"Affair, lost pet, robbery... Priceless brooch stolen–"
"Dull. Are there no proper crimes being committed nowadays?"
John had been at 221B for forty minutes now and not a single case in Sherlock's mailbox was deemed worth his time. The one about a possible murderous cat genuinely had the army doctor interested.
"I told you we should look at the missing brother–"
Sherlock tskd. "Took the sister-in-law's money and ran. Gambling addiction."
"How do you–"
"You read the email aloud, you just didn't pay attention."
John tried his best not to throw something at his big, cocky, arrogant, arsehole... head. "Why wouldn't the sister-in-law say anything to–"
"Dirty money." Sherlock ruffled his hair. "Augh! Nothing above a five, and that's at a push. I'm bored, John! Oh," he snaps his fingers. "We could see if there's anything happing in Urgent Care, maybe someone's been attacked!"
"Only you would sound overjoyed at the prospect of someone traumatised." John narrowed his eyes. "Is Eve working in Urgent Care today?"
Sherlock said nothing.
"Do you just call me over to entertain you while Eve is busy?"
Sherlock looked anywhere but at him. "No?"
"Brilliant. Thanks. Nice to know I'm wanted."
"We have cases to solve!"
"You literally just said they're all below a five."
"Well, never know what might crop up! Maybe a serial killer will spring into view."
"Just what everyone asks the wish fairy for."
Sherlock huffed, slapping his arms down in a motion not dissimilar to Rosie when she's told no. "Do you ever stop complaining?"
"You dragged me here away from my wife and child just to pass the time while your girlfriend is at work." That was not a sentence John Watson ever imagined he'd say.
"I never said they couldn't come as well. Actually, I think I'd prefer Rosamund over you right now–" The sound of his mobile ringing made them both freeze. John raised an eyebrow, Sherlock grinned. "See? Hopefully something interesting." Sherlock pulled the phone from his pocket and pressed it to his ear. "Sherlock Holmes."
"Oh, good," the voice started. "I'm calling from Barts hospital, wondering if you could update us on Evelyn Wilson's whereabouts? You're down as an emergency contact, hoped you might have an idea."
Sherlock felt his brows knit together. Not a case. Just an idiot. "Her shift started two hours ago."
"Yes, but she hasn't shown, and we can't seem to get ahold of her."
For an idiot, what they had to say suddenly made his throat feel like it was constricting. John was staring at him, trying to read the situation.
"I will go to her flat and see if there's a problem."
"Good, thank you. This is obviously very out of character for her–"
"Yes, I'm aware. I'll get Evelyn to call you."
"Thank–" Sherlock hung up before they could delay him any longer with never ending witless babble.
In that time John had stood up from behind the laptop. "What's wrong?"
"Eve hasn't gone into work."
John let out a small laugh. "Is that it? She's probably overslept or something–"
Sherlock went to grab his coat but second guessed himself, London was in a bit of a heatwave and even he had to accept that sometimes his favourite armour was too much.
"Eve doesn't miss a shift unless she's severely ill, John, and she certainly wouldn't have made no contact with her superior to let them know." He turned on John. "Do you still keep a medical bag here?"
"Why would I keep–" Sherlock raised his eyebrows. John sighed. "Yes."
"Good. Get it and let's go."
———
John thought this was a bad idea. Maybe Eve had a rubbish morning and decided to bail on work? In Sherlock's defence that didn't sound like her at all. Eve loved her job and always had a high standard she lived by because of that. Never late, always thorough, and she had an excellent bedside manner. He remembered once that she actually got scolded for taking too long with patients because she liked to listen and make them feel heard. Heaven forbid the NHS was kind as well as efficient.
"She might not want to be disturbed, Sherlock."
The taller man glanced back at him as he unlocked the front door, luckily with an actual key. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."
"Seriously, you?"
"Intuitions are not to be ignored, John.They represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend."
"Right. Sure."
The door opened and Sherlock immediately walked down the hall and into the living room. "Work bag still on the hook. All her shoes are there, so she can't have gone out. Evelyn?" He opened the bathroom door, briefly looking in. "Light is on, nothing used in the past few hours." Then he picked up a half empty mug from the kitchen side. "Stone cold. Sat overnight."
John watched his friend bounce from place to place, moving so fast he was almost a blur. "When did you last see her?"
"Two days ago. Worked the late shift yesterday, didn't get in until three so she had to get some sleep."
"And... She doesn't get sleep when you're around?"
Sherlock glowered, eyes rolling. "I was going to meet her after work today." The only room left now was her bedroom, unless she was hiding in the pantry, which seemed implausible. "Evelyn?" Still no response.
John tried to keep up. "Stop panicking."
