I Won't Leave You- A Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter Six- Security

The time passed slowly. Sherlock stood silently in the closet, peeking through the gap between the door and the wall. He could just barely see John's face through the small slit. John caught his eye, grinning a bit.
"Go to sleep," whispered Sherlock, resisting the urge to grin back. With some difficulty, he managed to keep his face emotionless.
"Alright, alright." John turned away, closing his eyes. Sherlock waited a few minutes until John's breathing became deep and even, then let out a sigh ((and yet another sigh)). He attempted to relax, but too much was on his mind.
The immediate problem was his current situation. He was standing in a closet, in a secure building. He technically was not allowed to be in John's room, and someone was bound to come into the room later. He pushed open the door slightly and looked around a bit. He realized, with a sharp intake of breath, that there was a security camera in the room.
"D***!" he whisper-shouted. Someone must've seen him enter the room and then the closet. A security detail was probably already on their way. He hoped that there wasn't a microphone. I have to appear non-threatening, he thought. Maybe they'll let me leave without checking my background or anything. Suddenly, he realized he wasn't the only person who had entered the room that night. Molly. She had let him in. Now she might get in trouble. How could I have been so stupid as to not think of a security camera?
Stepping out of the closet, he moved over to the visitor's chair beside the cot. He sat down and waited for someone to come in.
It didn't take long. He heard the click of the lock opening as someone swiped a keycard. The door swung open to reveal a short man in a security officer's uniform.
Sherlock stood, raising his hands in surrender.
"Sir, please exit the patient's room." The other man gestured with his head towards the door.
Sherlock noted that the man had a pistol, and moved to comply with the officer's orders. Standing in the hallway, he said, "My apologies, officer. I was just visiting my friend."
"Visiting hours ended a long time ago, sir."
"I am aware."
The security officer raised an eyebrow. "If you would please come with me." He began leading Sherlock through the hallways.
As they traveled ((travelled?)), Sherlock deduced other things about the man. His last name was Jordan, as his nametag stated. His uniform was two sizes too large, which suggested that it was standard-issue or that he had lost quite a bit of weight recently. The former seemed more likely. His shoes were also too large, which meant that they were also standard-issue. This also led Sherlock to believe that the officer had financial difficulty, as he would have bought himself nice shoes that fit him as opposed to borrowing.
Soon, they arrived at a door labeled 'Security'. The officer pulled open the door and took Sherlock inside. Glancing around, he noticed many computer monitors displaying security camera footage. He glanced through them until he found John's room on one of the screens. Still asleep. That lent some relief.
"Ahem."
The voice caused him to turn to look at someone who was clearly the Chief of Security ((when you don't know stuff about titles and stuff, revert to Star Trek XD)). She was a tall woman with neatly styled hair and a uniform that was clearly tailored for her specifically.
"Yes?" Sherlock asked.
"I'm the Chief of Security, and I want to know what you were doing in that patient's room. How did you get in?"
"I was just visiting him. A friend let me in."
"Yes, Miss Molly Hooper. We identified her from the camera footage."
"If you already know how I got in, why are you asking me?" Sherlock stared, unblinking, into the woman's eyes. She stared, unrelenting, back at him.
"I want to know why you did it. Why did you break in to 'visit' John Watson?"
Sherlock paused, considering his reply. "He's my flatmate. I'm worried about him. And I didn't break in," he added. "My friend let me in."
The Chief of Security raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "That's it? You're worried about him?"
"Well, I was the one who found him bleeding out on the sofa when I came back to the flat from a shopping trip. I want to know how he's doing. The wound was severe."
"You're Sherlock Holmes, right?"
Sherlock hesitated, then nodded. "How do you know my face and name?"
The officer stepped over to her desk and picked up her laptop. She typed for a bit, then turned the screen so that it faced towards Sherlock. Displayed on the screen was the title "The Hounds of Baskerville". Sherlock immediately recognized it as the title John had used for their last adventure.
