On The Side of The Angels

Sherlock needs help

John raced out huffing and puffing. “Please tell me you saw what happened!”

“No.” said Sherlock angrily. ‘What happened?”

John told Sherlock all what had happened. Sherlock scowled at his whole explanation but let out a demeaning laugh at the bit when the officer disappeared at the touch of the Angel.

“You are really going through a sleep debt, John. You should not have come.”

“There is nothing wrong with me!”

Lestrade jogged up to them. ‘What was that about?” he demanded

“Dear John was having a hallucination.’ Sherlock said maliciously. John stammered “I swear, I was not-“

An officer approached them and said, “Mr. John Watson?”

John wheeled around and stared while Sherlock looked at the officer confused. “Sir, you have been summoned to the Royal Hospital, sir.”

John looked even more confused and Sherlock looked at John in an annoyed sort of way. “What now?”

“Dunno. We must check it out.”

The two of them steeped out of the hotel and hailed a cab to the Royal Hospital. Right at the entrance, two security staff escorted them to one of the wards.

When they entered, their noses were full of the stench of putrefaction and old age. Sherlock huffed and pulled his scarf closer to his mouth. John just covered his nose and walked on.

A man was sleeping on the bed. Mycroft was standing over him and reviewing some sort of file, his walking stick tucked away under his arm. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he demanded “Mycroft, what in the name of-“

“Shhh…”  said Mycroft. “A man is sleeping Sherlock, manners!”

The man stirred and smiled, ‘that is all right, Mr. Holmes may talk the way he pleases. Before I die, sir you must know that I have always followed your methods with great awe.’

Sherlock set his eyes with a vacant expression. He did not know quite what to feel. The man spoke again, “Though I must ask sir. Is your friend, Mr. Watson there with you?”

‘Yes.”

John stepped forward. The man opened his eyes and asked John, “Remember me?”

John looked at his eyes. A wave of recognition swept through him and he grabbed the bedpost to regain himself. Sherlock’s hand immediately shot out to his friends shoulder with a concerned look on his face. “John, are you alright.”

John’s mouth remained open as he tore his eyes away from the smiling old man’s face to Sherlock. He tried to say something, but nothing came out, save for a few choking noises.

“JOHN!’ Sherlock shook him violently.

John regained himself and asked the old man, ‘Harvey….Westwood?”

“Yes sir. Grown a bit old ‘avent I sir?”

‘A bit?”

‘I dunno sir. Only a few minutes ago I was there, sir, next to you, when that Angel of Death laid her wicked hands ‘pon me! In a few seconds, I was in 19-“ he gasped for breath as his heart rate began to slow. John grabbed his hand and screamed, “Harvey no!”

“Farewell, sir, farewell.”

The monitor beeped red as Harvey Westwood’s heart gave up. His eyes closed shut as he slept an eternal sleep, never to be woken up again. Sherlock looked up bored ‘Okay, so?”