[COMPLETE] ??? ???? ?? ??? ??????「Sherlock」

002; A Trip to the Hospital

"Taken auntie to the hospital, don't know when I'll be back. Was having a hard time breathing. Text me if you get this, don't know when we'll be home," Watson interpreted, his face growing more and more grave. Sherlock snatched the leaflet from the veteran's hands, quickly whipping out his phone and inputting the number that Julia had left behind. They didn't even stop to discuss the situation; the two men bolted from the house, impatiently waiting until they found an available cab. It took them fifteen minutes tops to finally flag one down.

Holmes scrambled into his seat next to John, although not before tearing into the cab driver for not having enough vehicles around to assist those in a hurry. This started an argument which forced John to intervene in order to avoid violence. Slumping back in his seat, huffing in anger, the detective quickly sent a message to Julia's number.

On our way, how is she doing? - S.H.

There was no answer.

Sherlock's knee bounced and he read the number over and over, scrutinizing it and pondering upon whether she had given him the correct digits or not. This was her handwriting-- it was unmistakable, given how she wrote so carefully, even while leaving in a hurry. The detective recognized her penmanship from her letters, which he had had a little help with, admittedly. It wasn't as if he couldn't have written them on his own; he was just so used to texting these days that writing a letter and sending it seemed far too tedious to him. How could he condense such a vast amount of thoughts into one or two pages rather than just sending a quick and easy message over one's cellular device? Ergo, instead of sitting there, fuming at his desk and getting frustrated, he had sat John down and had him write his scrambled thoughts onto paper while he spewed whatever he could think of. It was not only required in order to explain the situation with Mrs. Hudson, but to even partake in careless back and forth discussion.

By the end of their segments, he would quickly read over the piece until he was satisfied with the work, slap the envelope shut and have John do the rest. At that point, all Sherlock could do was wait for her response. He could not lie, he would some days get impatient and rifle through all the mail at their community box, in case it could have gotten put in the wrong slot, but he would never discuss that with John. Never. The man would never let it go if he ever found out.

It took them nearly twenty-five minutes to finally make it to the hospital. John shoved a fifty in the cabbie's face and the two lunged from the back seat, out onto the street, hurrying for the entrance. The doors flew open and Sherlock's nose was immediately struck with the smell of chemicals, his ears assaulted by the harsh sound of beeping. There were so many faces, so many stories: his mind became cluttered immediately yet he remained wide-eyed, searching in that sea of faces as they pushed to the front desk. "Yes, was a Martha Hudson brought here? Came with her niece," John inquired, peering behind the desk in an urgent fashion. Sherlock eyed a doctor as he sauntered by, mask over his face.

"Her niece?" the receptionist drawled in her nasally tone. "I don't believe we've had anybody come in with their niece—"

Oh, Sherlock wanted to tear her lungs out!

He whirled on the woman and jabbed a finger into the cold marble counter. "Julia Ruth Fuller: she's five-seven in height, weighs approximately one-hundred and fifteen pounds, has bright red hair and was dressed in blue jeans and a pink blouse. She isn't that hard to miss!"

Both she and John seemed to be speechless for a moment until her shocked expression melted into something sour enough to pucker his cheeks. "They're in room three-twelve, on your left."

Finally! Sherlock brushed past without another word, leaving John to stammer out a 'thank-you' before scampering after him. The detective's trench coat fluttered open at the sides as he jogged down the hall, reading each room name as quickly as he could decipher it. He slowed his pace as he turned the corner, keeping his eyes on the doors to his left as he had been instructed, until he finally found the room in question. Sherlock burst inside, arctic set falling upon the woman laid up in the sheets. He crossed over to her and paused, lips parting as his typically icy heart clenched, the only woman he had ever grown fond of laying there in a restless sleep, wheezing. Sherlock knelt, ignoring as John entered and scoffed solemnly. Her hand was still warm. Tenderly, he brought it to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss against her bony paw.

Mrs. Hudson stirred from her sleep, her eyes peeling open slightly. "Sherlock," she croaked, the detective raising a hand and gently grasping her shoulder.

"Why are you in here, Mrs. Hudson?" John murmured, hovering behind Sherlock as she weakly extended a hand and stroked the side of his face. "Julia left a note saying you were having trouble breathing."

As usual, she put on a smile and laughed it off, waving her free hand. "Oh, it's just pneumonia!" she brushed off, trying to lighten the mood. "I've had far worse before."

"Clearly not," Sherlock noted, rising and rubbing a thumb over her soft hand. The veteran sat down upon the end of the bed, the sheets crinkling beneath him as he did so. "Otherwise you would not have lived. Why you did not go see a doctor until you were laid up in bed is beyond me..."

Mrs. Hudson sighed and shook her head. When she tried to sit up, her breath caught in her throat. She coughed suddenly, the sound of phlegm deep within her throat and chest causing John and Sherlock to both cringe. "Oh, boys. You worry too much for an old lady like me. Really, I'm alright. I've had Jewels here taking care of me, and the staff here are very kind."

Sherlock sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. "The staff here are dimwits who wouldn't understand personal space if it hit them in the face. The meals are stingy and the place is crawling with other viruses that would make your health decline even further. You cannot expect us to leave you here, Mrs. Hudson!"

Despite how his back was turned, he could tell that someone was watching him and tilted his head to look over his shoulder. Julia stood within the doorway, hugging herself as she looked upon the detective and veteran surrounding her aunt. Their eyes met. Releasing the elderly woman's hand, he crossed over to Miss Fuller, having every intention on laying into her for bringing their landlady here, only for the rosette to reach out and pull him off to the side, a little ways off within the near empty room so that the two of them could talk.

"If I tore you from your work, I did not mean to," she began softly, her voice nothing more than anything above a whisper. His eyes narrowed, letting her explain herself to him. "I thought maybe you'd come home and—"

Sherlock became impatient after only a few seconds. "Yes, yes, when we got home, the note was there," he berated, being sure to express his clear frustration with the young woman. "You know first-aid, don't you? Why not just perform it right then?"

She looked up into his eyes, her own beginning to grow moist and her lips parting. "Sherlock, you weren't there! She was choking and there was nothing I could do. I couldn't just watch her suffocate!" Her voice became higher in pitch, her cheeks flushing. She was angry with him. Frankly, he had not expected such an outburst from her. Her whispers turned harsh to a point where they abused his ears. Julia's eyes fell and she raised her hands. "I-I bent her over, I tried to calm her down— I even gave her back a few strong pats, but she just couldn't catch her breath!"

"So you went in the ambulance, just the two of you, alone?" he demanded finally. "You didn't think to try and contact us? What about your phone, have you checked it? I sent you a message just before we left the flat. You never answered." Sherlock swallowed, giving her a quick once over. Her bottom lip quivered ever so softly. Julia was so soft. "You've got it in your pocket, don't you?"

Beat. Her mouth worked as she tried to find the words. Finally, she wilted even further beneath his gaze. "Her lips were turning blue. They said she wasn't getting enough oxygen to her head," she mumbled, her eyes falling as she looked off to the side. "I didn't have time to check my phone. I was too busy worrying about my aunt possibly choking to death on her own lungs." A few stray tears spilled over her auburn lashes and left damp trails down her cheeks. Sherlock felt his gut turn, realizing that he had done something to offend the poor woman. She had been crying before, obviously, judging by the puffiness around her turquoise eyes.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. Excuse me." Julia brushed past him, leaving him lost, staring after her for a moment as he replayed the entire conversation within his head. The rosette quickly disappeared out the door and down the hall once more.