#ive been working on a couple chapters of 'surprised by joy' every time i fly on a plane and his total dismissal of gayness as something

[kkoraki]

cs lewis on gay people is so fucking funny

[schnitzelbutterfingers]

The Forgotten One (Ethan Ramsey x F!MC)- CHAPTER 3

a/n: first, i wanna wish everyone a happy thanksgiving from my family to yours! please take the time to thank everyone you are so grateful to have in your life, especially god, for letting us live and for all the blessings he gives us. do not take anyone for granted.

next, so sorry for the holdup!! finally, chapter 3 is here! we’ll see what abby feels about the attack, her and ethan conversing, and a surprise ending. read, like, and let me know your reviews! forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist and as always, enjoy (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

summary:  Louise Ramsey, the mother of the famous, brilliant diagnostician Ethan Ramsey, is back into his life. However, Louise holds many secrets, dangerous secrets, that could harm him, Dr. Abigail ‘Abby’ Chacko (my MC), and the very few lives he actually cares about. It is up to Ethan, Abby, and their friends to save each other from what is about to come.

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x f!mc (dr. abigail ‘abby’ chacko) || dr. sebastian chacko x dolores hudson (YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT)

warning(s): angst, and then it’s pure fluff, and then a surprise ending (you’re gonna die die dieeee :)))

word count: 4289

catch up here :)

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Abby’s POV

When she wakes up it is with a headache, a throat ache and side pain. When she looks more closely at her nose, she sees an oxygen tube through them. When she looks more closely at her surroundings, she realizes she is in a hospital bed.

Lying down. Wearing a sky blue hospital gown. With an IV through her accessory cephalic vein. 

Jumping Jehoshaphat, what happened this time?

Abby spent many times in the hospital during her childhood. Most of them were due to the number of cuts and bruises she got from her father, in which some of them were very serious injuries. One time she was admitted to the hospital because...

No, Abby. Don’t relive through that phase. It’ll wound you more.

There are many types of pain. Many of her pains were physical, but some of her pains were emotional. By far, she can tell the emotional pain is the hardest to get over with.

Sure, she has been cut with a knife, raped by many of her father’s friends, and whipped with a belt. To her it was normal, and she had gotten used to it. To others, the pain is insufferable. 

Heartbreak hurts. Too much. It can rip people from the inside out, and change them. For better or worse.

Her father caused her many heartbreaks. In return, she studies, skipped five grades, graduated from high school when she was 13, and graduated from Hopkins when she was 21. Some might say she took it too far, but she knows it was just what she needed.

What she needed to prove to her father that pain doesn’t break her. 

What she needed to prove to her horrid patients that she is not dumb.

What she needed to prove to the whole world that she is not as young and innocent as everyone thinks she is.

Death, betrayal, and pain were her three companions, with some delectation in between. She cherished those jocund moments.

And she thanked God. Seb. Jazmin. Ethan. Herself. For all the hard work. 

But what happened right now? Why is she in this bed? 

It feels as if she has fallen into a cactus, her heart being punctured by tiny pins and needles. It’s starting at the bottom of her stomach, and it’s slowly growing. 

The anxiety.

The depression.

It feels like some kind of vaccination, where the shot doesn’t really hurt but the aftermath feels disastrous, cataclysmic. It’s leaving her breathless, as if she is running away from a ghost from her past. It is leaving a certain kind of exhaustion on her.

It’s heartbreak. But why? Why does she feel heartbreak? What could have possibly gone wrong-

Everything. Everything is going wrong. Bingo. She knows what is happening. But she can’t even speak the name out loud. It’s petrifying her. Really well.

 Louise Ramsey. 

Ethan’s mother who claimed to come for him and Alan.

Louise Ramsey.

The one who tricked them, including her.

Louise Ramsey. 

The one who stabbed her. The one who she trusted. 

The one who she believed had a change of heart didn’t have a change of heart at all.

She fooled everyone. She’s a liar. She is manipulative. She is every dark sin written across this universe. She is the next generation of Sat-

Wait. Wait a long moment.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

How is Abby supposed to tell this to Ethan of all people? How is she supposed to let him know his own mother tried to harm her? 

But she had to.

Moisture is falling from the tip of her index finger, even if the bed sheets feel cool. Sweat is dripping from her forehead, even if the hospital room is air conditioned. An imaginary shock travels through her body. The sharpness of the pain is unequivocal and indisputable that it sends shockwaves through her bloodstream. If it wasn’t for the bed, she would have crumpled to the floor.

She is currently holding the bed frame with a white-knuckled grip.

The young doctor scratched her arm nervously, mindful of the IV, as she let that horrifying memory fly through her.

Louise stabs her in the side, blood spilling to Abby’s legs and on the floor. She couldn’t say anything, words failing to come our of her mouth, every second making it harder to breather. She starts to lose consciousness, hearing the sounds of the patients in the room screaming for security.

