Strangest Stranger

5

I wake up, not sure where I am. Wait...I know now. The way the light pours into the room tells me that I' m in Sherlock's room. Funny, I don't remember even coming in here. I remember that I came back from the hospice to Sherlock's flat because he asked me to get something, and I ended up in here. "Right. Let's grab the thing he wants, and go to the hospital." I say to myself. I grab his small box of nicotine patches, and head out to catch a cab.

In the cab, I start to doze off, so I jerk awake when we pull up to the hospital. I climb out of the cab, and walk casually through the doors, hoping no one notices my bulging pocket. I go into the room Sherlock's in, and sit in the chair next to the window.

Sherlock's sleeping, with the occasional mutter or spasm of his body. I bet he's having a nightmare or he's reliving what had happened. I don't know but I feel bad for him. He took a bullet for me. I should've just taken it instead of him. It pains me to see him this way. But why did he do it? He could be pulling my strings about having feelings for me, but how do I know for sure? His words just keeping bouncing around in my skull.

There's a loud gasp, and I turn to see Sherlock hunched over, clutching his side where he was shot. "Oh, ow, ow, ow, ow, this one feels worse than the others! What...happened?"

I say, surprisingly calm, "You took a bullet for me, though I could've taken it. Why'd you do it?"

He says, carefully laying back down, and adjusting some tubes on him, "You know why. I told you. I blacked out after, remember?"

I say, harshly, "Actually, you died right after, but we revamped you, so you could be Sherlock Holmes a bit more."

After a few minutes of silence, he asks, "What did you do? You know...when I died?"

"Honestly, I cried...a lot. Even when they revived you, I cried. I was devastated then ecstatic."

"Why?"

I roll my eyes. Does he really need to ask dumb questions? I say, getting up, "I got what you asked for." I hold out the box, and he takes it, gingerly. But before I could move, his hand grabs mine, the other placing the box on the table next to the bed, then finds mine.

He asks, looking at our hands, "Do you remember what I said before I" he winces "died?"

"Yes, but I'm having a hard time believing you. John told me about your past 'relationships', if you could even call them that, and they all sounded very fake to me. So I don't know if you were just caught up in the moment, or if you actually mean it."

"It's not like that, I"

"Then prove it."

"Alright, get my clothes."

"Why?"

He pulls the tubes off his body, wincing a little, then stands up. I giggle a little as I hand him his clothes. Good thing he's wearing something around his waist, or I would've just seen a lot more of him than I bargained for! (just kidding about the bargain thing) He goes into the bathroom, then comes out a moment later, looking like his normal self.

He stumbles, but I run to him, even though he regains his balance, saying, "I'm fine, I'm fine." He tries to object to my help, but he lets me hold his hand, just in case he falls again. He says, "It's cold out there. Did you bring a coat?"

I shake my head. I smile, saying, "I borrowed yours. And your scarf." He grabs his coat, stuffs the box of patches in one of the pockets, then puts the coat on me. He hands me his scarf too, saying, "I'll be fine. I wouldn't want you catching a cold." I'm not telling him, but he just proved it.

We walk out of the room, only to be caught by John, Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson. Sherlock doesn't let go of my hand, even though I attempt to, thinking that he'd be embarrassed or something. Instead, he says, "Hello. I'm feeling much better, and was just going out to get some fresh air."

We were almost to the elevator, when Sherlock turns, and says, "Oh and Anderson, you should wear a different cologne. Donovan doesn't like it." Anderson turns his attention to Donovan, and she just looks to Sherlock, who says, "Laters!" and pulls me into the elevator with him.

It's quiet in the elevator, until Sherlock blurts, "You know, you are very...beautiful to me, right?"

I freeze and my heart stops too. Did he just- "Did you just?" I accidentally say out loud, and glance up at him, wide-eyed.

He's just smirking, adorably, saying, "Did I just what?"

I roll my eyes again, wondering why he's choosing now to play dumb. The elevator door open, and I step out into the brisk cold of London. We're on the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Sherlock pulls me along as he's walking to the ledge. We pass a suspicious stain, and I say, "Um, what"

"Moriarty. That's Moriarty's blood. The same man that shot me, in case you were wondering."

"If he lost that much blood, how is he still alive?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

Whoa, Sherlock and I are thinking the same thing!? I ask, "What...what did you do after Moriarty shot himself?"

Sherlock turns to me from looking over the edge, and says, "He had a huge threat hanging over my head, so I did what he told me to do. I...I jumped."

I lurch forward as if I was going to puke, but find myself hugging him instead. I whisper, "I can't imagine a world without Sherlock Holmes." He hugs me back.