Overflow Post II
This post is for responding to prompts from prompt posts that are full, or continuing WIPs that were started on prompt posts that have since filled up or are close to full.
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There could be any number of people named Holmes in the hospital; everyone else in the room could be named Holmes for all John knew. The pacing man snapped his phone shut, and with two strides was at the nurse's side. She led him a few meters away from the larger group, and spoke to him in quiet tones. Almost against his will John found himself walking nearer to the pair under the pretence of getting a snack from the vending machine.
This man... this Victor wasn't terrible on the eyes John noted. He was tall; not as tall as Sherlock, but definitely taller than John. He had immaculately combed light brown hair, and green eye hidden behind a pair of dark framed glasses. He was dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and a red jumper clearly thrown on last minute. The warning bell got louder.
"...lock is doing..." Lock? She just said lock. It's alright. It's still fine, lock could be anything. They're talking about hair. Of course that's what it meant. Lock as in hair. Perfect sense.
"... wound was deeper than..." Oh God, a wound? Sherlock was hurt. Sherlock was dying, and now John would never get the chance to tell him how he felt! This couldn't be happening, John needed Sherlock, what sort of justice was there in the world if Sherlock died, and John lived? John without Sherlock was like pizza without cheese, or a movie without popcorn. It was just sick, and wrong to have one without the other.
By now the warning bell had morphed into a large clanging cowbell, and John was feeling sick to his stomach. He was the one who cared for Sherlock, he was the one who had always been there for Sherlock, he was the one who loved Sherlock, where did this Victor character get off getting in between them?
"..few more hours." The nurse gave the man a gentle squeeze on the arm before exiting the room. John looked back at the line of crisp bags he had been thoroughly inspecting. He had just made the decision about actually purchasing a bag when someone grabbed a hold of him and threw John forcefully back against the wall.
Instinctively John pushed his weight forward offsetting his would-be attacker, giving him the chance to spin them around and pin the other man against the wall with his arms.
The face of Victor Holmes glared back at him. "Who the hell are you?"
"Who the hell am I? You're the one grabbing people!"
"I saw you eavesdropping on the nurse, and I. You're one of them aren't you? One of the gang members." Victor's attempted to push
John's arm away, but he held firm.
"What are you talking about? What gang members?"
"The ones who attacked my idiot husband! Here to finish off the job? You're going to have to bloody well go through me first!" This would have been much more powerful, if John hadn't already proven he could easily get the upper hand on the man.
"Husband? Look there's been some sort of misunderstanding."
The blonde man previously sleeping was beginning to stand. "I think we go should find a nurse."
"Oh I don't think that will be necessary Mr. Brown." Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway, leaning casually against his ever present umbrella. He peered at the two squabbling men with something akin to amusement. "Victor. John, if you'll follow me."
Mycroft turned leaving a befuddled Mr. Brown asking how he knew his name, behind him.
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