Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*

Chapter 78- Hospitals, Husbands, and Messy Embraces

Emily's POV

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The noise of machinery.

A white, sterile, thoroughly irritating noise, interrupting the quiet tranquility of the empty space in my head.

Maybe if I can sink back into unconsciousness, it will go away.

It continues regardless; a moment of brief reprieve would just be far too convenient.

I open my eyes.

I'm in hospital?

I blink, hazily, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. I'm in what appears to be an intensive care unit; there's no-one else but me in here. I look down at the hospital gown, papery white and creased, and at the heavy bandaging around my waist. There are drips strung like morbid raffia from both wrists, and pouches of dark red liquid hanging around my head from metal stands. 

Thing is, I'm not really sure why I'm here.

There's the soft click of a door being opened, and a nurse comes in, pausing briefly by the foot of my bed to examine some papers, adjust liquid concentrations and tick off something on her clipboard-

"Where am I?"

She jumps at the sound of my voice, looking up at me with surprise and smiling:

"Oh, good- you've come round. You're in St Thomas', love. Do you need me to up the morphine?"

Morphine? That would explain the foggy confusion that's settled over my head. I can't seem to form a solid thought; it's all very fluid at the moment. It's a bit unsettling. This total lack of feeling.

"How long have I been here?"

"You came in a week ago. The doctors kept you unconscious for a bit, to speed up recovery. You were in a really bad state, bless you. I'll tell them you're awake."

She leans in, twisting the dial to my right, increasing the morphine levels.

I start to feel very tired.

But I can't sleep, not yet. I need answers-

"What happened?"

"Hm? Oh, you came in with a nasty knife wound. You'd lost an awful lot of blood, and there was quite a bit of internal damage. But I expect the doctor will fill you in later, when you're feeling less groggy. You're lucky your friends found you. I heard there was an army doctor on the scene. They called the ambulance-"

But I don't hear anymore, because I can't fight the urge to close my eyes, and I slip into an unwilling, drug-induced sleep.

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When I come round again, I'm much more aware of my surroundings; the numbness has worn off, and, although my abdomen is starting to hurt, I prefer it- I can think properly again. I turn down the dial of my morphine tap, to help clear my head further.

I try to sit up, but the pain is searing, and I make a strangled noise of discomfort, before giving in and sinking back into the pillows, thinking back to the events that put me here.

I remember Moran stabbing me, and the unadulterated pain that elapsed imminently afterwards. I remember digging the knife into his side; a final act of defiance.

I wonder if he's alive.

I think I heard Millie's voice too, for a while, talking- on the phone? But then my memory stops, and all I'm left with is a disconcerting emptiness. I sigh, staring up at the swirled plaster on the ceiling. And then I hear voices outside: