𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 || 𝐁𝐁𝐂 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

28: The Envelope

Was I dead? I wasn't sure, but then again, I was in too much pain to be dead, so that was unlikely. My body felt heavy like it was underwater.

I became more aware of my surroundings; I began to hear voices.

No, I wasn't going crazy, at least, I didn't think I was. I was hearing the voices of real people.

The smell of antiseptic filled my nose. I assumed that I must be in a hospital.

My head throbbed painfully along with my throat. And my leg. Come to think of it, there weren't many places on my body that didn't hurt. I slowly opened my eyes, blinking rapidly as I tried to adjust to their sudden exposure to bright light. It was then that I saw who was sitting next to me. Sherlock Holmes sat on a chair beside the hospital bed, and a nurse was looking at him, her bottom lip quivering as tears filled her eyes.

"Your mother recently died but you were not close to her, she left you the ring you are wearing, you wear it on your finger to remember her, but it looks dirty. You don't clean a memento like that regularly. So you must have had a strained relationship with her. Did you manage to reconcile before her death? Probably not, you probably feel guilty, and wear that ring to remind yourself of what you did. Your boyfriend also recently broke up with you and you have resorted to drinking quite heavily to drown your sorrows, judging by the increased weight, as seen by the obvious stretch marks on your arms," Sherlock rattled off.

"Sherlock."

My voice sounded raspy to my ears, that one word triggering a coughing fit. Sherlock looked up in surprise, the nurse coming over to begin the tedious process of checking my temperature and vitals.

At that moment, John came in carrying two Styrofoam cups of coffee.

His eyes widened when he saw that I was awake.

"Oh my god, Alex! Are you okay? What the hell happened to you?" he fussed. I smiled as the nurse left the room.

"Would you believe me if I told you I tripped?"

Sherlock frowned at me.

"You were lucky you were found alive, barely," he said. I frowned.

"How did you find me? How did you even know where I was?" The whole event was bizarre, and I did not expect to be rescued.

"The fire brigade got an anonymous tip-off about an out of control fire at the warehouse they found you in. They got there just in time. another ten minutes and you would not have survived." Sherlock told me this sombrely.

But I focused on a vital piece of information. An anonymous tip-off. Whoever was behind this didn't want me dead. But they didn't mind me suffering, that much was certain.

"What were you doing there?" John asked curiously. Sherlock looked at me expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer that I didn't want to give.

"I don't know how to put this, but... It's none of your business," I said.

Sherlock scowled at me, and in return, I stuck my tongue out at him childishly. John still looked worried, and I attempted to reassure him that I was perfectly fine. He looked at me doubtfully.

I pulled out the IV from my arm and swung my legs out from the bed.

John protested, insisting that I needed to remain in bed. I waved him off.

"I'm fine John, chill a little," I said. I tried to stand up and immediately collapsed, folding like a lawn chair. Luckily John managed to grab me just in time before I ate shit.

Upon locating the source of my sudden collapse, I shrieked. Thinking I was in pain, Sherlock shot up and rushed over to help me back into the bed. The source of my shriek was the cast on my right ankle.