. Just as I thought the cab was going to flatten me like a pancake, I felt something hard smashed into my side and I fell to the muddy ground. I looked up just in time to see Sherlock smile down at me. Then the car slammed into him and he went flying. I laid my head back on the ground and tried to keep conscience so I could call an ambulance. But soon the world started to darken around the edges, and I fainted. When I woke up, I was in a white room with curtains surrounding the soft bed I was laying on. I was in a hospital. Why am I in a hospital? Then I remembered. Sherlock telling me he still loved me, the taxi sliding off the road, Sherlock pushing me out of the way of the speeding vehicle. Sherlock! Was he still alive? Where was he? I started to pull at the I.V tube that was hooked up to me, but a nurse walking by my room quickly stopped my efforts.
"No, no! I have to see Sherlock! You have to let me go!" I started to push at the nurse, pulling harder at the I.V in my arm. Finally she had to call three other nurses in to hold me down. One of them stabbed a needle in my arm and not to soon after, I started to feel drowsy. Soon my conscience slipped for a second time. When I woke up again, the I.V in my arm was gone. I started to get up, but then I noticed the huge cast on my leg. Dang. Now it would be harder to sneak out of the room to find the room Sherlock was in. I pushed the button that called the nurse.
"What can I help you with? Do you want me to hook up the morphine again?"
"No. My friend, Sherlock Holmes, he was in the field with me. Is he okay? Can I see him?"
She nodded.
"I guess that would be okay. You have been responding well to the medicine. I'll go get the wheelchair." She left the room for a couple minutes, and then came back with a wheelchair. She helped me into chair and wheeled me out of the room. She pushed me into an elevator and we went up three floors to the intensive care unit. Then she took me to room 22b.
"I'm going to give you some privacy, okay? Just press the button on the arm of the chair and I'll come right back." She walked back towards the elevator and got on. I wheeled myself into the room, closing the door behind me. I gasped. There, lying on a bed in the middle of the room, hooked up to a number of tubes and wrapped in what was probably pounds of plaster, was the great Sherlock Holmes. I rolled over to him, taking his hand in mine.
