A Game Of Hearts And Minds

CHAPTER XXIV - Pain..

The next morning I woke up in Sherlock's arms, in our soft bed, in our apartment that smelled of tabbacco en old books. At first, I shifted a bit closer to Sherlock and I pushed by back against his warm and muscled chest. We had cuddled more than ever while we were married, and all in one night. It was peaceful. Untill I was woken up, much less than peacefully.

Without a warning, my eyes shot, open and I gasped for air as if I had been holding my breath for an eternity. Beads of sweat dotted my forehead and my chest heaved with each ragged breath. My body trembled with a mix of pain and panic. My hands clutched at my chest, my fingers digging into the edge of the bed knuckles turning white, seeking something solid to ground myself in the midst of the panic.

Sherlock immediately shot up beside me. His usually composed features flickered with a concern as he asked. "Lauraine, what's happening?" His voice held an urgency that echoed in our bedchamber, scanning my eyes for answers.

 I tried to speak, but the pain sliced through my words like a blade. I winced, my chest tightening with every attempt to draw breath. A sense of helplessness washed ove rme, and I felt like I was drowing in the very air I so desperately needed. 

The pain intensified, and my grip on the edge of the bed tightened. My breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle against the invisible force constricting my lungs. ""Sherlock, I can't... breathe. It's getting worse," I managed to choke out, my voice strained and desperate.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed with a steely determination. "Stay with me, my love. We'll be fine, but I need you to focus, okay?"

I nodded, Sherlock's fingers gently pressed against my chest, searching for the epicenter of the pain. I winced, my body tensing under his touch. More beads of sweat gathered on my forehead, and I fought the rising panic threatening to overwhelm me. "Easy, Lauraine. I'm going to do my best to help you through this," Sherlock assured me, his voice a steady anchor in the storm. 

Minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity as Sherlock worked, offering words of reassurance while I clung to the edge of the bed. The pain luckily dulled to a persistent ache, but panic still flickered in my eyes like a trapped animal. With every breath I took, the pain intensified, and it wasn't long before I heard a squeel come out of my throat with every breath. 

Then, the hurried breathing turned into couching and I couched up blood. Sherlock reached to the side of the bed and handed me the towel as I pressed it against my mouth to stop the sprinkles of blood from splattering over our green, silk bedsheets.

"You're alright darling." Sherlock comforted as I finally calmed my breathing enough.

"She-" I tiried, but I had too little air left in my lungs. I took a big gulp of air, ignoring the pain in my chest and continued. "Sherlock, we need." a breath. "to make a plan," another breath. "for Moriarity." I gasped for air.

Sherlock looked at me, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'll think about it, you should rest."

With that, I laid down once again and wiggling my body close to Sherlock's. 

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Not much later I leaned back in my worn leather chair, the subtle creak accompanying the gesture. My eyes fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace, their dance casting shadows that echoed the intricacies of the plan forming in my mind. 

My condition hung like a looming specter in the room, an unspoken truth that bound us all together. John and Mary knew of nothing yet, they just knew about the fact that we wanted to end Moriarity, they didn't know there was a deadline on that.