Born Mad

Chapter Seven: Recovery

"Oi, that smarts," I hissed, rubbing my head ruefully before turning onto my side and curling up beneath the covers. Then it dawned on me.

"What the bloody heck am I doing in a hospital?" I nearly shrieked, sitting upright as I pat myself down frantically. "I'm trying to avoid the Yard, not meet them for tea!"

"Easy, Aurora," Watson murmured, grabbing my shoulders and easing me back into the bed. "I have some connections and got you a private room. Nobody except us knows you're in here."

"Oh, gosh, is this morphine?" I demanded, flicking at the cord in my arm.

"Well, yes. It reduces the pain. -What are you doing?!"

I had ripped the tube out, tossing it aside along with the others. "No way. No bloody way. I am getting out of here-"

This time it was Mister Snappy-Pants that held me back, catching me by the waist, and with a simple movement had me laying back on the bed. "You aren't leaving."

"And why not?"

"Because every single one of your injuries was enough to put you in the ER, and you have multiple of them. You are remaining here and recovering until John deems you alright," he answered simply, holding me down so I couldn't move as Watson fixed the damage I had done before checking me over.

"What exactly happened to you?" the Doc questioned, helping me sit up before fingering the back of my head where the revolver had connected with my skull. I winced at the contact, but, since it didn't hurt as much as before, I figured it to have been stitched.

I sighed. "Would you like the short answer or the long answer?"

Watson looked at me curiously. "The short answer?"

"Hell. It was hell, Doc," I muttered, moving to stretch, only to hiss in pain. "Bad idea. Bad idea. Laying down now."

"Yes, yes, skipping to the part where you're kidnapped. Did you see who did it?" Holmes questioned, tossing me Steve's skull to play with much to my delight.

"No," I shook my head, fiddling with the skull. "But they're smugglers- People smugglers. I was specially 'ordered' by two people, Moriarty and Moran."

"Moriarty?" Watson questioned, obviously concerned and confused. He turned to the detective who was now pacing. "Sherlock, what's the matter?"

"Moriarty. Are you certain it was Moriarty?"

I nodded. "He said he was some sort of crime lord."

He was at my bedside immediately, an intense anger and determination showing in his eyes. "You spoke with him?"

"Yes. He kept trying to buy me off so I'd work for him. He wouldn't give up, and he eventually took to shock treatment."

I laughed slightly. "Big surprise for him when he found out I had all my memories after he put me to the chair. He was trying to raise me as his own! Can you believe that?"

The detective went back to his pacing while the doctor leaned in close to me. "Doc? What are you doing-?"

I let out a yelp as I found myself wrapped in his arms and hugged close, his chin resting on the top of my head. "Oh, you poor thing. Do you need anything? Something to eat? Drink? Anything to read? I'll get you anything at all."

"I could use my personal space," I offered sheepishly. "You're kind of crushing me."

"Sorry. So sorry," he apologized instantly, easing me back down and pulling the covers up to my chin so I was all warm and snug. He took Steve's skull, setting it on my bedside table. "But do you need anything? You've been out for a good four days and missing for three; you ought to be starving after that hell of a week."