"Oh. You read his blog." Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of his face.
"Yes, I read his blog." The officer placed her laptop back on her desk.
"If you know I'm Sherlock Holmes, why is it so suspicious that I wish to be with my best friend?" Sherlock inquired, tilting his head.
"You are a detective. You want to conduct an investigation; find out what happened. This hospital can't just let people come in the middle of the night and interrogate injured patients."
"I understand that. I wasn't interrogating him."
"That wasn't what it looked like. From the security footage, it was clearly visible that you were conversing with Mr. Watson."
"Doctor."
She looked at him quizzically. "Pardon?"
"It's Dr. Watson, not Mr. Watson. He was a doctor in the army."
She narrowed her eyes. "Noted. Now, we are prepared let you go. It doesn't seem that you've committed any crimes tonight. However, we are giving you a warning. If this happens again, I will take this matter to the police. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," Sherlock replied. Relief spread through him. Even if they did contact the police, Lestrade would back him up.
"You may go, then." The officer waved her hand at the door, then turned to the man who had led Sherlock there. "Escort Mr. Holmes out," she told him.
The man nodded and led Sherlock out of the room and into the hallway. Sherlock glanced towards the direction of John's room, but he was led in the other direction. They traveled down some stairs and out into the lobby silently. As soon as they reached the doors, the other man turned away and walked back the way that they had came.
Sherlock stepped outside and was instantly soaked. It seemed that the rain had picked up again. He began walking towards Baker Street, wishing he had an umbrella or some money for a taxi. Unfortunately, he had neither.
The walk home was long and dull. Very few cars drove by. ((Here's the spot where I would've put a twist if I wanted it to be a different story. Now I'll leave you to forever wonder what it might've been.)) None of them stopped to offer him a ride, and he was the only person out walking on such a rainy night.
After a long while, he finally reached the front door of 221b. He pushed it open, stepping into the warmth and dryness of the flat. He shrugged off his wet coat, which was dripping water all over the floor. Mrs. Hudson wasn't going to be happy. He plodded up the stairs into his flat, his shoes making wet squishing sounds. When he entered, the smell of drying blood hit him. For the first time ever, the scent made him feel sick.
Carefully avoiding stepping on the red substance, he moved towards his bedroom and flopped onto his bed, not caring that he was soaking his covers. Letting out a long sigh, he sat up and pulled off his shoes.
He then remembered that Anderson had found something. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and considered texting Lestrade that he could run over and find out what it was. He stopped considering when he realized that it was three o'clock in the morning and that the detective inspector was probably sleeping.
He finished undressing and looked at himself in the mirror ((I'm not certain that there's a mirror in Sherlock's room, but, for the sake of the plot, let's say there is one)). His hair was soaked and plastered to his forehead. There were stress lines around his mouth and a crease between his eyebrows. Large dark circles hung beneath his eyes. He was clearly exhausted physically, but mentally he was going crazy. His normally organized and logical mind was thrust into chaos, and he had no clue what to do next. Seeing as it was three in the morning, there was very little it seemed he could do.
Go to sleep, a voice said in his head. It was John's. Staying up isn't good for you. Even kilometers away, John was still nagging him about his health. Sherlock glanced at his bed and suddenly felt the exhaustion that he had seen in his reflection. Without bothering to put on pyjamas, he got under the blankets and fell asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~Author's Note~~~~~~~~~~
Sorry it took so long for this chapter to be published! I also apologize for how crummy it was compared to the other chapters. Hopefully the next one is better!
I'd like to shout-out a couple of people.
LogicalTrekkiness for always being there. I've come to consider you a great friend over this past year ((has it really been almost a year? I have to check.)) I hope that we continue to talk in the future!
RainyDaysAndSheep
You read this book. That's worth thanking you for.
libbiliboo
You also read this book. Thanks for being generally awesome!
Also Sociopath_at_221b, who, for some reason, the tag thing isn't working. Thanks for reading this book! I love your Johnlock stories!
That was a really long A/N.