Chapter 1: What happened?

I can vaguely hear talking. It's between two people. One I have never heard before and one I feel I should know. For some reason, my mind can't process it properly. My eyes are still shut, so I lie in a dark daze. Wherever I am is soft and warm, safe. Slowly, though, I open my eyes, allowing bright white light to flood my pupils. The light is blinding and my eyes are taking longer than usual to adjust to it.

Suddenly, there is a clatter of footsteps coming towards me. I just make out the familiar voice saying "Oh! Thank God! Sherlock!". My eyes slowly begin to focus and I turn my gaze towards the man, finally realising who it is: DI Lestrade. " We were wondering if you would ever wake up after we found-" he stops abruptly, closing his mouth and glancing away momentarily. I still can't really process what he says, although I feel it may be important to me for some unknown reason.

Then, I scan the room with my eyes, realising immediately that I'm in a private hospital room. The walls are white-washed, bringing me back to my long, dull days in rehab. Out of the corner of my eye, I can just make out a window, but I don't move to see out of it, instead, I stay stock still. My attention is quickly brought back to Lestrade when he speaks again.

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?" He asks.

Of course I can, I think to myself. Somehow, I can't seem to make a reply. I swallow and open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Sherlock, say something." Lestrade almost begs.

Again, I try, but no words come.

"Give him time." The other man says. I turn my gaze to him. He's clearly a doctor because he wears a (stereotypical) white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. The doctor has short brown hair and deep creases in his forehead. The man isn't particularly tall, but is in good shape. He walks over to the end of my bed, gets a out a clipboard and scribbles something down onto it. Once finished, he looks at me again and asks "Thirsty?"

I suddenly notice the dryness of my mouth and throat. Every swallow feels like sandpaper. Why am I so thirsty? I try to speak once more but only a croak escapes my lips. Giving up on talking, I decide to nod instead. Big mistake. It sends a spark of pain down my spine and my head swims. I wince, causing concern to brush over Lestrade and the doctor's faces before they hide it quickly.

Seemingly ignoring my obvious pain, Lestrade reaches for a jug of water and fills a cup. Instead of handing it to me, he presses the plastic rim to my lips and gently tips it, allowing the cooling liquid to flow soothingly into my mouth. When I swallow, I can feel as the water rushes down my throat. The sandpaper feeling is gone, mostly.

Within seconds, the cup is empty. Lestrade reaches for the jug again but is stopped by the doctor, who mumbles a little too loudly "No more, it'll be too much of a shock to his system.", which further deepens my confusion. Why have I been starved of water? The inspector nods and places the cup down on a small table to the right of my bed, before turning his attention back to me.

"Better?" He asks, before remembering I am unable to reply.

With perfect timing, the door to my room swings open and Mycroft swans in, umbrella in hand. He immediately looks over to me. For a millisecond, his eyes seem to light up as he sees mine are open, but he regains his mask almost immediately and says

"Ah, awake at last, brother dear? You've been through quite a lot."

I stare at him, genuinely baffled. What did he mean? What had I 'been through'? Out of the corner of my eye, I see the doctor shooting my elder brother an accusatory look.

Before I can find answers to these questions, I notice something: John isn't here. If anything has happened, I know John would be right there beside me, so where is he? Desperate for an explanation, I clear my throat and cough out his name, my voice weak and rasping. All three men turn to me.

"Sorry?" Mycroft asks, clearly, they didn't make out what I said, so I try again. I have a little more success this time. "John?"

All three men shoot one another a look that I can't quite read, before they turn back to me.

"What about him?" Mycroft questions.

"Where?" Is all I can say in reply.

"He's...otherwise engaged." Mycroft says, with a pointed look on his face.

Then, another question hits me, and I struggle to cough it out, each word a little less painful than the last.

"Why... Am I...here?" I finally manage.

Another glance is exchanged between the men.

"Sherlock" Mycroft begins, picking his words with extreme caution "what do you last remember?" The doctor gives a slight nod in Mycroft's direction.

I think for a few seconds. I remember pulling on my coat and scarf and leaving 221B in a hurry, although I cannot recall when or why. I remember someone calling my name, and then darkness. Nothing.

"I remember leaving baker street, with John, and hearing my name being called. That's it." I say, my voice sore, but fairly steady now.

Another exchanged look, with Mycroft raising his eyebrows at the other two.

"That's it?" He asks, staring me dead in the eye. "Where exactly does it stop?"

A little confused, and noticing my head beginning to throb, I reply "Our names were called..." I rack my brain, suddenly hearing a stifled cry from inside my head that sounds like John's "... John tried to say something but was stopped... And then just blackness." I finish, looking at Mycroft with a questioning expression.

"How long ago do you think that was?" Ha asks, genuine concern on his face.

I think for a moment, unsure, before half answering, half asking "Several days...maybe a week...?"

I watch Mycroft's face closely. He simply nods slowly before the doctor says

"Probably ought to stop there. Can you feel any pain, Sherlock? Be honest, its important."

I try to lift my head, but cry out as shock-waves race across my body. Blood rushes through my skull, causing my brain to throb even more. Lestrade is forced to turn away, but Mycroft just stares at me, the slight pity in his eyes disgusts me. I try to lift my right hand instead but it feels like a dead weight, and pain creases across my face. All the dexterity from my fingers seems to be gone; my arm is still and aching.

Before I can try anything else, the doctor cries "Stop! Don't move, Sherlock. Stay exactly as you are." To be honest, I don't have much choice. Whatever had happened to me, it must have been bad, so why couldn't I remember a thing? And why wasn't John here to explain it all? Why was everyone being so mysterious, with side-glances and almost silent murmurs?

Instead, I answer the doctor's question the easy way, although what I say is already obvious. "My head throbs, and it pains me to move anything."

With that, the doctor comes around to the left-hand side of my bed and presses a few buttons on a screen. Only then do I notice several IV lines in my left arm, connected to the machine.

They're drugging me up, I think. Quickly, I ask "When will John visit?", but nobody seems to hear, or if they do, they ignore me completely. Mycroft and Lestrade have their eyes dropped, unable to catch my gaze. There's definitely something they're not telling me, maybe more than one thing.

I feel the liquid flow into me, probably morphine. "Just relax, close your eyes." The doctor says gently. I hardly need persuasion, my eyelids drop almost immediately and the drug swallows me back into a world of darkness and confusion. The only respite is feeling the throbbing in my head cease. I am empty. I am numb.

Thanks for reading and please review :) The next chapter is already written and will be up tomorrow.