Paths Woven

Call

When I wake up, Scarlet is still here, and of course, still dead unconscious. I notice something I didn't see before. Her sleeve has rolled up a bit and the shape of the burn is showing. I wheel over to her and gently free the rest of the fabric from her arm. The injury isn't an ordinary burn. It's a wound from a branding iron.

M

Moriarty branded my accomplice like she's an animal. I growl deep in my throat, my hate for the wretched man intensifying even more so than when he tried to kill me. I roll over to the sink, soaking a rag with cold water. I bring it to Scarlet and gently wrap her arm in it.

"Oi! Sherlock!" I yell. "Can you get some burn salve for Scarlet?"

I hear mumbling and a loud crash. Ouch. He must have still been sleeping. "What?"

"I asked if you could get some of John's backup burn salve for me. I can't get up the stairs by myself."

"Of course." I hear his clumsy, sleepy footsteps, holding back what would probably be considered "rude laughter". (I wouldn't know. Social pleasantries are not my area of expertise). He stumbles down the stairs and gives me the small tube.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

"Mmm."

As soon as I sense him collapsing onto the couch again, I take the salve and generously apply it to Scarlet's arm. She twitches in her unconsciousness, a small cry of pain escaping her. I wince, forcing myself to keep going, knowing it will help her later.

She sits bolt upright, but she's not awake. Her eyes are glazed over, and she's still dreaming. "No, no!" She yells. "Don't touch them! What are you doing?"

I can't do anything, as I am handicapped. Curse this wheelchair! Scarlet scrabbles around, searching for something, probably a weapon. "Scarlet!" I shout. "Wake up!"

It's no use. I watch her acting the rest of her dream, eventually falling off the bed on top of me. "Oi! Scarlet! Gerroff!" I shake my head. "As if my day couldn't be any stranger."

I shove her off me and she falls on the floor, still asleep. Oh, well. I'll get Sherlock to pick her up later. Today I think is the day the doctors will let me try crutches instead of this darn wheelchair.

Hopefully. Otherwise I will go completely insane. And no one wants to see me when I'm insane. I wheel myself out the door and wait for John to wake up. When he does, I immediately ask him, "Are they letting me use crutches today?"

"Yes. I have them upstairs, actually. Want me to get them?"

"Please. I will go insane otherwise."

"We don't want that. I'll be right back, Elly."

He climbs the stairs and comes back with a pair of crutches. He adjusts them so my extremely short self will actually be able to use them. He helps me stand up and gives them to me.

"Oh yes, this is much better. Now I can get around by myself."

I try them out, stretching my stiff legs. Soon I get the hang of it, and I reenter 221c to see Scarlet sitting on the bed, completely awake.

"You could have restrained me but you chose otherwise. You could have taken me to prison for kidnapping you but you didn't. I see you're out of the wheelchair. That would have been an advantage on my part." Scarlet tilts her head, thinking, her eyes gazing unblinking into mine. "What are you, even? You claim to be a Watson but your intelligence is that worthy of a Holmes. But you're somewhat compassionate. You took a bullet for someone you barely even know. Why is my query."