Trigger warning: Eating disorder, weight, talk of murder
I woke up feeling extremely groggy. IV's were embedded into my arms. I laughed. This was familiar.
I moaned and tried to sit up, only to have a firm hand press against my chest to lay me back down. I looked up to see Sherlock look at me with a sense of disappointment.
"What happened?" I managed to croak out, my voice sounding like a 90 year old smoker's.
"You fainted when John took your blood." Sherlock stated.
"Wow. What a lame way to end up in a hospital." I laughed humorlessly.
"This isn't funny." Sherlock said, looking cross. "John shared with me your information from your physical."
"Well that's totally illegal." I joked, rolling my eyes.
"Can you knock it off? Really August? 83 pounds?" Sherlock leaned over to my hospital bed and shook his head slightly. "You're staying here for a while. There are really good doctors and therapists that can help you."
All humor quickly left my body. I started to hyperventilate. "What? No! No! Oh my god." The heart rate monitor started to beep faster.
"Calm down. Just calm down." Sherlock attempted to soothe me.
"Please don't leave me here. I feel like I'm about to throw up." I focused on trying to regain my breathing.
"August! Calm down. It's going to be okay." My father placed both hands on my shoulder. His presence made me feel a bit better.
I took a deep breath. "Where's John?"
"Work. He took a couple hours off after you fainted but he had to go back to make it up." Sherlock told me.
"Oh."
"Listen to me. I honestly don't know what to do. I can't force you to do anything, obviously. But, I said I was sorry. I know I don't relate to human feelings all that much, but when you walked into my door when you were thirteen years old, I felt every feeling known to man. I know this sort of stuff is difficult. I would have done everything so much differently if I just was one step ahead of Moriarty. But it had to be done that way. If I didn't do what I did, you could be dead. John could be dead. Mrs. Hudson could be dead. You're not cursed. I'm still here. There is no reason to punish yourself anymore. Everything is better now, isn't it?" Sherlock looked at me softly. "I love you August. But you scare me. Having a daughter like yourself and friends like John, was the best thing that could of happened to me. I would never forgive myself if you died... somehow. When Moriarty kidnapped you when you were fourteen years old, it was bad. I never wanted to experience that feeling again. But I have since then. Twice actually. The day I came back to surprise you and John and then the day John was in the bonfire."
"What do you mean the day you came to surprise me?" I asked, bewildered.
"For Sherlock Holme's daughter, sometimes you can be dull headed, August." Sherlock commented. "The way you look. You look dead."
I was quiet. This wasn't the first time Sherlock had told me this. "I'm sorry. I'll do better. I'll follow a nutritional plan, just please don't leave me here."
"Okay. But you have to follow it exactly. No skipping meals." Sherlock reaffirmed. It was kind of weird him acting like a father figure ever since he got back.
"It's a deal." I smiled at Sherlock.
I was given the all clear by a doctor once they went over a strict nutritional meal plan. It involved eggs, smoothies, fruit, or oatmeal for breakfast. A sandwich, fruit, salad, soup or roasted veggies for lunch. Salmon, soup, pizza, hamburger, salad, or roasted veggies for dinner. I'm sure I could handle that.
John told Sherlock that I need to come back to his office once the blood work in complete. He said he was afraid that I might have developed hypothyroidism or adrenal insufficiency due to my low blood pressure and body temperature.
Once we got home Sherlock cleared a portion of the table off to use as space for the case him and John were working on. It involved a soldier dying, but no murder weapon.
I lounged around for a bit, playing with my phone. I looked through the recent news press about us, and the articles were brutal. It touched on how I looked ill, and how that I should have came forward and told everyone that Sherlock wasn't dead. HA! Like I knew that. I hate the press.
"Sherlock."
"Hmm?" He looked over to me.
"Have you read these articles?" I showed him my phone.
"Yup." The detective turned back to look at his case work.
"A bit rude, don't you think?" I said.
"Just ignore it. That's what I do." Sherlock mumbled, concentrating on his flash cards.
I sighed. "I think I might go to the shop. There's no food in this flat."
Sherlock looked up at me. "Oh. Good! Yeah. Good idea. Should I come...?"
"No. I'll go." I said. I couldn't help but notice the relief in Sherlock's face. He hated the shops.
I slipped on my coat and boots and walked out the door. I decided to walk to the store instead of taking a taxi. It was only about a ten minutes walk, anyway. It was nearing evening, so I should make this quick.