Louise whispers into her ear, “The game has begun.” 

The last thing she sees is Louise running towards the exit and nurses coming towards Abby, before her world evades into darkness. 

That’s what happened. That’s why she’s in the hospital bed, feeling like crap.

That’s why she feels heartbreak, of all the emotions she can feel. She has heard of brother cheating on brother and father cheating on his wife. But a mother disowning her own husband and son, but then comes back only for her to clown them? 

That goes all the way back to Rebekah and Jacob in the Old Testament of the Bible, if you ask me.

She is back to the question on how she is supposed to tell Ethan. 

Does he know? If he knows, how does he feel? Does he feel depressed?

She sure hopes not.

When something happens to Abby, he always blamed on himself. Whether it was his fault or not. She reminisces on when Ethan apologized and was filled guilt when he found out about the trial.

Or when he came back from the Amazon. He didn’t really apologize for that, but the regret and remorse lurking beneath his eyes was the only thing she needed to know. To know that he was feeling guilt. Dismay. Lamentation.

Or when he opened up his bottled-up feelings concerning his mother. He said that he wasn’t planning on ‘dragging’ her into his mess. 

Or when she was in that decontamination room. She remembers his words clearly, words that were etched into her heart.

I wished I hadn’t asked you to stay away.

Or now.

If he knows. 

She knows what will happen if Ethan blames himself for this. He will be a different person. He will start becoming cold-hearted to people he cares about. He will push her away. Again.

Because he tends to believe that it is all his fault that accidents happen to the people he cherishes the most. He thinks that he is a curse. A malediction. An imprecation. She remembers the night when they connected for the first time. What he said.

This is The Ethan Ramsey. The man who can save anyone except the people he gives a damn about. Not Dolores. Not Naveen. And not you.

She was torn by what he said. Not because he said he couldn’t save her, but because he couldn’t love himself. 

The young doctor hopes he already knows what happened. Who stabbed her. She couldn’t even bear the thought of seeing his face crumble. The man who was stoic. The man who every one recognized as an imbecile. The man who every single doctor is head-over-heels in love with.

Ethan told her to tell him everything. Everything that makes her angry. Everything that makes her sad. Everything that makes her happy. 

If he doesn’t know what happened, she will tell him. She promised him that.

*Flashback*

It's normal for Abby to have a panic attack. Keeping her inhaler with her was vital for her to go through the day. Especially this week.

It’s been one week after the incident. That incident. That incident that took two innocent lives. Danny and Bobby. It’s all her fault. 

If Danny was alive, him and Sienna would’ve been a couple, loving each other. Now, she sees a Sienna whose eyes are haunted. Grave. Not filled with any giddy or joy. She doesn’t see her smile anymore, the once blushed cheeks with her beautiful grin that shows off her dimples, gone. Lost. Thrown away.

If Bobby was alive, he could’ve bought his daughter the new car. It was what he always wanted to do. Instead of enjoying his time with his daughter in her brand new car, he’s under the cold earth. 

Rafael is now going under therapy, but he also feels less confident from Rafael the paramedic. She misses the way he smiles. He does smile now, but there is no joy beneath his eyes.

And for Abby, she is not okay. She wishes she died. But she knows she couldn’t. There are people rooting for her. Her brother. Her mother. Her friends. Ethan. Ethan.

When she was informed that the gas in her body was maitotoxin and there was no cure, she accepted her fate and was ready to die. She glanced at Ethan, and his expression wasn’t betraying anything. But the eyes held more feelings than ever. They were pleading. They said, “Please don’t give up.”

She then realized that if they can find a cure within one day, she’ll try and survive. If not for me, then for Ethan and all the people I love, she thought.

Abby starts passing through that hallway. That one hallway. That one hallway that changed her life. No, that one room. And then, she passes through that room.

It’s clean, all the seals, the beds inside with new blankets and pillows. But she can’t see any of that. She can only see her, Rafael, Danny, and Bobby in that room. She sees Bobby dying. She sees Danny being taken away. She sees Rafael and herself being unable to breathe. 

Suddenly she runs away. She can’t take it anymore. You stupid, why would you even come back to the hospital when you’re not ready yet? she scolds herself. Because of Farley. Damn it.

Abby is flooded by her own thoughts when she accidentally runs into someone. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I-”

Only to know that someone is the one. 

She hears his baritone voice calling out to her, finding comfort and solace in it. 

“Abby? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Ethan wipes something off her cheeks, and she realized that she was crying the whole time. She was so lost in her emotions that she didn’t a single drop falling down to her right cheek. 

“I-” The young doctor tries to speak but couldn’t. She can’t breathe.

“Rookie!” Ethan quickly drags her to the nearest supply closet. He asks her where her inhaler is. 

“Left... pocket...”

He hastily grabs and places it into her mouth. 

