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Sherlock carefully pushes open the door to the emergency room. He knows Sholto is on the 3rd floor, obviously. That’s where all critical care patients are held. Grabbing a lab coat and stethoscope, he heads for the first terminal and looks up the room number before heading straight there. As Sherlock forces his way in to the room, Sholto looks up with a slight furrow of the brows. Sherlock answers the unasked question, “Because you are the only other person who is capable of comprehending my state of mind this evening. For if I was not here with you then I would most likely be falling prey to one of my worst vices, and the only thing keeping me from doing so now, is imagining John finding me in that state.”
Sholto looks down in a nod, attempting to hide his face in his hands with an eye rub only to get caught in the wires and tubes coming out of his arms and hands. Aborting that move once the logistics prove more complicated than it’s worth, he gives an ‘oh hell’ flick to the cords and settles his hands on his thighs and stares out the window at the starless night. His thought drift,… so many times his own fingers froze on the trigger, knowing that John would be there, at his funeral, was the only thing that let him put down the gun. He knew how upset John would have been thinking there was something he could have done… His eyes close against the warring tides of emotion that have become all too familiar and all too insist on not staying buried. A small sigh of surrender precedes the words, “You and I, ARE the same.” Sholto looks over into the face of the other man.
“Yes, I believe we are. In more ways than I care to admit.” Sherlock pauses, and turns to the window. “I seldom put stock in any idiom, but tonight misery does love company. And since tonight is a night of romantic imagery I’ll shall indulge by saying I am misery personified and find myself for the first time, unable to bear this weight in solitude. At least without those dire consequences I mentioned earlier. ”
Sholto, with… understanding, replies, “I’m private man myself Mr. Holmes, but tonight, I will tell my story, and you, I believe, would not dispair me the drama of my telling. I shall attempt to keep the romantic imagery to a minimum. However, this might be a tall order, as our romantic friend is central to the plot. ” A slight pause and a deep breath splits the air. “Have a seat, and I shall tell you about the man who saved my life…”
More than a few moments pass as Sholto waits for Sherlock to sit. Sherlock takes his time before acquiescing, knowing that in this he’ll have proof to a side of John he would have never guessed at before today, a side that if would have only known of, maybe… just maybe Sherlock could have… No. What’s done is done.
Sholto waits for Sherlock’s subsiding into the chair, before beginning his story. “I first met John 10 years ago…”