Chapter 21

The Letter

John could see Sherlock's eyes actually light up when he came into the ward and up to his bed, he knew what the consulting detective was going to say even before he opened his mouth.

"Can I go home now?" He asked excitedly.

"I just asked the nurse, she said you'll be able to go tomorrow," John told Sherlock patiently, even though he felt like Sherlock had now asked him this question a hundred times.

Sherlock groaned and leaned back in his bed, staring at the plain ceiling. "I'm so bored! There's nothing I can do here! My mind has never faced such stagnation."

"Well hospitals weren't built for entertainment you know," John pointed out.

"I can't shoot the walls,"

"That's hardly surprising."

"They won't even let me play my violin!"

"I think that's because your playing might actually make the patients feel worse." John said, glancing around at the hospital ward. It was very quiet, there weren't very many nurses or doctors around, and the only other patients in the ward were asleep, or at least pretending to.

"But there's nothing to do here!" Sherlock continued.

"Sherlock you've only been here for four days." John pointed out, he had never met such an impatient person, why couldn't Sherlock actually understand and accept the fact that he was ill? John wouldn't have been surprised if Sherlock had never been ill in his life.

However Sherlock was not about to back down. "But most people recover from black widow bites within eighteen hours, maximum thirty two, it's been ninety-six!" He argued.

"They just want to make sure you're OK," John said. "Things could have been a lot worse."

That brought the two of them into an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.

"Do you really think Moriarty's dead?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"Yes," John answered a little too quickly, and Sherlock raised his eyebrow, "no," he admitted. "When he was in the warehouse he mentioned the fact that he wore a bullet proof jacket, I wouldn't be surprised if he was wearing one when Irene shot him, because I bet he knew she might have reacted in that way."

"You know, I reckon he's always been in our lives, watching over us in the shadows," Sherlock said in a strange tone as if this didn't really bother him.

John nodded in agreement, but he didn't like the thought of it. He tried to think of something else to say to put Sherlock off these thoughts. "Mycroft's coming to visit later today." He said.

At this, Sherlock fell back onto his pillows with a soft thumb and looked dreadfully pained. "No, not Mycroft!" He groaned.

This was the exact reaction John was expecting him to give and he tried not the laugh. He wondered about warning the nurses Sherlock might try to escape after hearing this news, the first time his brother visited had not gone well, but when did they ever get on?

"How come you can go home?" Sherlock demanded suddenly, sitting up and glaring at John.

"We went through this yesterday Sherlock, I've had my treatment, I feel better now, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You still look pretty thin to me, in fact you've always looked a little too thin," Sherlock commented.

"I told you, I'm fine," John said as calmly as possible, but Sherlock was beginning to irritate him.

"You said that when we got to the hospital, and then you passed out on the floor," Sherlock reminded him.

"At least I didn't go into a coma for six hours!" John blurted out without meaning too.

"Really?" Sherlock said after a short pause, "I thought the first day went quite quickly."

John didn't reply, he just rolled his eyes. How could the consulting detective not take a coma seriously? He supposed that's what being stuck in bed for four days does to someone like that.

"So what did I miss over those six hours?" Sherlock wondered aloud.

"Well, Lestrade came to visit."

"Really!" Sherlock looked just as surprised as John was when Lestrade had come through the hospital doors.

"Yeah, he didn't believe a word I told him about the drinks, and it took me a while to persuade him we were actually in a hospital. When he came along and saw you I think it was a bit of a shock."

"Really?" Sherlock said again.

"Yes, I think that most people don't believe that Sherlock Holmes can actually get sick." John replied.

Sherlock smiled to himself at that thought, but then his mind turned to other things. "So Lestrade managed to stop the drinks in time? No one's going to be poisoned?"

"No one's going to get poisoned today." John assured him. "And hopefully no more poisonous spiders either," he added with a slight shiver. It was then he remembered something. "That message on the walls, did you ever find out what that meant?" He asked.

"Vengeance is mine."

"Well, that explains a lot."

There was another stretched of slightly uncomfortable silence.

"What happened to Irene?" Sherlock asked abruptly, glancing around as if she might be hiding somewhere. He had suddenly realised he hadn't seen her since he was in the Ferrari with her and when she took him into the hospital.

"I don't know, when I came round she asked if you were going to be OK, and the doctor said yes, then she said something about moving the car and disappeared." John explained.

"And she never came back?" Sherlock guessed.

"Not here, but when I went home last night there was a letter for you left on the table." John explained.

"A letter?" Sherlock repeated, confused.

John nodded and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Sherlock. On one side of the paper were the words "For Sherlock" written in neat writing and thin black ink. There was no doubt it was Irene's writing.

"Have you read it?" Sherlock checked before taking the letter from John.

"Of course not, unlike you I don't read letters that aren't addressed to me." John told him.

"Why couldn't she send me a text or an e-mail?" Sherlock demanded, deciding to pretend that he hadn't heard what John had just said, and took the paper from him.

"Perhaps because it was something more important to just be sent to you by text," John mumbled as Sherlock unfolded and read Irene's letter:

Sherlock,

You had to bring the police into this didn't you love? I hoped we might be able to avoid that consequence, but it seems that you did what you believed was right, even if it might be a bad thing for others. I have to admit I don't like that, I respect you for it, but I don't like it.

I suppose from the moment you picked up this letter you knew it meant you would probably never see me again.