“Deep breaths, rookie. Deep breaths.”

She does as she is asked and takes deep breaths. After a few long moments, her breathing level starts to go normal. 

“Rookie, you weren’t ready for your first day back, were you?”

Abby starts to argue. “Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you panic attack right now seems to prove otherwise.”

She sighs. He’s right. She wasn’t even ready to set foot into the hospital. The only reason she did was because of Farley’s rash, and she thought it was life threatening.

Ethan sighs, breaking her from her thoughts.

“Go home, Abby, you’ve had a long day.”

Abby is about to snipe back when he stops her by raising his hand.

“On second thought, I’ll take you to my house. We’re gonna take a day off.”

“But Ethan, we both have patients-”

“Who will be taken care of by the other doctors in this hospital. If you think I’ll be leaving you anytime soon, you’re wrong.”

Hearing his words makes Abby feel lighthearted. She is stubborn just like him, but he’ll always be there for her.

After getting a confirmation and a wink from Naveen, they are in the car. It’s 1:00 P.M., and Abby sees couples sitting on the chairs in the outside booths of a restaurant, smiling, one couple holding hands. She dreams of these moments with Ethan, but their relationship is still uncertain.

The car stops at a red light, and she turns around to look at Ethan, who is lost in thought.

“Ethan, are you alright?” she asks him, concerned.

The mature doctor cracks a dry smile towards her. “I should be asking you that.”

“Ethan...”

“Abby... are you having suicidal thoughts?”

Abby was astounded by his question.

“Ethan! Why would you think that?”

“I’m just asking. If you ever feel that, come talk to me immediately. I can’t...”

It hit her on what Ethan was thinking about. He doesn’t want her to leave. As much as the question made her a little frustrated, she couldn’t help but think about what he was feeling throughout the whole ordeal n the decontamination room.

Abby takes a deep breath. “Ethan, I’m not suicidal. I never have been. I was just uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Ethan looks at her deeply into her eyes. She can literally feel him searching for any lies at her statement, his body relaxing when he didn’t find any. 

When he stops the car, she realizes that they’re here. Before Abby can take off her seatbelt, Ethan’s hand on hers stops her from doing anything. She looks up with a questioning expression.

Ethan speaks in a very stern but concerned way. “If you ever have anything irritating or frustrating you-” he kisses her on the forehead.

“Anything that brings you pain-” He kisses her on the nose, making her scrunch it.

“Anything at all, that makes you want to cry out-” He kisses her on both cheeks. 

“You come and tell me. Promise me” He finally kisses her on the lips.

As the final words come out from Ethan’s lips, she wonders about how she is so lucky to have him. Tears were burning in the back of her eyes, but this time, they were tears of gratefulness. To Ethan. For being her best friend. She cracks a smile.

“I promise.”

*Back to present*

“Hello? Ma’am? Doctor?” she is interrupted from her thoughts by a male nurse. When she checks his tag, his name is Caspian Chapman, and he has a light British accent. She hasn’t seen him before. Abby suddenly feels embarrassed. Who knows how many times, he called her like that.

“Hi, I am so sorry,” she says shyly. “I was lost in thought. Were you speaking to me this whole time?”

Caspian gives her a wide smile. “Nope! I just came in! My name is Caspian, and I will be your nurse! I am new here so...” he trails off.

The young resident laughs, despite the pain on her left side. “Haha, don’t worry! I’m not one of those Karens! Now tell me, how long will I be staying here?”

“From the stab wound you received, you will probably be admitted here for a week.”

Abby inwardly groans, wanting to just go home. Of course this would happen. Even if she’s disappointed by the news, she knows that it is vital for her to recover.

“So, did the stab wound affect my liver or...” she winces at her left side.

Caspian sighs. “You are correct. They brought you to surgery quickly, or who knows what would have happened.”

“Wait, how did you know I’m a doctor?” 

Caspian smiles again. “Are you kidding me? You are Dr. Ethan Ramsey’s protege and in the diagnostics team! Not only that, you helped him save Dr. Naveen Banerji! You are also popular on Instagram. Anyone would kill to be in a spot and reputation like you.”

Her cheeks grow red. 

“I suppose so...” she trails off. 

The new male nurse speaks. “Anyways, I should let Dr. Ramsey, Dr. Banerji, and your family know that you are awake! They will be at relief.”

Wait, what? Ethan is here? Naveen is here? My family is here? They must’ve found out the harsh truth. 

As Caspian turns to leave, Abby stops him. The nurse turns around.

“Yes? Is something the matter?”

“I just wanted to know if they knew who stabbed me.”

Caspian grimaces. “Yes, they are well aware. Do you not wish to speak to them?”

Oh no. Ethan knows. What will she do? Should she call in her family first? No Abby, he'll think that I’m mad at him! She inwardly slaps herself.

