Welcome to Baker Street

73. If you stay

All hospital waiting rooms feel like the gates of hell, Giulia reflects, spasmodically twisting her hands, incapable of staying still in those torture chairs. The most pessimistic part of her already wallows in sorrow and heartbreaking loss. The memory of an ancient pain resurfaces violently from the deep ends of her soul. She has lost enough people in her life; Sherlock cannot leave her as well. He can't do that to her, not him, too.

The recollection of a Latin sentence comes back to her: Spes ultima dea, meaning 'Hope is the last goddess'. It refers to the Greek myth, according to which goddess Hope was the last one to remain among men to console them, even when all the other gods abandoned the Earth to retire to Mount Olympus. It means that hope should never fail, and it is always possible to be hopeful until the very end.

But what if that's the end?

Giulia hunkers down next to a wall of the waiting room and silently cries buckets of bitter tears. Why did she allow herself to cater to the delusion that her life could ever be granted a happy ending?

Five hours later, she is still in the same position, crouched down by the wall, her head sunk into her crossed arms. She hasn't moved, she hasn't drunk or eaten anything. She isn't living anymore—stuck in that limbo at the gates of hell. She feels inconsolably lonely. The worst part is, she could avoid being on her own. She knows John reached the hospital, too. She saw him inquire about Sherlock at the main desk while nervously passing a hand through his hair, a grief-stricken expression on his face. He didn't notice the hunched figure in a corner of the room, though; he didn't see her. And he wasn't good at waiting idly, so he left. He probably went for a walk in the garden around the hospital, because once every half an hour, he reappeared at the desk, frantically asking if his friend has gone out of surgery yet: asking, hoping, getting more desperate by the hour. She has been staying there on the floor, quietly studying his movements, unseen. She never once questioned why he hadn't looked for her. She reckons he is too worried about his best friend to think about her. Still, he must know that she is at the hospital as well—not a difficult deduction given the panicked voicemail she left him. So, why hasn't he tried to find her to seek consolation in the sharing of those endless moments of agony?

To be fair, she hasn't reached out to him either. Why couldn't she bring herself to stand up, run to him, and plunge into his arms? She couldn't really say, but she feels incredibly distant from John, as if a thousand-mile chasm separates them, even in the same room. There is an inexplicable yet almost tangible void between them. What has happened? She doesn't have the answer, but she has never found the strength to raise her head to him and call him over to her hiding spot.

A tap on her shoulder snaps her out of her deep thoughts. Her head shoots up, ready to meet John's eyes, but the kind gaze that greets her doesn't belong to any familiar face. A nurse is towering over her and smiles warmly at the broken woman.

"Mr Holmes is out of danger. He just got out of surgery."

She hasn't even finished her sentence that Giulia springs to her feet, as the sound of those velvet words still echoes in her brain. Sherlock is out of danger. Out of danger, as in 'still alive'. He didn't leave her. He survived.

"May I see him, please?" she begs, still dazed by that good news she didn't dare to hope for.

The nurse shakes her head. "I'm sorry, only members of his immediate family are allowed in."

"Please, I need to see him, just for one second. Please."

The nurse looks around furtively, then lowers her voice.

"I might let you in for a little while. That's all I can do."

"It'll be more than enough. Thank you, thank you so much." She shoots her a grateful smile.