Clique of 221B

Chapter 25: The Rescue

John stops at the kerb, looking down the road for a taxi. Nothing. Of all the times to need a cab. Mrs Hudson hurries to the doorstep,
"John!" He turns to her and she holds up a bunch of keys and tosses it to him. He catches them. "My car." She explains. He holds up a hand in acknowledgement and heads briskly down the road with you following, as he dials his phone. Raising it to his ear, you both break into a run.

You are driving the Aston Martin, speeding along Victoria Embankment beside the river. John's on the phone to Greg,
"Please, I don't think he's safe."
"No, he's fine. I've got a man on the door. What do you think's happened?"
"I don't know! Something!" He sighs, "Mary left a message."
"What message?" One that'll make Sherlock do someone stupid. Mary's idea is still in my mind,
"John Watson never accepts help, not from anyone. Not ever. But here's the thing: he never refuses it. So, here's what you are going to do. You can't save John because he won't let you. He won't allow himself to be saved. The only way to save John... is to make him save you." Something really stupid. "Go to hell, Sherlock. Go right into Hell, and make it look like you mean it." I now realise what Sherlock's plan is. "Go and pick a fight with a bad guy. Put yourself in harm's way." He's going to let Culverton murder him. Or try to, if we get there in time. "If he thinks you need him, I swear... he will be there." Well he will. We all will. You and John push through the door at the end of the hospital corridor and run along it. You reach the door to Sherlock's room. The police officer who was meant to be guarding isn't there but his cap is still on the chair beside the door. John tries to open the door but it doesn't. He rattles the handle a couple of times, then urgently looks along the corridor. He moves towards a fire extinguisher.
"Wait." You say. You get your gun out of your pocket and aim at the lock. You fire twice and hear the lock break. John shoves the door open. Culverton turns to look, straightening up and stepping away from Sherlock, who hauls in a long painful breath. As the heart monitor starts to blip again, John storms into the room, followed by you and the police officer.
"Mr Holmes! You okay?" The police officer asks. He'd probably be better if you did your job. John wraps his arm around Culverton's neck, forcing him away from the bed.
"What were you doing to him?" He demands. Culverton whimpers. Sherlock moves weakly around on the bed. "What were you doing?!" John yells. He drags Culverton across the room.
"He's in distress! I'm helping him!" Culverton obviously lies. John hurls him into the arms of the confused police officer.
"Restrain him, now. Do it." John orders. The officer takes hold of Culverton's arms. Culverton gestures towards the bed,
"I was trying to help him!"
"Sherlock, what was he doing to you?" You ask him. He answers breathlessly,
"Suffocating me, overdosing me." He points weakly towards the drug stand.
"On what?" John asks.
"Saline." John frowns,
"Saline?"
"Yeah, saline." He props himself up onto his elbows, breathing hard.
"What d'you mean, saline?" He goes over to look at the drip bag. Sherlock groans and breathes out shakily. You look at him worriedly.
"Well obviously I got Nurse Cornish to switch the bags. She's a big fan, you know? Loves my blog." John frowns at him,
"You're okay?" Sherlock seems to have caught his breath,
"No, of course I'm not okay. Malnourished, double kidney failure, and frankly I've been off my tits for weeks. What kind of a doctor are you?" Groaning, he settles down on the pillows again. "I got my confession, though, didn't I?" He looks across at Culverton, who pulls himself free from the police officer's hold and says,
"Huh! I don't recall making any confession." He walks forward. You stand defensively in front of Sherlock as John holds out a hand,
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa."
"What would I be confessing to?" Culverton says cockily.
"You can listen to it later." Sherlock tells him.
"But there is no confession to listen to!" Culverton stops and gasps, "Oh, Mr Holmes. I don't know if this is relevant, but we found three potential recording devices in the pockets of your coat. Um, all your possessions were searched." He looks at John. "Sorry." Sherlock lowers his eyes, looking shocked. You all stare at him, waiting for a response. Sherlock answers softly,
"Must be something comforting about the number three. People always give up after three." He raises his eyes to Culverton who stares back at him in horror. You smirk as Sherlock's gaze moves across to John.
"What? What is it? What?" Sherlock stays silent, a slight smile on his face while he waits. Oh. I know where it is. After a moment John sighs in exasperation,
"You cock."
"Yeah."
"Utter, utter cock."
"Heard you the first time." You laugh quietly. Sherlock settles more comfortably onto his bed. John steps across to the chair by the door and picks up his walking cane. Turning back to the bed, he holds it up.
"So how does it open?"
"Screw the top." John starts to turn the top of the handle. John pulls the handle off the crutch, revealing a small device inside the stick with a bright red light at the top. John pulls the recording device out and the bulb turns off. He looks across to Sherlock.
"Two weeks ago?"
"Three."
"I'm that predictable?" Sherlock smiles,
"No." They stare at each other a while before Sherlock glances at Culverton and replying,
"I'm just a cock." Culverton stares at the recording device with a look of despair.