Yellow Skittle Sociopaths | Book 1

13: Getting Back Inside

I woke to a bright light being shown from a single source. When I was finally able to force my eyes open wide enough to see where that light was, I was standing in an alleyway--lying is probably a more appropriate word, seeing as I was still in my hospital bed.

"Being dead looks different than I thought it would..." I mumbled to myself, feeling the need to stretch, but couldn't due to the lack of feeling in my body. Talking was even painful at this point, and with a single glance at the level of morphine someone had put on it was easy to understand why.

"Oh, don't be so naive..." Sherlock's voice echoed in the darkness.

I groaned. "It's painful enough to talk, Sherlock...please don't make me..."
He turned on his heels and came into view in the light of the street lamp under which I had most likely been placed by choice of Sherlock, as to keep a better eye on me.

"Very well then," he slid his mini-microscope closed and dropped it in one of his inside-coat pockets. "Don't talk...just...listen," Sherlock spoke, his tone a little more hushed and...

Was that sentimentality or was that the morphine he had me on?

"Sherlock..." I tried weakly. "The morphine--"

"It will help with the pain--"

"Sherlock, I'm dying," my tone was stern. "No amount of morphine can save me. The Chief injected me with some sort of--"

"Did you say she injected you with something?"

"Yeah...?"

"Brilliant!" His eyes lit up as he circled my hospital bed, and took a look at my arm.

"How did you know it was that one?" I asked curiously, although I already knew what the answer was going to entail of.

Well, I deduced this and the outcome couldn't have been anything different than--

"...she injected you in this arm, because she couldn't get past all of the medication on the other side," I let him examen my arm, but didn't wait up to hear what he had to say. My eyes closed and I relaxed into the bed, my consciousness drifting slightly.

"I can't make it with this poison in my system much longer..." I groaned.

"Right, right, right...poison, poison...what do we do with poison we..."

"We can't do anything, Sherlock, it's too late...just give--"

"I will never 'just give up'!" His voice became a cold steel with an unchanging pitch. He was determined to see this through till the end, but that end would not be--at least in his mind--my death.
I looked into his icy blue eyes for only a moment, but that moment was long enough for me to see that, and I chuckled.

"Now who's the naive one..." I whispered, not able to muster up the strength for anything louder.

"You want me to prove it? Fine, I'll call right now."

"Call--wait--what--"

Sherlock flipped out his phone. He dialed a number I wasn't familiar with--I could tell because of the sound combination--but what I could tell, was that he was using some other area code to make the call. He either wasn't used to calling in America yet, or he had someone else in mind.

"Good morning, brother dear," Sherlock greater, a sickly bitter-sweet smile grew on his lips. "You aren't on your way to America now, are you?"
His answer must have been 'no', because Sherlock continued. "Fantastic! Now, I need you to go over to Molly's and tell her I need an antidote. After that came a chuckle from Sherlock's end. "Of course not, it's for...an associate. No not John! John's...busy. Just tell her! I'll fax you the information; bring the antidote here as fast as you can, it's a life or death situation."