time, he observed the man reading a paper by the poor light of the gas lamp on the wall above him.

Before he had the chance to think of a way to get past him, a door further down the hallway opened and golden light illuminated the ground in front of it.

Out came the familiar silhouette of Cooper, the young man's hunched statue was easy to spot. He was carrying a tablet and Sherlock suddenly remembered that someone might try to bring him another dose of the sleeping draft as he had requested.

Stupid!

Why hadn't he thought of that?

He hurried back to his room, panicked that someone reached it before he did.

On the other hand, if he had been missed, it wouldn't be this calm.

It was essential to get back in and look the door before Cooper was there; if they caught him even once, they would heighten security and make it even harder to escape.

He reached his cell without further incidents, but he was shaking, well aware he had thrown a lot of caution overboard hurrying back like this. It had been pure luck that no one had spotted him.

Look the door was difficult due to his trembling hands. He had barely done so when he heard Cooper approach, which forced him to hide the tools in his bed this time.

Trying to get his breathing in check, he climbed into bed.

.

Of course, Cooper addressed his sweating, agitation and fast respiration, but Sherlock explained that he had just woken from a nightmare and was then offered another dose of the sleeping draft, but he had to take it right now while the carer watched.

Sherlock accepted and Cooper used porcelain measuring spoon and a dropper to mix the medicine.

Sherlock downed it and was urged to lie down flat and not to get up again.

Then Sherlock was left alone.

Still unsettled, he regretted his choice to take the easy way out. It was the opposite of abstinence to give in this easily. On the other hand, he was too exhausted and this was not really a relapse. It was all in his head.

Within minutes, the drug emptied his mind and washed awareness away.

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