Fracture: A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter 6

The Return of My Super Secret Admirer

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ugh, what was that? Blearily, I opened my eyes to the white ceiling above me. My entire body ached, my head pounded, and it felt like a pile of bricks was crushing my chest. Groaning, I relaxed into the pillows behind my head. What had happened?

Car. Crash. Crutches. London. Airport. Airplane. America. New school. Sadie. Statues. Hannah...

Oh. Suddenly, it all came flooding back to me. Explosion, yes.

Shaking, I managed to raise myself into a sitting position, but then a wave of nausea overcame me, and I snatched a blue, plastic basin that was on my bedside table - how convenient.

After I emptied the contents of my already mostly empty stomach - it was basically dry retching - I set the basin back where I'd found it, wrinkling my nose at the smell.

The room was silent - aside from the continuous bleating of the heart monitor, which was, quite frankly, a little annoying. Though, it was reassuring to know that I was alive.

My eyes flickered over to the window. From my vantage point, I could see the overcast sky, promising rain. A hunched figure sat underneath the sill on a hard, plastic chair.

It was my dad. He was sleeping.

And as much as I hated to wake him, I needed answers, so I cleared my throat as loudly as possible. He stirred slightly, sniffed, but otherwise remained the realm of dreams.

"Dad," I whisper-shouted. My voice was hoarse. Again, no response.

Right. Time for a more violent approach.

There was a pad of legal notes also on my bedside table. Reaching through the tubes coming out of my nose, I tore off a sheet and crumpled it into a tight wad. The ball soared through the air easily and bounced off his head.

His eyes snapped open and he lurched out of his chair, arms and legs automatically going into a fighting stance. I merely leaned back against the headboard of the bed and folded my arms, waiting for this to pass.

A few seconds later, he must have realized where he was because he quickly relaxed. "Liam!" he exclaimed, face breaking into an exhausted grin.

"Hi, Dad," I smiled back. "Sorry to wake you, but what happened?"

He groaned, coming over and sitting on the mattress, near my feet. "I'm not sure. The police aren't releasing any details. All I know is that you were involved in a movie theater explosion about -" he checked his watch "- three days ago. Been out cold ever since."

"Oh. Did anybody...?"

"There were nine casualties," he said, not quite meeting my eyes.

"Who?" I asked.

He didn't reply.

"Who?" I demanded, and I could hear my voice shoot up a couple of octaves.

Dad hung his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Liam. Your friend - Hannah didn't make it."

0-0-0-0

For a fourteen year old, I've been in this situation too many times. First, my mother. Now, one of my best friends.

Not as bad.

Of course, the two cases were completely different. I mean, my mum was my mum. I'd known her for literally my entire life. She'd raised me, taught me, loved me.