"August Holmes?! Oh my god!"
I turned to look who said my name, only to have been met with a pale faced man wearing a black Westwood suit.
"Yes?" I took a step back, trying to keep a reasonable distance between us. Something was off about him.
"I saw you on the news. Oh my god. What an honor." The man went to shake my hand but I stepped back again.
"Thanks but I really got to go." I squinted at the man further. Pupils dilated. Eyebrows waxed. Dog hair on left shoe. Needle marks on arm. Drug addict. Gun in right coat pocket. Stiff posture.
I turned around and quickened my pace. I was nearing a small sandwich shop. I could run in there and call for help.
Suddenly, the man grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to him. "Hey! Let go!" I shrieked, trying to pull my arm out of his grasp.
"August Holmes. Daughter of Chrissy Hurst." The man smirked. "What a woman."
"Let go of me, you freak. How do you know my mother?" I snarled at him, he reminded me of Moriarty. Right down to the suit brand.
"How do I know her? I killed her!" The man laughed, his eyes creasing as his mouth spread into a giant smile.
"Let go of me!" I tried to twist my arm out from under him, but he grasped my arm tighter. I looked around to see if anyone was around, but by now it was almost pitch dark. Stupid of me to go out this late.
"The way she screamed was so fun. Oh and your poor little brother. So innocent. He's still alive, you know. All grown up now, ten years old." The man smiled at me.
I stopped struggling. "What? They died in a car accident. Get off of me!"
"Oh is that what they told you?"
I paused. "...Yes."
"Lies."
I ripped my arm away from him and started sprinting back towards the flat. The man called after me. "Moriarty gives you his regards!"
I didn't dare stop until I reached the door, where I threw myself in and locked it shut.
I ran in to see John and Sherlock huddled over a case, they both stopped and looked at me when I came inside.
"Whoah, August what's wrong?" John looked concerned.
"I...I...this man....he..." I tried to say, but I couldn't catch my breath.
"Slow down. What happened?" Sherlock asked, standing up and giving me his attention.
I plopped down on the couch and took a second to catch my breath.
"I was walking to the store and this man grabbed me. He... he... told me my little brother is still alive. He said that the car accident that killed my family was a lie. I don't know what to believe. He reminded me of Moriarty. Westwood suit, black hair... but it wasn't him. But as I ran away from him he said 'Moriarty gives his regards.'" I was still gasping for air, shaking like a leaf.
"Name? Where did you see him?" Sherlock asked.
"I didn't get a name, but he had a pen in his suit pocket that read CM Inc." I stammered. I was way more than upset.
"He told me he... he killed my mum. He told me my little brother is still alive and that he's ten years old now, which he would be. But.. I saw the caskets... the bodies. I was in that car crash!"
I jumped up from the couch and started pacing around the living room. Was he lying? Was he just trying to get a reaction out of me?
"CM Inc. I've never heard of that before." John wondered out loud. He went to his laptop and started googling the company name.
Sherlock looked lost in thought.
"I need to go to Ireland." I looked at Sherlock.
"Why?"
"I just do. Also... my childhood house. I own it now, once I turned 18. I need to go and decide if I want to sell it." I confessed.
"I'll get Mycroft to get us plane tickets."
"Thank you." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All this was too much to handle for one day. I tried thinking back more of what that man looked like. "What if Moriarty is still alive?"
I took a deep breath. I pulled up my sweater sleeve to notice an ugly bruise forming where he had grabbed me. Great.
"You should ice that." Sherlock looked down at my arm.
"Yeah. I will."
"Moriarty is dead, August. I saw him pull the trigger himself." Sherlock had said.
"Yeah but..."
"Honestly they are probably just trying to get under your skin. I wouldn't worry too much about it." Sherlock nodded at me. When I looked at him, however, he looked jittery. His eyes and posture told me that he was very much worried about it.
"You're worried about it." I looked at him.
"Just a bit."
"I can't risk my brother possibly being still alive, Sherlock. He was five years old when he died. He was about to turn six. He was the sweetest little boy ever. He always was so thoughtful, even at just five years old. He was the type of kid that shared his toys with other kids." I bit my lip to try to stop myself from crying. "I miss him so much. I hope he's dead. If he has spent four years with some murderer... oh god."
John looked over at me. "It's going to be alright. We will get to the bottom of this."
I smiled sadly at John. "I sure hope so."
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