His Doctor~

Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Marius sped-walked into the hospital, feeling tremendously guilty after a frantic call from Jo-Ann. The guilt was nothing he couldn’t handle, as horrible as that sounded. He learned to live with the knowledge that he practically destroyed someone’s life with a single gunshot. However, now that it was Jo-Ann’s world he almost destroyed, the guilt was catching up to his hastened steps. Sherlock should have survived, his shot wasn’t to kill, but there was a risk. He practically jogged up the stairs to see Jo-Ann already walking towards him.
“He’s awake!” She smiled breathlessly. “He’s just come to.”
“Oh my God that’s wonderful!” Marius wrapped her in a tight hug.
“I thought he wasn’t going to make it.” Jo-Ann laughed into his shoulder. Marius let his smile waver a bit as she said that, only because she couldn’t see. Then the doctor leaned back from her friend and mocked anger with a waving finger. “And you, darling, are in big trouble!”
“Really, why?” Marius laughed a little but may have spoken too fast. Just how long had Sherlock been awake?
“Sherlock’s first word when he woke up? Marius!” she laughed. The Professor faked his shocked smile and went back to hugging Jo-Ann, if only to hide her face so he could glare up at Sherlock’s hospital room, wherever it was.

Sherlock stirred in his hospital bed, dizzy and wonderfully numb. How long had it been since he was shot? Where were Jo-Ann and the doctors? Who shot-
“Sherlock~” Marius called from the foot of the bed, barely visibly in the detective’s swimming vision. Sudden panic washed over Sherlock as he realized he could do absolutely nothing if Marius decided to kill him or his doctor right now. He was helpless. “Sherlock, look at me.” He said a little more seriously than at first and walked closer. “You don’t tell Jo-Ann.” Sherlock tried moving his hand, his arms, his head, anything, but all he could do was blink. But he forgot just who Marius was, didn’t he? Sentiment was at play here.
“You don’t tell Jo-Ann anything, understand?” Marius said firmly, now at the bedside. Even in his half-conscious state, Sherlock could see the determination in his eyes. He wouldn’t kill him now, not yet. Not after Jo-Ann had just been so relieved he was alive. However, half-conscious became un-conscious as the detective felt the exhaustion take over.

Sherlock walked through the halls of his mind palace, finding that some of the torches were flickering, but still lit, at least. He paced back and forth, staring at the word “liar” that followed him. How could he have not seen? Well, technically he did see the word, but ignored it all this time. Whether it was because of what Marius meant to Jo-Ann or just the hope that he was a good man. Maybe he continued to ignore it because of the friendship they developed on their own. Sherlock conjured up a Marius replica in the hallway, dressed in the suit he wore to Janine’s wedding. He decided to make him his best man that day, never knowing who he really was.
“Marius Morstan.” Sherlock said quietly. Why did that name seem to call him? It wasn’t because it was his friend; he must have seen it before they met. “Marius Morstan.” He repeated, deciding to go into the palace archives. If he had ever seen that name, even as a fleeting glance, the memory would be stored there.

“Don’t know how much you’ll get out of him. He’s drugged up so he may not be making a lot of sense.” Jo-Ann informed Greg, who walked with her up the stairs.
“That’s good.” The detective inspector smiled a bit, getting out his mobile.
“Oh they won’t let you use that in here.” The doctor warned as they reached Sherlock’s floor.
“Oh I’m not going to use the phone… just gonna take a video.” Lestrade smiled at her now. Jo-Ann laughed and rolled her eyes. She was just hoping this one wouldn’t reach as many views as the last.  Their smiles didn’t vanish until they reached Sherlock’s room. It was dark, quiet, and missing perhaps the most important factor: the patient.
“Oh Jesus…” Jo-Ann went over to the window, which was open and letting the cold night’s air rush in. She wasn’t sure how he did it, but Sherlock escaped from the third floor.
“Where would he go?” Marius asked over the phone, the second frantic call he had received from Jo-Ann in 36 hours.
“Oh, Christ knows!” Jo-Ann paced back in fourth in the hospital room. “Try finding a man like Sherlock in London! I’ll text you if I need you to look anywhere.” She hung up after that, but Marius still held the phone to his ear, thinking too deeply to put it down.
“He’s got three known bolt-holes, Parliament Hill, Camden Lock, and Dagmar Court!” Lestrade informed Donovan over the phone, leaving the hospital with Jo-Ann.
“Five known bolt-holes.” Mycroft corrected him over the speaker phone of Jo-Ann’s mobile. “There’s the blind greenhouse in Kew Gardens, and the leaning tomb in Hampstead Cemetery.”
Molly informed Lestrade of one more bolt-hole, her “spare” bedroom, and Mrs. Hudson told Jo-Ann that behind the clock face of Big Ben was another, although they weren’t too sure about that one. Marius, on the other hand, went directly to someone who Sherlock was expecting his friends would not go to. Anderson informed him of Sherlock’s number one bolt-hole, Leinster Gardens. However, while on the way there, he didn’t bother to call Jo-Ann. He would guarantee his safety first.
“He knew who shot him…” Jo-Ann paced the floor of 221B, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson standing nearby with concerned expressions. “The bullet wound was here,” she pointed to the respective spot on her own body. “So he was facing whoever it was.”
“So why not tell us?” Lestrade asked. “Because he’s tracking them down himself.”
“Or protecting them?”
“Protecting the shooter, why?”
“Well, protecting someone, then.” Jo-Ann waved her arms a bit. “But why would he care? He’s Sherlock. Who would he bother protecting?”
“Maybe it’s you.” Lestrade suggested as Jo-Ann sat in her chair. “It’s no secret that you’re closest to him.”
“But I wouldn’t know the shooter, why would they come after me if they already shot him?” She sighed. There was no one who wanted to kill her personally; it would only be to lure Sherlock out. Was he protecting her from that happening again, since he lived? As she was thinking, her hand lazily brushed the table beside her, landing in something wet. She flinched a bit, not expecting that, and was a little more than confused when she saw what it was.
“Call me if you hear anything. Don’t hold out on me, Jo-Ann. Call me, okay?” Lestrade instructed, just as worried as everyone else in the room.
“Yeah… Yeah, I will.” She nodded. He bid goodnight and only Mrs. Hudson responded. The landlady looked sadly towards Jo-Ann.
“Need a cuppa?” she offered politely.
“Didn’t you make this one?” Jo-Ann asked, pointing to the cup of tea next to her that she accidently dipped her fingers in. Mrs. Hudson looked twice at the cup.
“N… No, dear. I’m not sure where that came from.” She went to pick up the tea, but Jo-Ann stopped her.
“Wait, wait…” she took the cold liquid, it must have been sitting there for some time, and inhaled deeply by its surface. It was the smell she was expecting, but not the one she was hoping for.
“Jo-Ann, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Hudson made a face. “Tell me.” Jo-Ann only stared into the hibiscus vanilla apple tea. Her phone began ringing on the coffee table, but she didn’t notice. Or maybe she did, but didn’t care.
“That’s your phone, isn’t it?” The landlady hustled over to it and gasped at the caller. “It’s Sherlock, Jo-Ann! It’s Sherlock!” She said, shocked and a little happy, trying to hand Jo-Ann the phone. The doctor began feeling her insides try to collapse on themselves. Did she want to answer that phone if he was going to say what she feared? What he was trying to imply with the tea?
“Jo-Ann! You have to answer it!” Mrs. Hudson whined. Jo-Ann calmly set the tea on the table and took the phone in her steady hand. If Sherlock was right about this, which he most likely was, it is going to be a very, very, difficult night.