Disregard the Danger [BBC Sherlock - Johnlock, Warstan & Johnlockary]

Not the only crazy one

She wakes and sees Wiggins and shouts in alarm.

That’s what she intends to do, at least; what comes out is a grunt.

She doesn’t end up trying again, because while she’s coming to, she realizes that Wiggins didn’t poison her, doesn’t have any dastardly scheme. At least, nothing more dastardly than listening to Sherlock.

She realizes this primarily because Wiggins won’t shut up once her eyelids flutter open. “D’you want some water? You should prob’ly have some water. You can’t tell me yet whether you want it, ‘course. But I think you should. No more tea, though, the tea is drugged. I thought just the punch, thought the tea wouldn’t cover the taste, but ‘e said people don’t notice a thing. Gave me a lecture about the setting of expectations and the science of disguise. I don’t think he was just talking about tea, at that point. ‘E likes to show off. And ‘e’s a bit lonely, yeah? Didn’t expect ‘im to have such normal parents, though, I must say.”

She’s only half listening, if that. The baby. How’s the baby? Sherlock planned this; he had her drugged for some reason. He wouldn’t hurt the baby, would he? No, he wouldn’t; she’s utterly certain. Not on purpose. But possibly by accident. What the fuck is he doing? “Turns out ‘e was right about the tea,” Wiggins is still blathering. “You all drank it just fine. ‘E’s usually right. Not always, but usually. ‘T’s a bit annoying, don’t you think? -- You want some water? No, you still can’t tell me, I know. I’ll go get water.”

He does. As he holds the glass up to her lips, he says, “Nice to have someone awake again. You woke first, because I had to dose you lighter to be safe -- and there’s two of you.” She grunts. “Oh, the baby’s fine. Promise. ‘E checked my calculations and my chemistry five times. When I grumbled about it, ‘e grabbed my shoulders like a vise, and ‘e told me that nothing was more important than making sure you were both all right, certainly not worrying about slights to my ‘abundant but not entirely deserved pride.’” He does a passable, if exaggerated rendition of Sherlock as he rubs his shoulder. “More water?”

Wiggins continues chatting at her while she slowly regains motor functions -- and feels her daughter kicking reassuringly. She tries to ask where John and Sherlock are, but it comes out softly and slowly, and he just talks over her. By the time she’s sitting up and starting to drink her own water and about to make another attempt, Mycroft comes thundering unsteadily into the room like a drunken giraffe.

“What has he done?” he asks, glowering at Wiggins and slurring his words. “What has my brother done?”

“I don’t know,” Wiggins says. “He didn’t tell me. Just told me I couldn’t come in the helicopter. Took his other friend, though,” he adds sourly.

Mycroft looks murderous. Then he wobbles and nearly falls, catching himself on the door. Muttering to himself, he reaches into his waistcoat and removes something small, which he places in his mouth. A moment later, he’s no longer wobbling. He pulls out his phone and places a call. “Contingency seventy one,” he says, still watching Wiggins, who is quiet and subdued beneath his stare.

Mycroft hangs up. He says quietly to Wiggins, “I trust that my brother would not have had you inflict any permanent damage upon our parents. But if anything has happened to them, I will hold you accountable as well as him.”

“‘E said you’d say that,” Wiggins says. “Said to tell you it was only a quarter as risky as the time he blew up the kitchen.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Oh, excellent.” But he looks slightly mollified. Then turns to Mary. “Are you all right?”

She nods, pleased that she can now control her head reasonably well. Mycroft is way ahead of her, though. “Pill?” She asks, eyebrows raised. He clearly took something that sped his metabolism of the drug, and she wants some. Badly.