Okay, Abby, deep breaths.  She took a deep breath, held it for three seconds, and exhaled. 

“Can you do me a favor and call in Eth- Dr. Ramsey first?”

“I will,” he replies back.

______________________________________________________________

Ethan’s POV

He is terrified. Terrified to go and see her. Terrified to talk to her. But he has to. He has to let her know he loves her. He has to let her know that he can’t live without her. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Seb.

“Ethan, buddy, remember what I said. Tell her you love her. Make yourself happy. Make her happy. And she will never blame you for anything that happened. She’s a very reasonable girl.”

He looks into Seb’s eyes, and sees that there is something he didn’t tell him. Some kind of sadness, but there is happiness mixed in. He will find out later.

The older doctor turns around and sees the support written in their faces. Seb. Jazmin. Naveen. They are smiling broadly.

Naveen claps him on his back. “Now go get your woman, Ethan.”

Ethan smiles back. “Thank you, guys.”

He took a deep breath and opened the doors.

There she is. Abby. At once, she turned her head around, and at once,  dusky brown met ocean blue. She looks tired, her body a little weak, but she still gives him a wide smile that sends his heart swooping forward. Oh, he has it bad. 

“Ethan. Hey.” Abby welcomes him and pats at a seat on her bed. He, however, was hesitant to do so.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you...”

She rolls her eyes. “Ethan, I was stabbed, not hit by a truck. Now, be a good boy and sit on the bed.”

He does as he is asked, sitting on the edge, eyes never leaving hers. “How do you feel?”

“My side’s kinda sore, but I’ll survive... How are you?” she asks hesitantly.

“W-What do you mean?” he stutters. Ethan Ramsey never stutters.

“...I know who the perpetrator is, Ethan.” So she does know.

Before Ethan can say anything, Abby replies. “I know you are blaming yourself for what your mother did. But I will say it again and again until it gets through that smart head of yours. It’s not your fault, do you hear me?”

His eyes are shining with tears, his heart all the way up to his throat.

“Abby... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He blinks, and a droplet fails to stay in his eyes, escaping from the confinement.

The young resident suddenly sits up, wincing a little at the abrupt movement. Her eyes are full of alarm.  “Ethan, c'mere.”

And he does. He hugs her tight, mindful of her side, his nose nuzzling his neck. Abby wraps her arms around him and strokes his hair. The motion gives him a sense of peace. His eyes drop a few more tears. I will tell her.

“Abby, I love you.” She tenses. Before she says anything, he cuts her off. 

“No, Abby, please listen to me. I’ve loved you since the first day you’ve stepped foot into this hospital. I love how you’re always a colossal pain in my ass. I love how your eyes sparkle every time you hear good news. I love how your dimples pop up when you smile. I love how you bite your lip when you think about something. I love everything about you. Your courage. Your admiration. Your passion. I love you body. I love you face. And i now know, that I never want to let you go again.”

When Ethan pulls back and cups her face, he can see the tears glistening, failing to hold still and dropping down onto her cheeks. She half-sobs and half-laughs.

“Ethan, I love you, too.” And that is all he needs to hear.

He kisses her cold lips gently and pulls back, finding his sense of relief. She, in return, kisses his forehead. He promises to himself one thing: he’ll never let her go again.

______________________________________________________________

Seb’s POV

Seeing them crying of happiness makes him smile, his heart feeling elevated with joy. They deserve this joy. They both’ve been through a lot lately, and confessing their love for each other was their first step towards recovery.

“Psst! Seb!” Amma. Behind her is Naveen.

“How is it going there?”

The surgeon smiles triumphantly. “Our plan worked.”

Quiet cheers came out of their mouths. 

“Finally!” Naveen sighs. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. Ethan’s too damn stubborn for his own good.”

Seb laughs quietly. “That he is.”

Amma scratches his wool sweater. He just realized the feeling of itch on his skin because of the wool. And he can’t wait to take it off. But they won’t be leaving Abby’s room for the next two days. Not him, at least.

“Will it be alright if we go in and interrupt them?” Amma asks hesitantly. “I have an urge to hug my daughter after the incident.’

“I am sure that will be alright.”

Amma knocks the door. After hearing an acknowledgment, all three of them walked in. 

“Hi Ethan, is it alright if I hug my daughter? I do not mean to waste any of your-”

Ethan looks at her incredulously. “Why would you ask me if you want to hug your own daughter? I don’t mind at all.”

The famous doctor looks at Seb with a questioning look, who shrugs.

Mother rushes forward and hugs Abby carefully, sobbing as she kisses al of her face. The resident sighs.

“Amma, look at me.” Abby forces Jazmin’s face to her. “I. Am. Fine.”

“Sorry, Ladoo, your mother was just very worried when we got the call. I won’t try to cry, alright?”

The Chacko smiles easily. “now that’s what I wanted to hear from you. My Amma is strong.”

