No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Epilogue

For the dreamers, whose fantasies make the dullness of reality bearable and who find true beauty in the most ordinary of things and people: the ending you all deserve and have waited much too long to receive.

She awoke with a start. The girl opened her eyes and gasped at the bright, blinding light, light she could see. Sitting up was a challenge with a body full of protesting muscles, but stretching them felt amazing. She was so stiff. Her mind felt sluggish, but remembering the impossibility of this situation, she reached up quickly and probed her temple gently. Nothing. She was perfectly fine. No entry wound or evidence of one.

But Sebastian had shot her. Shot her. Boom. Dead. He had retaliated when Sherlock shot him!

As she lowered her arm in confusion, an oddity caught her eye. The tattoo. The tattoo that she had been so certain had said 'C' 'M' now looked strange. An 'R' 'F' stood in its place. A hazy feeling of memories forgotten began to hum in her mind.

Looking around in a panic, Celestia began to take in her surroundings. She was in a ward, a large hospital ward with at least fifteen people in it. People she recognized. People who all lay silently, their chests heaving in time with the beeping of machinery.
John, Mary, Mycroft, Greg Lestrade, Ms. Hudson, Molly, the list went on and on as she looked down the hall.
What are they doing here? She wondered.

As she turned her head to the side, her breath caught in her throat. There was Sherlock, silently laying in the bed next to her. Hurriedly, she swung her legs around to place them on the floor and threw off the thin blanket.

She gasped yet again as her hair began to fall in her face, dull blonde hair, straight as a pin. Looking down at her hands again she realized that they weren't slim and dainty, but a bit rough and a tad large. Her nails were mid length, but obviously not well cared for. A numbed panic and a sense of dread began to grow in her gut.

"It's a relief to see you awake and well," the voice of Sebastian Moran rang out from behind.

Whipping her head around, Celestia faced the man in fear. To her surprise a doctor probably in his 50s or 60s stood before her with a kind face and a pair of glasses perched on his nose.

Another quick look around the room allowed the girl to spot the man she had identified as Sebastian sleeping peacefully at the end of the room.

As she began to inspect the clipboards at the end of the beds, she took special notice to the names specified on each.

They were wrong. Each and every one of them wrong. Molly had been identified as a Laura and Mary as a Susan. Why was John's name Matthew, and who would ever think of Mycroft as a Robert?! Her head was spinning as she began to feel her world tipped upside down. "Where am I?" she finally croaked, her voice as rough as sandpaper.

The man, who's name tag said Anthony, didn't reply directly. "Your mum will be awfully glad to hear you're awake. She's been terribly worried. She came almost every day and read to you." He motioned to a small volume that sat on a nearby table. Passing the book to her, Celeste read the title, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Strange.

"What," she cleared her throat, "what do you mean-" she paused, throwing the book down quickly. "Hello... Hello... How are you today?" she muttered testing out her voice. Gasping as she spoke the last words, she covered her mouth. "I can't be American!" she finally exclaimed. "Is this really what happens when your dead, because I'm not sure I like it-"

"You've been comatose for two weeks, Rachel. You aren't dead, but it may take you a bit to adjust."

"But-but you're English!" she began to try and stand up, using the bed for support. "Wait-" as she straightened her back her eyes widened, "did I shrink!?" Her vantage point seemed to be so much lower. She whirled around, nearly losing her balance before falling back onto the bed. "Why did you call me Rachel?" she asked slowly, still perturbed by her newfound American accent.