August Holmes, Sherlock's Daughter

Chapter Twelve: Bliss

My mind was at bliss, at a dreamlike state. I thought of Sophia, her radiant smile and bouncy curls. I thought of Sherlock, grinning as he beat me in yet another game of Chess. I thought of Ms. Hudson, laughing at some joke I had made. I thought of my mother and Ely, alive and happy. Lastly I thought of John, humming to himself as he made Sherlock and I dinner.

Suddenly, I heard the best voice my ears could ever listen to at a time like this. My body was launched back to reality by a sharp pain stabbing my upper thigh, but I didn't have enough strength to open my eyes.

I must be dead. There was too much blood.

"Oh no, August, no!" The voice cried in horror. Was that my angel calling me to heaven?

I tried to concentrate on the voice, but it was hard. I tried to focus on opening my eyes, but instead I found a dark bliss in my dreams.

"August, please! August, listen to me, please, please, August, please!" He begged.

I wanted to respond, I wanted to tell the voice that I was okay, but I couldn't find my lips.

"John!" The voice called, agony tainting his voice. "August, August, no, oh please, no, no!" And the voice was sobbing tearful, broken sobs.

I tried to think of how wrong it was for this voice to sob. This voice never cried, never sounded with this much emotion, this much agony. It was wrong. I tried to muster enough energy to tell the voice that everything is fine, but the darkness was clouding my brain, and I couldn't breathe.

There was a sharp pressure against my head. It hurt. Then, as that pain broke through the darkness to me, other pains came, stronger pains. I cried out, gasping, breaking through the dark cloud that swarmed my mind.

"August!" The voice cried.

"She's lost a ton of blood, but her wound isn't deep." A soothing voice informed me. This was a new voice. "Watch out for her arm, it's broken."

A shriek of fury strangled on the familiar voice's lips.

I felt a sharp stab in my side. This couldn't be the heaven that I thought I was going to, could it? There was too much pain.

"Some ribs too." The calm voice continued.

The sharp pains were fading. There was a new pain, a scalding pain in my thigh that was overshadowing everything else. It was white hot, as if something was pushing a oven mitt in my skin.

"Sherlock." I tried to speak, but my voice was faint and sluggish. I couldn't understand myself.

"August, you're going to be fine. Can you hear me?" Sherlock stroked my face slowly.

"Sherlock." I tried to speak again, my voice a little clearer.

"I'm here."

"It hurts." I whimpered.

"I know, August. I know." I felt Sherlock turn. "Can't you do anything?"

"Yes, give me your scarf. Quick!" I heard John from beside me. John was here?

"My thigh hurts." I tried to tell John, I heard myself whimper in agony.

"I know, August. It's going to be okay." John tried to comfort me.

"My leg is hot!" I felt myself scream, finally opening my eyes. I couldn't see Sherlock's or John's face, something was clouding my vision. Why couldn't they see how much pain I was in?

John's voice frightened me, "August?"

"There's a fire on my thigh! It burns." I yelled, tears rushing down my eyes.