Abby sighs and looks at Seb and Naveen, smiling cheerily. “Who’s next in line for cuddles?”

Seb comes forward, finally at ease when he kisses her forehead gently. He hugs her as tight as he can, the injury preventing him for hugging her more. 

“Please, for the love of Pete, please never scare us like that again.”

She laughs lightly and cuddles closer to him. “I’ll try not to.”

Seb looks up and sees Ethan with a light smile on his face. He finally feels light, free.

He then hears Jazmin’s stomach grumble lightly. Abby laughs hearing this. “Why did you guys not eat? All of you need to get food. Now.”

“I’m not gonna leave you this time around,” he replies. 

Seb’s sister groans. “I knew you would say that.”

The surgeon has an idea. “How about I get all of us some burgers from a nearby restaurant? Since I doubt Ethan’s gonna like what he gets from the cafeteria.”

The famous attending shrugs and then grins easily. “You know me so well.”

“Only for you.”

Abby is on a strict water diet for two days, so he considers buying a cup of chocolate pudding for her. As he leaves the room, he sees Naveen hugging Abby, which brought some emotions to the Chacko. Naveen is like the father he never had before.

Seb is really joyous and filled with triumph at the love confessions between Abby and Ethan. He only wishes it could happen to him.

But it can’t. Because he lost the love of his life last year. Due to a seizure. While she was giving birth. All of their promises. All of their hopes and dreams. Gone. Forever 

I miss her... I miss her a lot.

Suddenly, he hears a whistle. A familiar whistle. It sounds like her. 

When she was alive, they used to whistle a lot. it was a form of their communication. The whistle that heard now was a way of saying, “Turn around.”

No, Seb, he thinks. You’re just letting yourself get too emotional. Stop hallucinating.

But then he hears it again. And it’s behind him. A little far away from him. 

He’s afraid to turn around. He can’t move. 

He forces himself to turn around, like the whistle had told him to.

And then he sees her. He sees her. He actually sees her.

No way, it can’t be... Suddenly, Seb speaks.

“...Dolores? Is that really you?”

She smiles. That smile. He missed that damn smile. Her face and hands are covered with small bruises.

And she talks. “Yeah, Seb. It’s me. Dolores Hudson. I’m alive. I really am.”

______________________________________________________________

Mystery Man’s POV

I give Louise some cash that she was looking forward to. 

“Great, thanks!” she says with a smile.

“Anything for my wife,” I reply, with an emphasis on the word ‘wife’.

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t call me that. I married you to destroy them, not to love you. Now where’s that manicure you promised?”

Louise is annoying as hell. Sometimes I wonder how her former husband Alan dealt with her. What a man, I think. 

She gives me a mischievous grin. “Now give me a kiss.”

I groan, and I quickly give her a kiss, not wanting it to last for long.

Then, I feel a vibration in my pocket. It’s my phone. I pick it up.

It’s one of my guards. And I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I bark him an order. Blood rushes through my veins, and for the first time in a long time, I feel fear.

I hang up the phone and look at Louise, whose eyes held confusion. I decide to answer her questioning glance.

“Missing captive alert. Dolores Hudson has escaped.”

______________________________________________________________

a/n 2: hope you liked that ending!

a/n 3: i know dolores died of a seizure while under an emergency c-section, but in this au, i refuse to believe so :)

tags:@missmiimiie​ @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble​ @udishaman​ @caseyvalentineramsey​ @queencarb​ @choicesstan1​ @newcolonies​ @arcticrivers​ @angela8756 @takemyopenheart​ @rookie-ramsey​ @ohchoices​ @ohvamsey @ohramsey @natureblooms24​ @drariellevalentine​ @maurine07​ @lucy-268 @thanialis

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@choicesficwriterscreations

[mama-orion]

Sacre Coeur, chapter 3

Chapter one & chapter two Lots more to come, dear readers, though the timing of the next chapter depends on how well middle-of-the-night writing works out this week. This one begged to happen today. Thank you for your comments and likes. You keep me right.

~ ~ ~

John slowly drifts up from the blackness of deep, leaden sleep. He can still feel Sherlock’s arms around him, the warmth of his chest pressing against his back, can still feel his breath and tears on his neck. How long was I asleep? Couldn’t have been but a few minutes. But John feels… warm.  

Warm. Soft bed. Smells like… home.

With a lurch of vertigo, John peels open eyes that are sticky and resistant, then squeezes them shut against blinding brightness. Though his body feels as heavy as granite, his heart is racing. Where is the forest? The mad sister? What the bloody hell is going on?

“Mrm.”

He feels Sherlock’s full-body twitch against his back as he suddenly wakes and—

 “…John?” a hoarse whisper, then, “John!” a cry, his deep voice cracking, Sherlock lurching up from behind him. Long hands on his shoulder, feather-soft on his face, his hair. “Can you hear me? John, please, please be awake.”

