Orphan on Baker Street

Twenty Second: Hospital

My eyes open again, and I find my vision to be very blurry and my eyelids weak. Everything feels sort of surreal, so I attempt to let out a sigh and look around. I'm in a hospital.

Beside me, in a chair, sits a man in a gray suit. At first I think it's Sherlock, but I realize that he's too short, and his hair is slicked back. The sight of this man does not make me feel very safe.

He sips on a small cup of what I assume is tea.

"Good morning," his voice says. It's somewhat soothing, and I can't put a finger on his accent. "I never thought you'd wake up; it's almost been a full 24 hours." Has he been sitting there since I got into the hospital?

I can't talk, which makes this feel even more like a dream, so I stare at the ceiling and focus on waking up.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," the man continues, "but: you have cancer. That's why your shoulder keeps hurting." There's a pause as he slurps on his tea again; I close my eyes. "Mickey, I hope you know who I am. I'm sure you'll have an idea of who I am, and what I'm capable of, by the end of this visit... I have connections, you see. Not like Mycroft has them - I'm not the government, no. I'd like to think of myself as more of the Sherlock half of the two. My connections are people - not cameras - and books and computers and sometimes dogs..." There's movement, so I turn my head back to him and open my eyes. The man is standing, and I watch as he sets his teacup on the side table. "You're valuable, Mick. You know where to find me if you ever want to talk."

Through the fogginess of my eyes, I see him smirk. He leans down, kisses my forehead, and tucks something under my pillow.

"Get well soon," he says in an airy voice as he leaves. I try to shake my head to stay awake, but they must have drugged me or something because my eyelids sag heavily and I go to sleep again.

+

I wake up to the sound of voices this time - familiar and comforting ones. When my eyes open, they stop. My vision is no longer cloudy, and I feel very awake. Yes, that was a dream. Nobody was here earlier, Mickey.

My head still feels a little woozy but physically I feel wide awake. I push myself into a sitting position, frown, and look over at the bedside table. A small teacup sits there in a saucer with a swirly blue pattern on it.

"Is this yours, dear?" A light feminine voice pulls me from my trance, and I realize it's Mrs. Hudson.

I shake my head slightly. "No... I-is it yours? Does... where is Sherlock?" My words mush together like peas and mashed potatoes as I look around the room. John stands at the foot of my hospital bed and looks very sadly down at a metal clipboard. When I turn my head again, Sherlock enters from a door on the wall that's behind me.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing to the door.

"It's a, uh," he spins in a circle quickly, glancing into the doorway. "A bathroom," he concludes happily.

"And what's this?" I ask, gesturing to the teacup on the bedside table.

Sherlock walks closer to the bed and glances past me at the small cup on its saucer. His eyebrows form a "V" shape for a second before his face relaxes, and he glances at me.

"Someone's tea... I thought it was yours or a nurse's." I shake my head quickly. He opens his mouth to speak again, but closes it quickly. "You know whose it is," he says eventually.

"I know what they look like, but not their name," I say shyly. Sherlock walks around the bed quickly - and around John, who still stares down at the clipboard - and snatches up the teacup. He holds it in front of his chin and wafts.

For a moment, he is very still. "John," he booms suddenly, "outside - now." He turns around and marches out the door. John looks around quickly for somewhere to put the clipboard.

"I'll take it," Mrs. Hudson says. He just nods, hands her the clipboard, and walks out. I smile over at Mrs. Hudson, who smiles back.

She sits down, and I watch her skim through the words on the first sheet of paper. Her head tilts slightly. "There are a lot of big words," she remarks quietly. I inhale shakily and exhale slowly; what if I really do have cancer? Is it going to kill me, or can the doctors kill it first? Mrs. Hudson's head shakes softly and her eyes get watery.

"Mickey, I-" She chokes on her words, sobbing for a moment. "Mickey, I'm so sorry." She holds my hand, and I flex my jaw in an attempt to keep my tears in my eyes. I know what it is; she doesn't know that I know, but she can assume that I have assumed.

Mrs. Hudson takes my hand and kisses it repeatedly. I watch her shake her head again, and then I hear the door open.

Sherlock walks in with John behind him. "Oh, tears," he says, as if he were actually saying "germs". Sherlock runs over and kisses Mrs. Hudson's forehead. He mutters something in her ear quickly before turning to me. His towering figure leans down over me, and he whispers something in my ear.

"You're going to be okay. I'll take care of Moriarty, and the hospital bills. Don't worry," his voice tells me softly. His arm wraps around me, sort of, in I guess a hug. Then I wrap my own arms around him tightly, and his body seems to freeze up.

"Thank you," I whisper back into his ear. He plants a kiss on my temple and turns to leave.

"Sherlock, you can't go..." John yells after him. Barely a moment later, the man jogs after Sherlock, who left the door open. The door clicks shut, and I let out a shaky sigh.

Mrs. Hudson and I exchange a glance. "They're off to chase the Teacup Man," I say groggily, trying to give her a smile. I feel sleepy again, but I don't want to sleep; I want to get out of this damned bed and go with Sherlock and John.