Deduce Me

Seventeen: Something Exciting

Sherlock

I struggled to consciousness slowly, gaining my hearing back first. I heard a voice next to me. I tried to concentrate on the words.

"Sherlock, it's been almost four days now, and I'm wondering if you're ever going to wake up. Your brother is worried about you... Hell, we're all worried about you. Me especially. Mary, Molly, Irene, Lestrade, Mycroft... They've all been to see you."

By this time, I was getting feeling back, and I could feel a hand gripping mine. Still, I continued to listen.

"We miss you, Sherlock. I miss you. I don't know what I'll do if I have to wait another four days without hearing your voice. Please wake up, Sherlock. Please."

I squeezed his hand, then fluttered my eyes open to see John staring at me wide-eyed.

"What?" I croaked, my voice hoarse from not using it for, apparently, four days. "You didn't think I'd actually die, did you? That would have been awfully ambitious of me." I smiled. "Have a little more faith."

John, after having apparently overcome his initial shock, threw himself on me, tears threatening to brim over his eyes. "You... You, twat!" He cried before simply squeezing me tighter against his chest. My ribs ached, but I didn't care. "You were taking a long time to wake up...I missed you."

I placed a hand, being careful of the IV, on his head, turning my face to his and softly landing my lips on his cheekbone. "I missed you too, John. I'm sorry."

He pulled back to hold my hand again. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Sher. It's Anderson I'm pissed at. Mycroft was able to get him suspended, but only for a little while. A week or so. He'll be back."

"I don't want to talk about him, not now," I said. That jackass would have to be dealt with another time. Because standing in the door, right this second, was my brother.

"Ah, Sherlock, you're awake," Mycroft drawled.

"Mmm. What is it this time?"

"Sherlock," John warned me, "he's your brother, and you're in the hospital. There doesn't have to be a reason-"

"No, no, John, he's right... I am here for something. But not for me, really. A case. I've talked Greg's father- he's Detective Inspector- into letting you in on it. He says he'd be thrilled to have someone new on the scene, as long as you promise to stay mostly out of the way."

"Who was it?" I asked. Ooh, I liked the sound of this case. A murder, by Mycroft's demeanor. A murder! Finally, something exciting is going on!

"What? Who was what? I'm confused..."

"Jamie Clark, one of the boys who attacked you, was found dead this morning." And with that, Mycroft gave his usual condescending smile, nodded at John, quirked an eyebrow at me, and walked off, umbrella clicking on the tiled floor.

John looked almost sick, but I smiled. "Well, come along then, John," I jumped out of the bed. I was still very sore, but I couldn't be bothered with that at the moment. "A case is afoot!"

John

"Sherlock, you can't bloody leave! You're still healing!!" I sat dumbfounded as he gently pulled the IV drip out of his arm. "You- you just woke up from a bloody coma! You can't just waltz out of here!"

But Sherlock was already pulling on his clothes, which had been left on a chair in the corner. "Oh, John, you worry too much. I feel fine! A bit sore, I'll admit."

"Well I should think so; you've two broken ribs (luckily they didn't puncture anything), a beaten face, and you're covered from head to toe in bruises. You had a concussion. The doctors put you in a coma for a reason, you know." I stood to help him into his shirt, which he was having difficulty getting on due to his ribs.