Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Forty Seven

Sherlock sat on the thinly-cushioned bench in the hospital corridor as the sun rose through the large windows. He was leaning forward, resting his arms across his thighs as he clutched his bloodstained coat. His eyes were stinging – forcing themselves closed. But he wouldn't let himself drift off. John snored gently beside him; sleeping sat upright with his arms folded across his chest, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle. His head had tipped and was resting against Sherlock's side. Sherlock elbowed him lightly, but he didn't budge.

"Mr Holmes?" A man in surgeon's scrubs stepped through a set of heavy double doors.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, standing up immediately.

John's head dropped in the absence of Sherlock's side, causing him to wake suddenly with a snort. He blinked and scratched his head before scrambling to his feet.

"Shall we go somewhere to talk?" asked the surgeon as he glanced around the corridor.

They followed him through the doors to a small, unoccupied consultation room. He closed the door behind the two men and sighed.

"She's out of surgery," he said, leaning against a desk. "The bullet entered on the right above her chest. It shattered her clavicle and sent a fragment of bone into her neck which damaged an artery. So–"

The door opened and Mycroft stepped into the room. He looked as though he had been picked up and shaken; with an unbuttoned collar and pallid complexion.

"Sorry," said the surgeon. "We're in the middle of–"

"Not to worry, this is my brother – aka the British government," said Sherlock. "He'll no doubt be having you and your colleagues sign some hefty non-disclosure agreements. Which I'm assuming is why he's here. Please ignore his presence, as I often do. Continue."

Mycroft frowned at his brother and pushed his hands into his pockets.

The surgeon cleared his throat. "Okay well, as I was saying, we've completed the surgery. We've successfully repaired the artery and we've installed a metal rod and screws to reconstruct her collarbone. But... Mr Holmes, it is my job to be as forthcoming with you as I can be." He stopped for a moment. "I must warn you that just because the surgery was successful, it doesn't mean she's out of the woods yet. Ms Cave suffered major blood loss. Quite frankly, we're all astounded that she survived at all. If it wasn't for the cold temperatures clotting her blood and lowering her heart rate, she would have absolutely bled out."

John's eyes turned immediately to Sherlock, watching as he caught a cry in his throat before it had the chance to surface, inhaling deeply and straightening his back. Then he turned to Mycroft who dropped his gaze to the ground.

"We're going to keep her in a medically induced coma for a few days while we monitor her and try to keep her stable."

"But...?" said Sherlock.

"But... we can't be certain that she will pull through."

"Jesus," John sighed.

"I would advise that if Margaux has any family and friends that wish to see her... well... that they come sooner rather than later."

"Right. Thank you." Sherlock nodded.

"I'll give you all a minute," said the surgeon as he stepped out of the room.

As the three men stood there, it was as if they were still inside Eurus' game – still sad, still prisoners in another small room. The silence was suffocating.

John turned to his friend. "Sherlock... I'm so sorry." He shook his head gently. "But look, there's still a chance. There's still a chance she could..."