 “Mmph.”

 “John!” The joy in Sherlock’s voice squeezes something inside John’s chest. It’s the delight he only ever hears when Sherlock’s solved a really tricky 9, or discovered a string of serial suicides have turned serial killer, or when…

…when he’s just saved John from a dangerous spot and he’s gotten him back, alive.

Feeling like he’s just swum the English Channel, John squints into the brightness and turns his head toward his friend. The tiny motion sends a terrific drumbeat of pain across his temple. From close by, Sherlock’s voice is sympathetic, though he's grinning so hard his glittering eyes are almost lost in the folds.

“Ah, headache, yes, that should last about twenty minutes. And you’ll be feeling intensely—“

“Wh…. water.”

“—thirsty. Here, let’s sit you up.”

John feels like he’s woken with the flu from a fevered sleep. Sherlock scoops him up from under his arms and props him against the pillows—pillows?—presses a straw to his lips. John gulps the water, can’t drink it fast enough to slake the thirst that’s clawing at his parched mouth. He tries to take the cup, but finds he still can’t make his fingers do as he asks and gratefully lets Sherlock hold the cup until he’s drained it. High-functioning sociopath, indeed.

“Better?”

“Mm. Ta,” he croaks. “Where…” He squints into the brightness and suddenly his eyes fly open.

He’s in Sherlock’s bedroom. In Sherlock’s bed. But it’s all been transformed—tables cluttered with lab equipment, an IV stands nearby. His eyes goggle. “What…” Sherlock is sitting right at his side, watching him closely, and gently places his hands on John’s shoulders. His voice is slow and patient, like when they were in the well.

“It’s okay, John, you’re safe. We’re at 221B. In my room.” His brow briefly furrows. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get you into your old room, but there wasn’t a lot of time. It was better for the equipment to be near the kitchen, anyhow, for the water source.”

Sherlock’s talking nonsense. But his face, hovering before him, makes John catch his breath. It’s grayish and lined, hollows under his eyes, tear-stained, a solid grizzle of beard darkening his usually sharp, smooth jaw. He looks utterly wrecked. Except that he’s positively glowing with relief. John blinks and blinks.

“How’d you get us… away from the well?” His voice is rough, unused. Talking makes his head pound harder, but he pushes past it. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrow again and he bites his lip, takes a small hiss of air, searches his eyes.

“Where were you, just now?”

John’s solar plexus prickles with panic. How could he not know? “Sherlock, we were just in a well. I was chained and the water was rising and…” Fumbling, John pulls aside the blanket to inspect his right leg, which should, by his account, be purpling with bruises where he kicked against the cuff. But his skin is plain, unmarred. He huffs, shaking his head with disbelief.

“John. Slow down. You’ve just woken. My god, John. You’ve actually woken…” and to his utter surprise Sherlock’s face crumples as he folds him into a fierce embrace. Despite the vertigo and confusion, John closes his eyes and leans into him, his racing heartbeat easing. I don’t know what’s happening, but he’s still here. And this… He breathes him in. This is good.

There’s a deep sniff and Sherlock pulls away, suddenly looking self-conscious and avoiding John’s eyes. He busies himself by pouring another cup of water and offering it to John, whose hands have woken up enough to support it if he uses both of them. Dazed from the hug, he drinks a while, watching Sherlock fidget with the equipment by his bedside. Finally, the thirst eases and John carefully places the cup on the bedside table. It feels like a notable achievement. His mind feels clearer, though the headache pounds on. John tries to catch his eyes.

“Just tell me what happened, how you got us back here.”

Sherlock fidgets with the edge of his blanket. Sucking in a gulp of air as if he’s about to dive deep under water, Sherlock finally meets his eyes. “John, we never left. We were attacked. You have been in a drugged sleep for several days, enduring, if my own experience is any reference, highly disturbing and lucid nightmares.”

John startles, blinks hard. “Drugged. Seriously?”

Sherlock sighs, shifting on the edge of the bed. “Both of us. But it affected me differently, only lasting a few hours. The effects were unpleasant to say the least. We were both rendered unconscious. I had a short period of vivid nightmares, woke with headache and thirst. I imagine you feel a bit like you’ve been hit by a lorry.”

“Mm.” John squirms slightly at the feverish ache in all of his limbs.

“I woke first and found you in your chair, still unconscious. I made you comfortable, figured you’d come round any moment while I dashed around calling my network, calling Mycroft to begin pursuit…” he grimaces. “Wait. I’ll get to that.” His face falls, radiating guilt. “I wish you’d woken first, with your medical instincts. I should have noticed right away you were in distress. We rushed you to Bart’s–”

“The ambulance–” John blurts out. “I remember you in my ambulance. So that part wasn’t a dream. You were…” John’s voice trails off because he remembers Sherlock had been holding his hand tightly while the paramedics worked on him. He’d looked over briefly to see his stricken face. And then more darkness, more nightmares.

