Face the Odds

Chapter 21: The Lying Detective

Smith released Sherlock instantly, turning around in alarm while Sherlock choked and flailed as his lungs quickly sought the air it had been deprived of.

John stood stock-still for a moment, staring at Smith incredulously while Marie removed her mobile from against her ear with narrowed eyes, just as a voice called: "Mr. Holmes! You okay?"

The police officer, who was supposed to have been guarding the room came rushing back, pausing in the doorway as John dropped the fire extinguisher and began to storm up to Smith. Marie rushed over to check on Sherlock, going behind John as the doctor grabbed Smith by the neck, hauling him away from the bed as he hissed: "What were you doing to him?"

"Sherlock?" Marie asked desperately, and his eyes finally focused on hers, his heart returning to a steady beat, as Smith whimpered while John repeated, shouting furiously: "What were you doing?!"

"He's in distress!" Smith cried in protest as he gestured desperately at Sherlock while John hauled him to the edge of the room. "I-I'm helping him!"

John didn't buy a single word, his faith in Sherlock having been fully restored (aka he'd finally admitted to himself that Sherlock was not to blame so he was free to acknowledge he had and probably always would trust Sherlock) and he basically threw Smith at the police officer as he ordered: "Restrain him, now. Do it."

The officer held onto Smith, still looking mostly bewildered, while Smith cried, his face flushed and agitated: "I was trying to help him!"

"Sherlock, what was he doing to you?" John demanded, turning to look over at the man who was still struggling to breathe properly as Marie stroked his cheek soothingly.

"Suffocating me," Sherlock answered though still rather breathlessly, "overdosing me."

He gestured at the drip machine as he spoke, while his eyes drifted shut.

"Sherlock." Marie called sternly, bringing him back to them, while John demanded urgently: "On what?"

"Saline." Sherlock answered, and John repeated incredulously: "Saline?"

"Yeah, saline." Sherlock agreed, while gesturing at Marie. She understood, moving his bed back up into a propped angle while holding him down with her hand before Sherlock could impatiently raised himself up onto his elbows.

John meanwhile walked over to look at the drip bag while he asked with a confused frown: "What d'you mean, saline?"

Sherlock groaned, letting out a shaky breath, and Marie checked his pulse and shaking hands while Sherlock still managed to explain to John through his unsteady breathing: "Well obviously I got Nurse Cornish to switch the bags. She's a big fan, you know? Loves my blog."

John turned back to him, frowning, and he asked skeptically: "You're okay?"

"No-no, of course I'm not okay." Sherlock dismissed, as though it were obvious – which is was. "Malnourished, double kidney failure, and frankly I've been off my tits for weeks."

"Don't forget your damaged teeth and liver." Marie muttered severely as she let go of his arm, and he nodded at her with a wince.

"How could I forget?" He agreed, before squinting at John as he added in conclusion: "What kind of a doctor are you?"

Marie tucked his blanket around him silently, while John could only stare as Sherlock groaned before his eyes moved over to Smith.

"I got my confession, though, didn't I?" He added rather smugly, though the tone was almost lost in his breathy voice. Almost.