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Denial

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It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real It’s not real it’snotrealit’snotrealit’snotreal. No. No no no no. I can.. He’s fine. It’s fine. He must have, have landed on something. Something. No. No no. Maybe.. maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe it wasn’t really him. Maybe it was someone else and he was lying. No. No it was him. I know him. He would. Why? Would he? Am I dreaming? No. Not a dream. Never like this. The air. It’s so heavy. Why is it so heavy? I’m drowning. I’m drowning drowning drowning. The ground is cold. It’s cold and hard. When did I fall? Falling falling falling. Up. I have to get up. Get there. Get to him. He’s still there. Stupid people. Stop. Move. I need to... I’m a doctor. Let me through. I know him. He’s.. he’s my friend. He’s Sherlock Holmes, you must recognize him. Maybe not with the blood on his face now. But he’s special. Everyone should know him. He’s not just “another one.” Not just a random suicidal.... not just a man. He’s a consulting detective. He saves people. He doesn’t think he’s a hero. He is. He’s good inside. Got to reach him. Stop touching him you idiot. Don’t you know anything? Spine injury is entirely plausible. Possibly a fractured neck as well as other bones for sure. Stop shaking him. Stop stop. Move people. I need to get through. Everything is so slow. Slowly dripping sliding slipping falling falling falling. No. Arm. Need to know. Need to feel. Pulse. Pulse. Look for a pulse. Wrist wrist wrist. Thin. He really should eat more. No. Not now. Concentrate. Pulse pulse pulse. No. No. No. No. Nothing. There’s nothing. There has to be a pulse. Maybe it’s just slow. Stop stop. Let me feel for it, why are you pulling me away? I know him. I’m a doctor. I’m... okay. I know. He needs care. It’s a hospital. He’ll get better. He’ll be fine. Hospital fix things like blood and stopped hearts. They can do that to him, and he’ll be right as rain in just a few days. But why can’t I go with him. I need to get up, follow. No. No. Nono. Legs. Work. You have to work, I need to get up, get to him. Stop. Stop stop stop. Why is everything going so slow? Somebody should catch me, I can feel myself slipping. Slippery slippery slope sliding down down down. Oh, how kind of you, to offer your shoulder. I used to do that you know. I was in the army. Comforted people. It helps. But no. No. Only when they were sad about death. But Sherlock’s not dead. He just needs a defibrillator and a transfusion and he’ll be fine. Just fine. All fine. God no. It’s raining. I’m fine. I can stand now. It’s raining and raining. At least the weather waited until he was inside. He might have drowned. Drowning water sinking darkness. It’s cold out. Colder than it was not all that long ago. I’m alright. I’m fine. I should just go home now, pack some things up to bring him in the hospital. Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Just pop home for a bit, and I’ll be back before he knows it. It’s alright. No, no I can get my own ride home, I’m fine. Oh, look. The same taxi that brought me here. Great. No need to worry about hailing a new one. Maybe I should get my head checked out, when I come back. I hit it pretty hard. It’s alright though. No blood. Blood blood pooling dripping spreading staining. Hm, that was quick. I thought it was much longer from there to Baker Street. Ah well. Oh yes, there’s Mrs. Hudson. The assassin who was fixing the hall light is gone though. It hasn’t been too long, I’m sure. Only about... Well, It doesn’t really matter. I should get some things packed up. No, no Mrs. Hudson I’m fine. Just a remembered something that’s all. Sherlock’s got himself in hospital again. I know I know, he really should be more careful. All right, I’ll tell him. Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson. The stairs are short, taken two at a time, wouldn’t want him to be alone when he wakes. Mycroft? What the hell are you doing here? No no, he’s not dead. I just saw him. He’s just got himself rather badly injured, that’s all. No I don’t want to sit down, Mycroft. How did you even get in here? Nevermind. He’s so quiet, but not like normal quiet, not like “I was raised better than you” or “I know this displeases you, but this problem really must be attended to” not even “I have more secrets than a teenage girl’s diary” quiet. Just... subdued. That’s a good word. Seven across on last Sunday’s crossword. “Quieted, brought under control.” Took me a few, I admit. What’s he on about now? Yes, yes, well I’m not convinced. Prove it. Show me the body. He did. He drove me in one of his fancy government issued cars right up to Bart’s, brought me in the morgue and had Molly pull down the sheet for me herself. Definitely him. Dead. Fallen. Was.