SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

Sit Down, John, I Have a Story

John parked in the parking deck and took out his phone. He dialed the hospital he had arrived at and told them about Alana’s condition. Minutes after his call, nurses rushed into the lot and helped John placed Alana onto a stretcher.

“What happened, sir?” One nurse questioned as she started an IV.

“She got shot,” John replied. “I’m a doctor; I performed surgery on her to remove the bullet,” John informed as he ran beside the stretcher. It wasn’t long before the concrete floor became a titled one and the bright lights above brought John’s hand over his eyes.

“We’ll take care of her, sir, don’t worry,” the nurse assured as she let her other colleagues take Alana to the emergency room. She turned to John and spoke of information needed to document. John answered them, hoping that he wouldn’t be questioned more than what was needed. Thankfully, the nurse never inquired the cause and effect.

“Thank you,” John said, smiling softly. Before the nurse made to leave, he stuttered with a reaching hand, “I’m also here to see a friend, Sherlock Holmes?”

The nurse broke into a wide smile and threw her face into a hand. “Oh! Sherlock Holmes. I heard about him. He made a fuss here when told to put on a nightgown and to stand still in front of an X-Ray. He then went on and on about how bad the radiation is—oh, well, if he’s a friend of yours, would you like to see him, Mr. Watson?”

“Yes, please, that would be lovely.” John let out a relieved gasp and squeezed his hands together like he’d always done in moments of anticipation. He followed the bubbly nurse down several halls before arriving at Sherlock’s door.

“I don’t know if he’s awake, but if he isn’t, there’s a lobby just down that hall to your left if you’d like to rest.” The nurse gave him a cordial smile and returned to whatever duty she had been occupied with.

John rubbed his hands together, warming them for no particular reason, and then slowly opened the door. He head peeked in, followed soon by the neck and then the shoulders. Seeing Sherlock propped up in the bed with his fingers drumming the rail, John considered himself welcomed.

Hearing someone at the door, Sherlock turned his semi-bandaged head towards the door. “John?”

“Sherlock.”

The detective grunted and drew his hands together in front of him. His thumbs began twiddling and his toes wiggling. “How are you?”

“I’m all right. Alana had escaped from wherever those American scoundrels had her.” John took a seat on one of the chairs next to Sherlock and studied the comfortably wrapped gauze around his eyes. “What did they say about your eyes?”

In a careless voice, Sherlock replied, “Oh, they said if I hadn’t gotten here sooner I would’ve lost my sight. And, they said I’ll heal soon. Just can’t open them at the moment because they treated them until they were absolutely sure all the gas was gone. So, I’m not blind. But I won’t be able to open my eyes for a week!” With that, Sherlock shoved himself down into the bed and crossed his arms. His bottom jaw jutted out and his brows creased.

“A week isn’t that long. And if we have to solve the case without your sight, so be it.”

“Speaking of the case, remember I told you Rawlings told me everything?” Sherlock turned his head to where he knew John to be.

“Yes, what about it?”

“Sit down, John, I have a story.” Sherlock wriggled back up into the sitting position and moistened his lips.

“I am sitting down.”

“I didn’t hear you sit down,” Sherlock replied right after, hoping that he could prove John wrong with something even as trivial as sitting down or not.