Can't Stay Away (BBC Sherlock) -2-

33. Pawns

Once I got to actually talk to Bayley, I told him the situation. Even though I'd said Sherlock was going to be fine, my voice had trembled badly. I hadn't realized how much this would get to me. The man who played around with my trust was nearly killed. The man who had tricked me was going to be okay.

Bay noticed how shaky I was, so for the next few days, he called at least once to talk to me. While Dad and Mary went to work, it was me who stayed at the hospital to see if Sherlock would wake. The morning after the shooting, Mary had been the only one to see him awake. He hadn't been up for very long, she'd said, as the medication doctors had him on were really affecting him.

I always stayed with Sherlock in his room. Most of the time he stayed asleep. Nurses would come check in on him or adjust his medicine from time to time. It surprised me that Janine didn't bother to check in on him and see how he was doing. I found that to be rude of her. If she'd cared about him, she would have called.

Or maybe she didn't know.

Today was, I think, the third day I'd been wasting away in the hospital, watching Sherlock sleep. He had to wake at some point. He knew who'd shot him, I was positive. I wondered if Mary asked about the shooter during that small time he was barely conscious.

He looked fairly peaceful, and the whiteness of the room made him look pale. I leaned back in the chair, wishing I wasn't alone. I've always got the option to leave, but I don't want to. God only knows when I leave he'll be awake.

I closed my eyes, tired of all the white in the room. I was glad I'd just done so, because new footsteps came into the room. They didn't sound like a nurse's, but a woman's heels. It couldn't be Mary, so maybe Janine had finally come around?

I decided to act asleep and listen. I heard rustling of some sort. I almost blew my cover when I heard the smallest sigh come from Sherlock. He's awake. After a few more rustles, I figured this woman had some newspapers with her.

"I'm buying a cottage." Janine had come after all. I tried to keep a neutral face in case either of them looked my way. If I was silent and didn't move, neither would notice me. "I made a lot of money out of you, mister."

She was using him like he was using her? I guess they were a fit match.

"Nothing hits the spot like revenge for profits." I wanted to smack the smugness out of Janine's tone.

"You didn't give these stories to Magnussen, did you?" Sherlock asked tiredly.

"God, no—one of his rivals. He was spittin'!" There was brief silence. "Sherlock Holmes, you are a backstabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard."

Well, she wasn't wrong.

"And you—as it turns out—are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid whore," he retorted.

"So we're good, then."

"Yeah, of course. Where's the cottage?"

"Sussex Downs."

"Hmm, nice."

"It's gorgeous. There's beehives, but I'm getting rid of those." My hands twitched at hearing Sherlock gasp in pain. "Aw, hurts, does it? Probably want to restart your morphine. I might have fiddled with the taps."

"How much more revenge are you going to need?"

"Just the occasional top-up. Dream come true for you, this place. They actually attach the drugs to you!"