The Other Side - BBC Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter 30 - Waking Up

Angel
The world fades in and out, like the focus on a camera. Consciousness is just beyond my reach for a long time. I'm seemingly stuck in oblivion...

It takes me an embarassingly long time to realise that I'm thinking, therefore I must be awake, and that my limbs are pinned down not by the confines of a coma but what I have always referred too as "an apple pie bed" - the sheets around me tucked with military precision under the mattress on which I lay.
Perhaps part of what had originally thrown me to jumping to conclusions waa the lack of speech in the room. It is quiet. Only when I focused my cloudy mind did the familiar London soundscape flood in. 

I scrunch up my eyes in preparation for the inevitable blinding light that will burn my eyes. Tentatively, I prise them open, knowing that putting it off would hardly be beneficial. A moment of burning, and then it doesn't matter anymore.
"Angel? Oh thank God." The glorious voice of John Watson fills my ears like music. Our relationship is as young, innocent, fragile and unlikely as a newborn child and I treasure it as if it were one. I reach to take his hand, as my eyes adjust, and wince at the pain in my shoulder. I blink slowly, taking a few breaths to recover. My eyes reopen as the sound of two pairs of feet making their way up the stairs begin. 

Like that the flicker of a moment between us is gone, the bubble burst by the arrival of more humans. Sherlock preceeds, practically flying into the room. I smile mildly at him, relief overwhelming him. Following behind him is a face I did not expact to see at Baker Street.
"Jim? What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask him but, before giving him time to answer, redirect the question.
"Sherlock? What the fuck is he doing here?" My voice is hoarse and it hurts to speak but that does little to quench my utter bewilderment at Sherlock's stupidity.
"I, um, he was worried about you, so I let him in." He responds nervously.
"You fell for that? Did you not think that just maybe he had some ulterior motive, especially judging from the pistol stuffed in his pocket? Or let me guess, you thought he was just pleased to see you?" Instinctively he moves, as if to retrieve the pistol from Jim's pocket. "No, don't do that you bloody moron, if you touch him one his men will shoot you - probably Atkins." I roll my eyes in despair and motion for, the now worried looking, Sherlock to sit in his armchair. 

Jim, who had so far said nothing, stands looking half dazed and half angry. It takes a moment for him to come to his senses. 
"Are you feeling alright?" He asks nervously.
"Fine and dandy thanks, it's not like I got shot in the shoulder or anything. Cut the crap." I snap. His feigned worry didn't convince me. "Do you wanna maybe piss off?" 

Looking mildly put out, he wanders out of the room. I think it's time for me to return to the land of sleep.

Jim
My suspicions confirmed, I return to Mrs Hudson's kitchen. So she hates me, I don't care that's totally fine... 

Who am I kidding? I bloody love her. No matter how many times I admit it to myself, I always go back to denying it. I am so hell bent  on living without feelings that when I actually have them they are automatically repelled. 

Old habits die hard. That's what they say isn't it. Maybe that's not such a bad thing, when Angel's gone I can carry on as usual. I hope I can anyway.