Pain and Coffee Beans

Chapter 4

Time passed slowly after her surgery. Learning to walk again was so difficult. She felt like it was the hardest thing she ever had to learn to do. But she wasn't sure, because she still couldn't remember. The doctors put her immediately on a special diet to gain the weight she'd lost back; her cheeks were filling out and her ribs weren't as prominent anymore. John came to visit her several times a week. Usually alone, but sometimes Sherlock would tag along and ask her questions about herself she didn't know the answers to. They were there when she took her first steps without her walker, and he was there when she made it up the stairs by herself. And she was happy to have someone to share those moments with. She hated not knowing who she was. Not being able to remember if she had family that would surely be missing her. It frustrated her beyond words, but she enjoyed the company of John. Passing notes with him was the highlight of her day. She loved listening to John talk about his cases with Sherlock, recounting how brilliant Sherlock really was. She would remind him that he was brilliant too and he would smile sadly and keep talking. Weeks passed this way, but today was a very special day.

Dr. Hastings came bustling in in his usual way, "Good morning, Sunshine! Guess what! You get to leave this dreary place today!" He smiled happily, "As soon as you get your things packed, you're free to go where ever you like! Would you like us to call you a cab?"

She looked around at the few things she had come to own. Flowers from John; she smiled at those. He refreshed them every week. A stuffed bear he'd brought her, too. To keep her company when he wasn't there he'd told her. Some clothes the hospital had given her. And a pair of socks with flowers and little yellow birds on them, Sherlock brought her those. But she knew that John had made him because he stuck them out at her in his own annoyed way, and John had nodded his approval when he thought she wasn't looking. It was John's way of trying to make her feel less alone. And she was thankful for it. She turned back to the doctor and nodded.

"Alright! I'll have the nurse call one for you," he paused, "Good luck, dear. I hope everything works out for the best for you." Then he left her to her task.

She gathered what she had in the large brown paper bag John had brought her bear in; then sat on the edge of her bed. Where would she go? She didn't know who she was, or where she had been before. She swallowed a sob. Who am I?

******

It wasn't long before the nurse came to the door and told her the cab had arrived for her. She took a last sniff of John's flowers and then followed the nurse out of the hospital, dragging her feet the whole way. Once inside the cab she wrote down an address in her little notebook and handed it to the cabbie, who nodded and started off without a word. She sat quietly in her seat with her bear held tightly in her arms, watching the hospital get smaller as they pulled away from it. She wiped a single tear from her cheek and took a deep breath. Whoever she was, she must have been strong to survive the faceless man. She sat up straighter and forced herself to smile. She could do this.

*****

The cab stopped in front of a green door with a golden knocker, "221B Baker Street," the cabbie said in a low, monotone voice. She smiled and scribbled the words 'thank you' onto a piece of paper and handed it to him along with her fare before getting out of the car. She stood silently for a moment just in front of the door, the brown bag containing her life in one hand and her bear held tightly in the other, before she knocked.

It didn't take long for the door to open, revealing an older woman with a kind face and a warm smile. Taking out her notebook she wrote, 'I'm looking for Dr. Watson?' and handed it to her.

The old woman nodded and opened the door wider, gesturing up a flight of stairs, "His room is up there, just knock before you go in," she said, "My name is Mrs. Hudson by the way. John told me all about you," the old woman rested a hand on her should, "Let me know if you need anything, ok?"

She nodded and scribbled her a quick 'thank you' before walking up the stairs, taking her time so as not to fall. When she reached the door above the stairs she knocked softly and waited. And waited. And knocked louder. And waited. But no one came to the door. She panicked for a moment. They're not here! Where am I to go? Before she realized what she was doing she turned the doorknob and found it unlocked. She opened the door slowly and peered inside. To the left, she saw a bit of the kitchen through the doorway, and when she craned her neck to the right she could just see a fireplace with a human skull on the mantelpiece. But no sign of John or Sherlock. She stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind her.

"Good, you're back. I need you to do something for me," she immediately recognized Sherlock's voice and turned toward the source. Sherlock was lying on the couch on his back, eyes closed; his hands steepled together and pressed to his mouth. She took several steps in his direction, stopping just before she bumped into the coffee table. There were papers strewn across the little wooden table, news articles, printed out emails, and pictures of people she didn't recognize. He must be working a case. How exciting! She smiled gleefully and stooped down to get a closer look at the papers. Someone had been murdered. Someone's child? At a church. She scanned the pages she could see for more information, not daring to touch the papers and disturb Sherlock. The father was the prime suspect. Everyone else had alibis. She closed her eyes and imagined herself at the church. She visualized the towering building before her. Heard the people all whispering to each other as they went in. Soon the courtyard was empty. She glanced around quickly, looking for the little boy. Listening for him. But she saw and heard no one. She opened her eyes and quickly scanned the pictures on the table. There was a shed behind the church. She closed her eyes again and mentally ran towards the little shed and swung the door open wide. She gasped and her eyes flew open just as John walked in the door.

"Wha- what are you doing here?" he stammered.

She took out her little book and wrote something furiously onto the page, ignoring John completely, and stepping around the coffee table, shook Sherlock's shoulder. His eyes remained closed.

"You won't be able to get him to acknowledge you. He's stubbornly in his 'mind palace,'" John made sarcastic quotes in the air, "But I'm still left to wonder why you're here?"

She rolled her eyes and sat heavily on Sherlock's stomach. His eyes flew open.

"Bloody hell!" John laughed, "I never tried that one."

Sherlock tried to sit up angrily, his eyes ablaze, "What do you think you're doing?"

She ignored the threat in his tone and held her notebook to his face. He tried to ignore the little book and stand up, but she wouldn't let him ignore her. Not right now. Not after what she had seen. He smacked the book away when she brought it back up to his face, giving him a pleading look.

"Sherlock, just look," John said, finally, having had his fill of watching Sherlock struggle against the tiny woman on his stomach.

Sherlock huffed, "Fine," and snatched the book from her.

Satisfied, she stood up and went over to hug John around the neck. As quietly as she could, so that John could just barely hear her, she whispered, "I had nowhere else to go," into his ear.

John smiled, and broke away from her hug, "Well you can stay here with us. Is that alright Sherlock?"

Sherlock was standing by the window in the far side of the room now. He was studying the words on the little paper and didn't seem to have heard John. She could see his face twisting in disbelief as he whispered the words to himself over and over, "How did you know this?" He demanded, flying across the room and grabbing her by her shoulders. She flinched at the sudden closeness of his face to hers, "How did you know the gardener did it?" He let her go and began pacing rapidly across the floor, "Of course he did it. Of course," he mumbled to himself. His head snapped back up to her, "I asked you a question," he hissed.

She motioned for her notebook, which he hurriedly gave her, and then wrote something in it.

Sherlock snatched it away roughly and poured over the words she had written. First, he laughed. Then he looked over the page again and shook his head, "I'm going to go see Lestrade," he grabbed his coat, handed her back her notebook, and headed for the door. He turned to her just before he opened the door, "We are not done here," he said; then he was gone.

"My god, what did you write?" John asked, surprise written across his face. She shrugged and handed him the book. John's eyes widened and he laughed loudly, "Yeah. That'd do it," he said, "Are you hungry? I'm going to make some tea." She nodded and smiled, taking the book back from him before he went into the kitchen. What had she said that had made Sherlock so mad? She looked down at the words on the page,

I just looked at all your papers.