Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Lying Detective- Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Third POV

Michelle's hospital room

The heart monitor continues to beep quietly. Smith, still sitting in the chair continues to watch Michelle, huffing out a noisy breath, deliberately. Michelle opens her eyes and blinks a couple of times. Smith breathes out noisily again. "You've been ages waking up. I watched you. It's quite lovely in its way."

Michelle's eyes look around the room before turning to him. "Take it easy. It's okay. Don't want to rush this. You're Lady Phillips and I don't think we've met." Michelle coughs slightly. Smith is quick to pour her a glass of water. "How did you get in?"

Smith stands and walks closer to the bed, pointing towards the door. He keeps his voice low: "The MI6 agents outside, you mean? Come on. Can't you guess?" Her gaze turns to the wooden panel opposite the bed. "Secret door. Bravo!" She applauds falsely. "I built this whole wing. Kept firing the architect and builders so no one knew quite how it all fitted together. I can slip in and out anywhere I like, you know... When I get the urge."

"H. H. Holmes." Smith smiles. "Atta girl, you get it. Murder castle, but done right. I have a question for you. Why are you here? It's like you walked into my den and laid down in front of me. Why?"

"Well I didn't give permission to be moved from Bart's hospital, did I?" She questions rhetorically. She takes a moment to deduce him. "Yeah, but you're a clever girl. Say it for me? Please?"

"I'm a supposed to beg you to kill me."

Smith moves to the side of the bed and rests his gloved left hand on the bed, close to the end of Michelle's left hand as it rests on the blanket. "I was going to do this with Sherlock but your so much better." He smiles happily. "If you increase the dosage four or five times toxic shock should shut me down within the hour." Smith looks across to the drip stand. "Then I restore the settings. Everyone assumes it was a fault, or you just gave up the ghost."

"Yes."

"You're rather good at this." He purred whilst taking off his jacket. "Before we start tell me how you feel."

"Like I've been shot and had a miscarriage. Obviously."

"And?" Smith prodded on. "Well, I can't really pinpoint what emotion I feel. I'm high as a kite. This is the dream." She gestures to the drip stand vaguely. "So you don't feel scared?"

"Not really." She flicks her hand around dismissively. "You're not scared of dying?" Michelle looks to Smith pointedly. "Do you actually know who your asking that question to?" Smith laughs to her statement. "Well of course I do! Maybe I should of tried this with Sherlock rather than you."

"Perhaps you'd be correct. He is easier." Michelle notices hazily John's cane in the corner of the room. "You wanted this, though." He starts to roll up his shirtsleeves. "Do I?"

"Of course you do. But you don't actually want to die."

"I suppose so, no." Smith smiles. "Good." Still smiling, he rolls up his sleeves. "Say that for me. Say it."

"I suppose I don't wanna die." Smith pauses his action of rolling up his sleeve. "Oh, your no fun! Say it like you mean it!" Michelle huffs out a breath. "I don't want to die." She replies sadly. Then her face expression changes back to normal. "Was that better?" Smith begins to speak but she talks over him. "Oh no, I can do better!" She begins to push herself up and starts to mockingly sob. "Please! I don't want to die!" A staged tear smooths down her porcelain skin. "And again."

"I don't want to die."

"Once more for luck." Michelle huffs in a staged shaky breath. "I don't want to die." Smith steps closer to bed and leans over her until his face is only a few inches above Michelle's. "Lovely. You'd make a lovely actress." Twitching a smile, he straightens up. "Here it comes."