"Evelyn?!" He called again, completely ignoring the advice he was given and charging towards the bedroom, swinging the door open. "Evie..."
She sat on the edge of her bed, half dressed with her jeans on but no top, bra strap twisted and had only one shoe on with the laces dangling down. She was sickly pale with dark circles under her eyes. She looked, for lack of a better word, awful, and Sherlock found that he couldn't move.
John pushed into the room. "Jesus, Eve," John moved swiftly, taking her limp wrist in hand to check her pulse, dropping his bag onto the mattress. "What on earth has happened?"
Evelyn seemed to ignore John, looking up at Sherlock with glassy eyes. "Why are you here?"
Hearing her voice sent a jolt through him. Finally, Sherlock dropped to his knees in front of her, touching her arm and feeling the heat radiating from it. "Barts called, said you hadn't shown and they couldn't get hold of you," he gave her a nervous lopsided smile. "You've put me down as an emergency contact."
Her voice was quiet and hoarse. "Well, you are my boyfriend."
"Exactly, so of course I'm here." Sherlock cupped her face, tipping her head back to look into her eyes. "She looks so ill, John. Ill enough to need a doctor."
"I'm a doctor," she said. "I need to go to work."
Sherlock slipped his finger under the strap of her bra, fixing the uncomfortable kink. "No, Evie, you need medical attention." He pulled off the one shoe she's managed to get on by herself, glancing at his best friend nervously. "John?"
"Yeah, I can only do so much under the circumstances–"
Evelyn hunched over, doing her best in the current state she was in to avoid either of the men, and vomited onto the floor, luckily they both remained clean. "Okay," Sherlock was pulling her hair out her face, keeping grip on her shoulders in case she was to topple. "You're alright, I've got you."
Evelyn sobbed and grimaced, trying to pull away from him.
"I'm sorry, oh god– I'm so sorry–"
"You have nothing to apologise for. Evie, look at me," Sherlock soothed her cheeks. "My Evie. We're going to take you to hospital." She started to protest, her trembling hands touching his jacket. "You're shaking like a leaf and the temperature coming off you is hotter than a radiator in winter. Try to take a deep breath."
She was frowning down at him, speech slurred. "This isn't very sexy."
Sherlock smiled weakly. "You're beautiful, just unwell."
John was still timing her pulse. "Sherlock, we need to go."
His stomach felt like it was plummeting to the ground. "What's wrong with her, John?"
"I'm not sure, but this isn't just a stomach bug. Her heart rate is barely fifty beats per minute, no wonder she can hardly keep her head up."
Evelyn suddenly went stiff, eyes rolling to the back of her head.
"Eve? Eve?!" Sherlock eased her back on the bed, kneeling on the mattress. His eyes were wide, panic stricken, whole body going cold. "J–John, what's happening?"
John pulled back her eyelids, shining a light across her face with the torch from his shirt pocket. "Seizure. You need to call an ambulance."
"I can't leave her, I–I–"
John looked sternly at his friend. "I know this is difficult, but I'm going to look after her, just call the ambulance. I save the life, remember?"
Sherlock hesitantly stepped back, fumbling his mobile out of his trouser pocket. The dial tone barely rang.
"Which service do you require?"
"Ambulance."
There was a loud beep. "Ambulance service, is the patient breathing?"
"Yes, I think– I... John, is s–she breathing?"
John glanced back at Sherlock, suddenly only just fully registering that the usually stoic man was a total mess. He held his arm out to take the phone. "Alright, it's alright, Sherlock. Give it to me."
Sherlock moved so fast he almost dropped the phone, handing it over as if the item was burning him. Then he was at Evelyn's side once more. "You're going to be fine, John knows what he's doing."
Her eyes began to move frantically before they settled, staring blankly at the ceiling for a moment, then looking at him. He tried to offer a soothing smile.
"You're alright. You have to be alright."
"The ambulance is coming, Sherlock. Keep calm and keep talking to her."
Sherlock soothed hair back from her face, locking his hand with hers. He felt a lot of things right then, but calm was not one of them.
———
Sherlock paced back and forth. "Last week she wasn't right, kept dismissing it as fatigue, but I knew something was off. I should have pushed for her to go to the walk in or–"
"Eve is stubborn," John hesitated to touch his friend's shoulder. "She's in the right place–"
Suddenly, catching John off guard completely, Sherlock sobbed. The sound was deep and unexpected, torn from him without consent. Sherlock pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, growling. "I'm supposed to protect her! What use am I? What use is this?!" He poked his temple harshly. "If I can't protect her?"
"You can't see the future, mate."
"That's not good enough."
