Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Forty Eight

She could hear voices fading in and out like a pulse. They were unfamiliar, talking amongst themselves as if she were not there. Maybe she wasn't there. Was this what death felt like?

"We've stopped the Pentobarbital," said one of the voices.

"How are her stats?" another replied.

"She's handling it well."

She tried to take a breath but she felt like she was choking. She began to cough and gasp, the feeling of panic washing over her as she realised she wasn't breathing.

"She's trying to wake up," said another voice. "How is she waking up this soon?"

"We need to remove the ventilator."

She felt hands keeping her head in place, her lungs burning, and a rough pain as they dragged the tube out of her throat. She coughed and spluttered as she took a harsh, desperate gasp of air. She tried to speak but the sound left her in a cry.

"It's okay, Margaux, try to stay calm, okay?" A hand stroked her head gently.

Her eyes fluttered open, just for a moment, before the voices grew weaker, and eventually she drifted off again.

The next time she woke, the first thing she saw was the sun setting through the window, a gentle mist falling from the deep, purple sky. Her breaths whistled and wheezed and her head felt heavy and sore. She tried to look down at the cannulas in her hands, but a sharp pain in her shoulder made her gasp.

"Ow," she cried quietly, before looking down at her shoulder wrapped tightly in bandages and held in place with a sling.

The door creaked open.

"Hello, glad to see you're up." A doctor smiled as he stepped into the room.

"What's going on?" she croaked. Her words were slurred and quiet.

"You're in hospital, you've had surgery. You've been asleep for a few days."

"How many?"

"Five."

Her eyes welled up as her brow creased with confusion. "What happened to me?"

The doctor sighed and perched on the edge of the bed. "Margaux, you were shot."

III

Sherlock stood outside the hospital as the sun disappeared in the late evening sky. He flicked his collar to shield himself from the cold mist as he held his phone to his ear.

"She's still sleeping," he said. "They said she woke up briefly but it's normal for patients to take a while to come around."

"Yeah," said John through the phone. "Barbiturates usually stay in the system between 15 and 50 hours depending on the person's overall health."

"I know, John, I'm a chemist."

"Right, sorry."

He finished his call and travelled back inside the hospital. As he sauntered through the reception waiting room, he noticed people whispering to each other as they tried to inconspicuously photograph him with their phones. But everything was conspicuous to Sherlock.

"Would you like me to wear the hat too?" he said. His voice was loud and commanding, catching the people off-guard.

As he stepped out of the lift onto his floor, he noticed a nurse rushing towards him. His heart sank like an anchor as he felt the colour drain from his face.

"Mr Holmes, we've been looking for you," said the nurse. "She's awake."

III