 “It’s as if you had an allergic reaction to it. Your body didn’t seem to want to be woken.” He turns away, hands balling into fists. “We tried so many things, ran rounds of toxicology screenings. We knew after 24 hours that there wasn’t any residue of the drug left in your system. Our bloodwork matched. But I couldn’t find the pattern.” There is self-loathing in his tone. “You stabilized. But you wouldn’t wake. For days you wouldn’t wake. It’s as though you were… trapped.”

John nods slowly. “I was.”

Sherlock studies him quietly, then looks away, suddenly shy. “We switched to alternative methods of waking you. It was Molly’s idea, actually. I made an arrangement with Mycroft–”

“Mycroft? What in hell has he got to do with–”

“I promise, John, I’ll get to that. He wasn’t in favor of our plan at all, but I was…convincing.”

 John blinks, taking in the cluttered lab spread out in the room, suddenly comprehending.

“You… brought me home.”

“Yes.”

John’s chest squeezes very tightly, lips pulling into a thin line.

“While I could continue looking for a cure, we hoped that my… presence, coupled with the familiar setting, stimulating sound, would reassure the part of your mind that had barricaded you in, keeping you safe from further harm.”

“Stimulating sound? Oh…” John blinks, making the connections. “You played your violin for me.”

Sherlock smiles sheepishly. “When we lived together, I would often play outside your door when you had nightmares. It seemed to soothe you.”

“I remember,” John hums. “It always helped. And yes. I... I heard music, where I was. You and your crazy sister were playing duets while she plotted to destroy us.”

Sherlock shakes his head wonderingly. “Where have you been, Dr. Watson?”

John scrubs his face with his hands, taps is forehead which makes him grimace.

“Yea, I’ll be needing some help to sort out all the nonsense in here.”

“And not all of it nonsense, I’m afraid,” Sherlock mutters. John looks up, suddenly remembering.

“You were asking me to wake up, you know. After you’d wrapped me up in your coat.” He feels a blush creeping up his neck and decides not to divulge that part. “Didn’t make any sense in the… the dream.” It hurts to admit it, he realizes. The relief collides with a curious grief that all of Sherlock’s heroic actions in the well didn’t actually happen. He takes in the makeshift lab, the room incongruously well-equipped with nursing supplies. Well, maybe not exactly.

Sherlock blinks rapidly, digesting this.

“So, you heard me.” He grins. “I talked to you every day, read to you, told you all sorts of things, probably drove you mad—would have been fine if it drove you to wake up, tell me to shut it. It was very important that you regain consciousness today, so yes, I was…imploring you to wake up. I made an agreement with Mycroft that if I couldn’t rouse you in three days I’d allow you to be moved to a secure facility. It felt wrong to send you there. I had to wake you.”

“So you found the antidote, then?”

“I didn’t, John. You just. Woke up.” They are silent for several heartbeats. John holds Sherlock’s gaze.

“You were... holding me. In my dream. And when I woke.”

It’s Sherlock’s turn to redden and turn away. “Yes. Human contact was part of our… hypothesis.”

“Your hypothesis?” He can’t help but smirk at Sherlock’s discomfort. “So, did Molly hold me, too?”

Sherlock looks aghast. “Certainly not.”

They are quiet for a long time as John absorbs Sherlock’s words.

“It worked, you know.”

“Hm?” It’s been so many minutes that Sherlock seems to have drifted off, lost the thread. John feels a twinge when he sees how exhausted he is. I’ve been his latest case. Bet he hasn’t had a night’s sleep or a proper meal for days.

“Your…techniques. They worked. You pulled me out. Literally. From a well.” The halting words tumble out. “I was so alone. Doesn’t take a great leap to see I was stuck in my head, chained, drowning, calling to you. But you found me, just before… before I went under. You held me up, helped me breathe, made me a harness and kept me warm. And then I fell asleep, and woke up… here. With you.” John’s nostrils flare and he sets his jaw. “You rescued me. Brilliantly, Sherlock. There, and here.” He takes a long shuddering breath. “If I’d died in that dream, I’m certain it would have been fairly permanent.”

The strangeness is too much. John folds his knees into his chest and buries his head, raking at his hair. Sherlock blinks rapidly as he absorbs this information.

“I rescued you. In your dream. Oh.”

Sherlock reaches out, tentatively presses a hand on John’s foot through the blanket. When John doesn’t twitch away, he experiments with keeping it there. John lifts his head and appraises Sherlock, thunder in his eyes.

“So go on, then. Tell me. Who did this to us?”

Sherlock is suddenly filled with an agitated energy and pushes off the bed, pacing the room.

“Please, this is complicated. Are you thirsty? Do you need–”

“Sherlock, you’re stalling. Out with it.”

