Deduce Me

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Hospital

Sherlock

John. He was the first thing on my mind when I woke up. When did I fall asleep? I squinted my eyes open, the harsh whiteness of the hospital room blindingly bright. Somewhere to the right of me, I heard the faint beeping of my heart monitor.

We had arrived at the hospital shortly after we were saved. I'm still not sure how DI Lestrade had been able to cover up the explosion... Maybe I don't want to know. John and I were taken to separate wings in the hospital for the next few days, seeing as John had more... psychological wounds to worry about. I winced at the thought, remembering the cause of the psychological problems. Most people were amazed that I had made it out without any sort of mental issues, but I knew it was from years and years of suppressing my emotions.

"Ah, you're awake," Mycroft murmured from beside me. I glanced over. Deep shadows under tired eyes-- he hasn't slept properly in days. Stiff joints-- he stayed in that hard plastic chair all night. Gripping the handle on his umbrella- he's irritated with something.

"Mycroft."

"They've given you morphine..." he informed me. So that's why I'm feeling so good. "I warned them not to give you too much of it, considering your... history... with the drug." He twisted his mouth into a grimace. "I don't think they listened."

"Where's John?"

"He's asleep, last I checked. His sister is here with him... Although she's often gone, fueling her alcoholism." He paused, and then his voice grew quiet. "Our parents are here as well, almost worried sick."

I snorted. "Almost." He gripped his umbrella tighter. Irritated with our parents.

"Well, Mummy is. She's just gone to get something to drink. Father is... Well, the word 'careless' comes to mind. To be honest, I think he would have stayed in Paris if it weren't for Mummy forcing him to hurry back. They came home early once I informed them that the two of you were... missing." Mycroft dipped his head low on the last word. "I am so sorry, Sherlock, I... I'm sorry it took so long for us to find you. I had no idea what was going on, but..." He had tears spilling out of his eyes. I carefully reached over and placed my hand over his, silently telling him that it was okay. He wiped his eyes quickly. "What happened, exactly? I figured it had something to do with Moriarty, but I still had no clue..."

I told him the jist of what happened, not wanting to go into too much detail. "Moriarty?" I asked finally, my curiosity burning.

He shook his head. "Dead. We set off the explosion, but we never found a body afterwards. The entire building was reduced to a pile of ash. There was no way he escaped that. He's gone, Sherlock."

I nodded. I took a long look at my brother, who has always been there for me when I needed him. "This may be the drugs talking," I confessed, "but... Thank you, Mycroft."

His eyes grew wide and started to fill again. He patted my hand carefully, and, without a word, stood and walked out of my room.

I looked to the spotless white ceiling above me and sighed.

>>>

John was moved to my room a few days later. I was on the road to recovery, but he had much more substantial injuries. I looked over to him. "Hey," I whispered.

"Hi," he smiled. It's been two weeks since I've seen him smile, even just a little.

"How are you feeling?" I asked. "Mycroft couldn't tell me anything about what's going on with you."

John sighed heavily. "Well... My shoulder was disconnected. The doctors were able to put it back in place, but it hurt like hell. I have internal bruising, but luckily no damaged organs, so they put me on some medication and instructed me to 'rest and heal.'" He frowned. John is not really one to just sit around, after all. "And I, uh... I have a limp when I walk. It hurts really badly, actually. But my leg isn't actually injured, so..."