A Rose By Any Other Name | Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 14

"She's asleep for right now. Best we all just wait until she wakes."

John had just briefed Lestrade and Sherlock on Aryn's various injuries. Her most problematic ones were the knife wound to the chest and a few broken ribs. Luckily, nothing else was broken or punctured. Having taken Aryn to the hospital and stayed with the doctors while she was worked on, John mentioned many times to the two men that Aryn was lucky to be alive.

People were rushing from place to place around them. Nurses were guiding people to their rooms or aiding doctors in emergency cases, patients were filling the waiting room, and families were waiting to hear the news about their loved ones. It was an unnerving sight to see so many people who needed help. John couldn't look around the room without reliving the events that had happened in the past few hours. He had to debrief the doctors himself because the medics who had brought them were absolute rubbish.

When they had managed to bring Aryn back to them, all he could hear was her crying. She was in so much pain. The most she could do was keep her eyes closed and cry. John had held her hand for whatever time he could and she seemed to appreciate it, between the tears and the quick grunts of pain.

At least the next time he would be in that waiting room, it would be awaiting the arrival of his child.

As the three men sat, thinking back to everything that had happened, a man walked towards them. He twirled his umbrella in a matter-of-factly way, looking around the room in slight disgust. "I had no idea this place would be crawling with so many people."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, slowly bringing them up to meet his brother's gaze. "What are you doing here, Mycroft?"

Sitting down in a chair opposite Sherlock, Mycroft replied, "I heard your friend was in a spot of trouble. Came to see if any of you could use my assistance."

"A bit late for that, don't you think?" John sneered.

Mycroft shot him a look that made John feel as if Mycroft felt John was unworthy to speak. "I understand that her survival does, in fact, involve my wellbeing. For the time being, her problems are my problems as well."

"You're not the only one who's tied to her survival," Lestrade commented, "but I'm not worried about my life, I'm worried about hers."

Mycroft leaned back, studying his brother's expression. It was unusually blank, lost in deep thought. "Dear brother, what have you gotten yourself into?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to attention.

"You know who the killer is, don't you?"

"And you never bothered sharing it with me?" Lestrade asked in surprise, turning to face his body towards Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed, giving his brother a dirty look. "I saw who it was, but thanks to those stupid camera men, he was gone before I could reach him."

"How do you know who it was?" John asked, thinking back to the crowd of people that had surrounded the scene as he was leaving. There was no one that had stuck out when he scanned the crowd. How would Sherlock have picked out one particular person? Unless...

"Ahh, I see," Mycroft replied, interlacing his fingers as his hands rested in his lap. "Moriarty again?"

Lestrade looked up at Mycroft as if he had seen a ghost. John hung his head down as he rested his elbows on his knees, confirming his hunch he had just had. Sherlock brought his gaze to the floor in front of him, his eyes unwavering.

"We'll have to wait for him to surface again if we want any chance of catching him, unfortunately," Mycroft stated.

Sherlock, as much as he didn't want to, agreed with his brother. Moriarty was harder to catch than a puff of smoke. He could take on any identity he wanted and break in to any place he desired. He had access to people, places, and information that would envy even Mycroft. After returning from the "dead", Sherlock had a feeling that the attacks towards him would get even more personal than before.