John realised there wasn't much way of reasoning with Sherlock right now. "I know this hurts, I couldn't even imagine..." he shook his head. "You need to keep it together. Right now, in this room, you can lose it. You can cry and shout and do whatever you need to do, but then you have got to keep it together." Sherlock took a weighted shaking breath, John gave an encouraging nod. "She will be okay."
Sherlock did as he was advised. He let himself openly cry in front of his friend, let himself rant and rave about how useless he felt, but the second a nurse knocked on the door he pulled himself together. He held it together while the medical staff explained what they had found in her blood work, while they explained her current condition.
When they told him she would be fine and ready to go home in a day or so, his knees gave way, John just about catching him before he fell to the floor. The panic and adrenaline leaving his body while the relief set in was too much.
When they led him to her room he moved quickly to sit down in the chair beside her.
"She's been poisoned," Sherlock said, his grip on her hand so tight his knuckles were almost white. "Someone has been poisoning her over a short period of time, lacing her coffee," Neither man was entirely sure why Sherlock was repeating what they both already knew, but it seemed to keep him focused on something. He dropped his head. "They've been making her weak, letting her get better, then repeating the cycle. They obviously put a little extra in last time."
John was stood at the end of her bed. "She's going to be okay, Sherlock. You heard the nurse, she'll be out of here in no time."
"This was planned. Whoever is responsible–" he took a deep breath. "They planned this, to get to me. It must be a warning or ... It's my fault."
"Who, though? You've kept a relatively low profile recently–"
"I don't know!"
"Brother mine," Mycroft appeared in the doorway, umbrella clenched uncharacteristically firm. "How is she?"
John shook his head.
Sherlock sniffed harshly. "They say she'll be recovered in a few days."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"She'll likely be tender for the next week, may even struggle keeping food down. I'll have to keep an eye. She's had her stomach pumped, now they're filling her with vitamins and fluids. She's been in and out of consciousness, incredibly weak–"
"Brother," Sherlock closed his eyes at the tone, sighing. "You are allowed to be human, let yourself feel this, don't bottle yourself up within the facts."
John looked between the siblings, surprised.
Sherlock kissed the back of Eve's hand. "I'm doing nothing but feel it, Mycroft. This is my fault."
Mycroft Holmes looked at the ground. "It is possible I have something to get the investigation going."
Sherlock rounded on his brother. "Tell me."
"I had my suspicions about a new colleague. His name was not on any of my databases."
John rubbed his temples. "Your databases are all the databases, Mycroft. Come on."
The younger Holmes has his jaw clenched.
"The man in question has not been seen for two days. I have no trace on him."
For a brief moment there was an eerie silence, Mycroft bracing himself for whatever was coming his way.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Sherlock didn't shout, in fact his voice was quiet, disappointed, and yet Mycroft flinched. "I am sorry. I have pulled security footage, plus imaging from one of my own cars."
"This has to be something bigger. Who would try to kill Evelyn for the sake of it? She wouldn't hurt a fly!" John was drained, hands on hips as he paced the floor. The sound of his phone vibrating in his pocket caused him to sigh. "I need to update Mary, she's going spare at home."
As John Watson left the room, Mycroft stepped farther into it. "Sherlock–"
"All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."
Mycroft swallowed a lump in his throat. "I no longer believe that, little brother. Caring is an advantage, it makes life worth living, and you've found your person to spend that life with."
"Until someone I've pissed off makes an appearance, some nut job with a vendetta. My heart is exposed now, Mycroft. It is quite literally outside of my own chest." Sherlock looks around to Mycroft. "How do I protect her?"
"I will do everything in my power to keep her safe."
"It's not enough."
"Don't do what you're thinking of doing, Sherlock. It will not help." Mycroft moved closer, touching his brother's shoulder. "Even separated, your heart belongs to her, there will still be people who would use that."
Sherlock's bottom lip quivered. "I don't know what to do, Mycroft."
"You will take Evelyn home when she is ready, and you will look after her until she is well again. We will find who did this, you have my word." Mycroft looked at his watch. "Go home, brother. Collect some items together for Dr. Wilson and you can bring them over when you've had a few hours rest."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I have an armed guard in the hall, and I am willing to stay until–"
"No," his head shook. "I'm not leaving, not until she's awake and has the chance to tell me herself what she may need. I feel physically unable to remove myself from her."
Mycroft looked terribly afraid for his little brother, but nod to show he understood. "Very well. I will make it clear that visiting hours do not apply to you in this circumstance."
Sherlock turned to watch Mycroft heading for the door once more. "Thank you," he muttered. "I appreciate the guard."
Mycroft smiled gently. "The least I could do. I will check in with you tomorrow." Then he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
He had a lot of work to do.