Believe me, it's not your fault. Perhaps I should have told you the truth, but old habits die hard. As soon as you got the police into this, I had no choice but to leave. If you're still trying to work out what I mean, I'd be surprised. One of the greatest minds in the world stumped by Irene Adler…I feel strangely pleased with myself about that. Did you not notice the way I tried to avoid the police at all costs? The fact that I knew a criminal and was able to lend him a huge pile of cash, but you had no idea what my job was? I don't think you even asked. Had you not realised that the necklace I wore when I came to visit you was almost exactly like the one that had gone missing from the British Museum last month? And did you never consider the fact that I borrowed that Ferrari without asking and probably never intend to give it back? After all, it is a very nice car. Don't you see it yet Sherlock? I'm surprised you didn't work that out from when you first saw me, but perhaps you were just distracted – I'm a criminal! Always have, always will be. I get my money from committing crimes and helping others commit crimes, I try to avoid getting too much blood on my hands, but if I do ever get arrested robbery and money laundering won't be the only things I'll be put on trial for.

I hope you understand that now you know this, I won't be able to see you again. It's far too risky, you have a close connection with the police and I've already had someone try to persuade me to kill you. And even though you pretend you don't have one, I know you have a good heart and I've seen that you'll always do what's right, so you'll probably find yourself at the police station as soon as you read this, telling them all about me. Please don't go too over the top, I like my secrecy and my freedom, and I'll like to keep it that way.

Don't think I don't feel sad writing this letter. I never stay in relationships long, and for the first time in my life, I wish that wasn't so.

Perhaps one day we'll see each other again, but I doubt it.

What else can I say? I'm sorry.

IR

"That's it!" Sherlock said suddenly, throwing down the letter and folding his arms in frustration. "I was right all along, women are nothing but distractions, they're no good for me," he shot John a warning glance, "I advise you keep away from them."

"Why? What did the letter say?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't reply. He wasn't about to tell him that between the moment he had passed out in the car, to the moment they had managed to wake him up and get him inside the hospital, all he had been thinking, dreaming about were Irene Adler's eyes. They were so beautiful, but he had never taken the time to notice them. And now he would never see them again. Watson can just think that Sherlock's a sore loser and doesn't like loosing the ability to read people, he doesn't have to know what he truly thinks of Irene Adler.

"Well at least it's all over now," John said quietly into the silence, as if he was trying to brighten Sherlock's mood. It didn't work.

"None of this would have happened if it wasn't for me." Sherlock grumbled, suddenly angry. "None of this should have happened, no one deserved any of this. I've hurt you and I could have stopped it from happening. Both of us could have been killed. I should have known that Moriarty wasn't dead, I should have been more wary, I should have taken more notice of the things and people around me. But I didn't and it's all my fault!"

There was another, this time stunned, silence. A few patients and a nurse looked in their direction, all wondering what the fuss was about.

"It's not your fault Sherlock," John said calmly, he had never seen Sherlock act so…human.

"Yes it is, you know it is." Sherlock snapped.

"It's just one of those things that happens. You can't blame yourself." John told Sherlock firmly. "None of it's your fault."

"Really?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "none of it?"

"None." John confirmed.

"So if you find human fingers in the cutlery draw, that's not my fault?" Sherlock suggested.

John raised and eyebrow and did not look happy. "Why would there be human fingers in the cutlery draw?" He demanded.

"It's an experiment." Was all Sherlock said, "they've actually been there in quite a long time now...I should really take them out."

John took a deep breath and tried not to feel annoyed, or queasy. "Well this time tomorrow you can go back to your weird experiments," he told Sherlock, "and everything can go back to normal. As normal as they can be anyway. And as long as you tidy up once in a while, I think I might be happy about that." He added.

"Really?" It seemed that Sherlock didn't really believe what John had told him. "Everything can go back to normal?"

"As normal as they can be, and why not?"

Sherlock nodded in agreement, but stayed silent, staring down at the letter. He would have liked it if just one or two things had changed, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He could feel John's eyes staring down at him, concerned, so he looked up and gave the most convincing smile he could. Sherlock didn't like change anyway; perhaps everything would work out for the best.

At the other end of the ward, a nurse who wasn't really a nurse, watched Sherlock and John carefully as they talked, she pretended to work in her stolen uniform with her stolen clip board, but found herself staring at the two men on the other side of the ward. When she saw Sherlock smile she smiled back with her blood red lips. That was the only thing she needed to see.

Without looking back, Irene Adler turned and left the ward, throwing the clipboard down and throwing the nurses uniform into the nearest bin she could find, revealing her normal clothes underneath. She left the hospital, stepping out into the wide world where, for the first time in what felt like weeks, the air was warm and the sun was shining brightly once more.

The End

So, that's the end of the story everyone! I must admit it's not my best work, and the amount of dialogue I have in it is enough to drive me crazy! But nonetheless I hope you enjoyed reading :)

Is it too much to ask for one more review from you? I know I pester, but I do love reviews and hearing what people think of the story! And I didn't get many reviews last time I put it up, so please? A BIG thank you to all those who did review, and of course those who favourited and alerted, I hope I did not disappoint! :)

And if you enjoyed this story, I currently have a book, Poppy Girl, on sale on the kindle! Check out my profile to find out more details, you don't have to have a kindle to read it and you can download the first part for free so you can decide if it's worth buying! And of course I have other fanfics as well, Sherlock and non-Sherlock, feel free to check them out, but take a look at Poppy Girl too, because you never know, it may be on the shelves one day! ;)

Well, I think that's all from me for now folks! Although I'm sure this won't be the last Sherlock story I'll write! I'm certainly looking forward to the new series, it's going to be a blast!

If you're reading this before 25th December, have a very Merry Christmas everyone! And if you're reading this after, have a great 2012! :)

Naisa

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