An Agent of Chaos (BBC Sherlock Fan Fiction)

21. Not Dead

 21. Not Dead

I knew I definitely wasn’t dead; there couldn’t be any annoying beeping noises in heaven. There was a chance there could be in hell, but I knew I wasn’t there. If I was dead, I wouldn’t feel pain. Though I remembered the worst of it, I felt a dull stinging now.

It all came back to me: the night at the mansion; the gunfire; the knife; the blood; Elena screaming; John Watson over me, ready to shoot me. Most of the events were out of order, but they were all on the same night. My head was in a dangerous whirl. I guess I survived the stabbing after all. And Sherlock thought I was a goner.

My eyelids felt like bricks, they were very reluctant to open. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know where I was. I was in a hospital, in a room—probably by myself—hooked up with needles and an oxygen tube. Was I that bad? I knew that was going to go once I fully woke up.

I was very tempted to move, but I decided to not when I heard slow footsteps on the tile floor. I kept still, trying to figure out who was visiting me. Sadly, I was no Sherlock Holmes, so I couldn’t figure it out just by hearing the footsteps. All I could do was hope that they spoke—that would definitely help me.

“You think you’re safe?” said an unfamiliar voice. Somehow, I felt like I knew it though. “You think this is the end for you, because he’s gone? Oh, no, it doesn’t work like that. Once you cross into our territory, there’s no going back, no matter how much you want to pull out of it. Don’t worry, love, I’ll come for you. I won’t forget about you and what you did to him.”

            I forced my eyes open. They shot wide open when I caught sight of a familiar suit. Though it was only the back of it, my heart flew in fear. No, he’s gone. He’s dead. I murdered him. He can’t be here in this room right now. He can’t be here on this earth. What am I seeing right now? I wanted to say that I was still dreaming, but I knew that wasn’t true either.

I did the most logical thing that this situation called for: I screamed, cringing inside the bed I lay in.

            I screamed louder, forcing the monitors and shrill beeps around me to grow louder. The figure disappeared, unfazed by my outburst. Had they wanted to get that out of me, a panicked reaction? If that had been their goal, I considered their mission accomplished.

I barely moved, reminded that I had a needle in my arm and an oxygen tube stuck under my nose. I couldn’t move very far anyway even if I wanted to: one of my wrists was handcuffed to the bed. What the hell?

            “Whoa, easy, easy.” A nurse came bustling in, with another right behind her. Both grabbed a side of me, trying to settle me down. I was glad they came and not him. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. Deep breaths, honey. Come on.”

            “W-who was that?” I stammered.

            “What are you talking about?” the first nurse, a middle-aged woman with burgundy hair, asked. “Nobody was in here.”

            “Yes, they were! Just now. I-I heard them talking, a-and I saw them leave.” I shook violently in the bed.

            “We didn’t see anyone.”

            “They were probably gone by the time you got here,” I said rather sharply.

            “Maybe the doctor came in—”

            “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a doctor.”

            “Okay, okay, Ms. Whitmore. You need to just relax. If you can’t, I’ll put you on some more medication, and I don’t want to have to do that.”