Sherlock scrubs his face while he paces. “It’s… You’ve only just woken. And even though I’ve been going over and over it in my mind, I’m still not sure how best to tell you without–”  His voice catches and he stops, drops his gaze to his feet. John can see the strain and exhaustion etched into his face.

“Without…what? And will you sit? You’re worn through. And making me nervous.” Reluctantly Sherlock returns to his perch on the edge of the bed, a careful space between them. “Thank you. Now. Explain.”

…

 “John. You have been removed from certain truths for… for such a long time. It was horrible, keeping them from you. But the alternative was unbearable. Unacceptable.” He turns away, hands balling into fists. “All I have done, John, I have done to keep you safe. But it is quite possible and even justifiable that when I have told you everything, and I intend to tell you everything, you will want nothing to do with me. Not ever again.”

He stops, hunches his shoulders protectively, closing his eyes, steeling himself for the wave of John’s anger. He knows how much John hates being lied to, hates being left out. But the silence stretches on and still it doesn’t come.

Instead a hesitant hand, trembling with the simple effort of moving across the sheet, rests on top of his. He twitches slightly at the touch, his fist uncurling, then looks back at John, confused. John’s eyes glitter and his expression is baffling. His voice is unexpectedly soft.

“Sherlock, a short time ago I was drowning. Utterly real. And while as I was in that freezing water, I went through everyone in my head I should be struggling to stay alive for.” He gives Sherlock’s hand a small squeeze. “Maybe I was in this bed the whole time, warm and safe, but to me, Sherlock, it was reality. And so was every thought I had.”

He ducks his chin to catch his eyes. Sherlock sucks in his breath and makes himself brave them, because John woke up when I pulled him from a well. The blue of his irises is a color he was not sure he’d get to see again. He feels a throb in his chest.

“So whatever you’re about to tell me, Sherlock, I’d like you to tell me here."  John pulls very lightly at Sherlock’s hand. "No truth you tell me is going to frighten me away. Not anymore.”

Wondering if perhaps he’s now the one dreaming, Sherlock shifts back onto the mattress slowly, gingerly settling next to John, shoulder and arm and thigh touching. Invited. It's different than when John was asleep. I’m shaking.

John folds Sherlock's hand into his and holds it like iron, then leans closer, settling against Sherlock’s shoulder. With a shiver and a spasm of breath, Sherlock drops his chin to rest on John’s soft hair, breathes in the scent of him. Moth wings unfold in his chest. This is a catalyst. John brushes his thumb over the soft skin of Sherlock’s palm, sending a shiver from toe to scalp. We can’t go back. What new chain reaction are they tumbling through? What comes after this? Whatever it is, it feels like home.

They sit very quietly. Where a moment ago Sherlock was ready to explain himself out of John’s life, now his mind is curiously blank while it catalogs the warmth and pressure of each place John has willingly pressed his body against his own.

…

“Thank you.” John hums a sigh. Sherlock gradually relaxes against him, his breath slowing. Look at us. John sleepily watches their fingers braided together, very slowly exploring knuckle, fingertip, palm. Something changed in the well. It’s as if some vital part inside of him, something that was loose and rattling, has settled into its place. It's the most peaceful he's felt in, well, in years. His eyelids droop closed, craving a simpler, natural sleep. His mind drifts.

In the bright afternoon light of Sherlock’s room, leaning into the man who has saved him, memories begin bobbing to the surface of John’s mind. He scrutinizes them, begins to feel the difference between the true memories and the dreams. The nightmares lack dimension. Upon closer inspection, they crackle apart into irrational logic. Like that wild one where Mrs. Hudson careened to his therapists’ in a sports car, Sherlock drugged in the boot, helicopters trailing. Or that awful one where he was hurting Sherlock, god, hurting him so badly in a morgue. Bloody hell. He leans against Sherlock and feels him lean back, which sends an effervescent ripple through his stomach. It steadies him. He is safe.

A dam bursts. A dark wave of memory floods John’s mind. Real memories.

Christ. He stares up at the ceiling, jaw working, seething. I knew. Knew all along.

John breaths in sharply, coming back to himself, and finds Sherlock watching him carefully. He’s worried. John gives Sherlock’s hand another reassuring squeeze and swallows hard.

“It’s okay,” he says very quietly, the anger a crackling current just below the surface of his words. “I remember now. It was Mary. She did this to us.”

___

Tagging those who liked/shared earlier chapters, because I’m a cliff-hanger jerk and when I’m reading a story I rage at the writer who leaves me hanging…

@clace-morgenstern-herondale71 @brilliantorinsane @tqosaw @tagnent @theseobsessions @is-that-a-designer @getwaterdamage @sherlockisnolongeravailable @min2chin @joynvrs @pinkrose423 @ineedhugz @allyhockeyfan @noshit-sherlovk