(Sherlock x Reader) Never trust those who are never truthful

Chapter 17 - Survival

Sherlock Holmes was never one to favour the press. Especailly when they made him wear the funny hat. So when they inevitably found out about well...you know, he was one of the first people to be hounded about it.  Whenever he was out of the hosptial after a long visit of just well, watching I guess, you, he was immediately asked questions about how the hell you were and what happened. So on and so forth. It seemed that the only reason he was not biting the head off of yet another reporter was because of the oh so gracious Molly Hooper who up until recently was fetching numerous cups of coffee for a very angry and crabby Sherlock. If I'm going to be honest I feel that the very sweet Molly is in fact made of steel and has no fear even if she appears like an innocent little girl on the outside. This is because not even John Watson dared to wake the dragon.

John had decided to leave Sherlock alone ever since he threatened to possibly slit his throat if he even laid a finger on you. This was in the ambulance to the hospital seeing as John had finally gotten to the warehouse in time to perhaps save even one more life. For that you would be ever grateful but Sherlock just felt that he had disappointed the both of you for not being there fast enough. Hence the even more frequent insults and over-protectiveness, even if you were bleeing profusely from the right side of your chest. He seemed to try to forget John's presence from then on; not even answering any of the health questions needed to ensure you lived. He was a stubborn one. He even refused to have his own treatment until he knew that you were okay and weren't going to, god forbid it, die.

Molly was used to his rash comments so I assumed that it only be natural for him to be calling her such harsh names, but even she was beggining to wear thin. Sherlock had hardly left your side since you had been admitted and he had even refused his own treatment because he was so wworried over you. Molly came to the conclusion that it was only his love for you that meant why he was acting like this but then again she could be completely wrong and it could actually be something entirely different and nothing to do with you, but she was fairly sure it was. He hadn't had a cigarette for about a week for gods sakes!

His daily toilet break was about due and so he decided that you would be able to survive on your own for five minutes at least. He just about left the door when a man, rudely might he add, bumped into him and spilled coffee everywhere.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry sir, please let me help." Sherlock analysed him as he flustered about trying to find a tissue or napkin the now brown stained shirt that was surely burning his skin. The man had sandy hair and dark eyes, too dark. He had dark circles under his eyes and judging by the caffine percentage in the coffee, no milk no sugar, he seemed to have not slept in about four days. Sherlock decided to pity the man, your finger movement that day cheering him up and allowing hsi good mood to be generous.

"No need to worry," he smiled and walked off, leaving the fumbling man to clear up his disaster by himself. Sherlock would never be that generous. Well unless it were you. Even if you had killed all those people he had somehow, before the incident, broken through that tough exterior and saaw the real you. He just hoped you would accept things as they were, him knowing everything about what you'd done, well nearly everything.

It was ten minutes later that he returned to your room, his passing of solids not as quick as he'd like. he'd have to put that in the spread sheet. Hospital food had never agreed with him after all. He was pondering what they actually put in the prrodge when he arrived back, but as soon as he stepped through the door he knew something was wrong. The balance, if you would call it that, of the room wasn't the same. There was something odd. Then he realised it, dropping the napkin he was drying his hands with and his mouth going slack. He rushed out of the room immediatey asking for a nurse or doctor, anyone to help him. Anyone to help you.

No one would listen to him, no one was noticing him. he rushed back to your room. Breathing heavily, too heavily to be normal fear. He ran to your side, looking at the newly injected IV cord, trying to inspect it without pulling the filmsy plastic out. Scared that he might hurt you, making you bleed in anyway, he moved on. Trying frantically to find the emergancy button he scrambled, his fingers flying here and there. His mind not clear, he didn't notice at all when someone entered the room behind him. He turned and was pushed into his chair quickly, his eyes then focusing on the man in front of him.

It was the same one as before except, well something in his eyes had changed. And his outfit, obviously. "Shhhhh," he said then pressing a finger to Sherlock's lips and he put a more than firm hand on his shoulder, "don't want to wake her do you? Well not just yet." He then smiled, something not quite right about it, a little odd. Reminded him strikingly of Moriarty. Frighteningly so.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock's eyes still darting about the plcae, his thoughts replicating their frantic movement in his head. Had he been wrong? Surely he couldn't read someone so wrongly? Was he slipping again? These thoughts bounced around and around creating a white noise in his mind, making it hard to focus on anything.

"We just want to help her, but she can't know. Not yet," The man stepped back and smiled again, making Sherlock uncomfortable in his seat. "No more questions either, I'm sure she'll tell you soon enough." His eyes then flicked over to you sleeping soul, "She'll be waking up soon. As soon as she does remove the IV I inserted, she won't be needing it anytime soon. Well I hope not,2 he laughed then before his eyes turned darker. "Anyway, this conversation never happened, remember?" Sherlock nodded. "Good, She'll be waking up in fifteen seconds, see you around."

As the man exited through the door Sherlock shouted, demanding an answer, "Who are you?"

"A friend," the man winked and then was gone, without a trace as if he never existed. Did he? Was he just a figment of Sherlock's imagination or was he actually real. perhaps he was just a way Sherlock's mind had found to cope with the fact that you might be a vegtable if you ever woke up. He shook his head and decided to go back into the room. Back to his normal position and his usual mood, grumpy and disagreeable. He sighed and closed his eyes slowly, knowing that the man wasn't really real and he'd just created a coping mechanism.

"Sherlock?" a croaky voice called from beside him, making him jump almost ten foot in the air. He snapped his eyes open and couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, the person he loved and knew was alive and well, or near enough. His eyes brimming with tears he smiled, wiping them away he realised what had just happened. The man was right, you had woken up.

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A/N - I'm so sorry i haven't updated in ages but here we go, enjoy. A new plot!