Cemetery Road - Chapter 10
Title: Cemetery Road
Author
revwestwood
Rating: Teen (Mild Violence, Medical Situations)
Status: WIP
Characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson
Spoilers: Through "The Reichenbach Fall"
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Just having a bit of fun.
Summary: "You think that their dying is the worst thing that could happen. Then they stay dead."
Sherlock returns to 221B to take out the last strands of Moriarty's web with John's help, but Sherlock underestimates just how far that web stretched. This time, Sherlock won't fall alone.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my friends who encouraged this whole process. I. owe. you.
Chapter 10
Ms. Cartwright sits in Mycroft’s chair and looks at the cover sheet on her clipboard. Mycroft opens his mouth to protest but his manners get the better of him. He lowers himself stiffly into the identical chair opposite Sherlock.
Lestrade remains standing, looking from the doctor to Ms. Cartwright to the Holmeses. Dr. Patel mumbles another apology and leaves the waiting room, shutting the door behind him.
Lestrade sits back down on the sofa, giving Sherlock a quick glance. Sherlock is staring so intensely at Ms. Cartwright, Lestrade is surprised her head hasn’t exploded all over the pastel walls. Even more incredibly, Cartwright doesn’t seem to even notice Sherlock’s gaze.
She flips a few pages over on the clipboard, runs a manicured finger down the form, then flips the stack back over. She looks up, her face neutrally solemn.
“Now,” she says. “I was able to find Dr. Watson’s records in the Veteran’s Affairs database. It looks like the last advance directive he has on file was from...” She looks at the sheet again. “2005. Before he left for his first tour of duty.”
She sets the clipboard on the metal end table next to her chair and leans forward, folding her hands. “What would be helpful for his Care Team to know is if he had a more recent will.” She looks at the men expectantly.
No one moves.
Sherlock’s stare is unwavering.
Cartwright seems to notice the scrutiny for the first time, and her professional facade falters slightly. She picks up the clipboard again. “But using this will is perfectly all right. It’s actually rather lucky that we have one at all, really. You would be surprised at how many people don’t. Everyone thinks they have all the time in the world. Of course, being a doctor, in the army no less, I suppose Dr. Watson was more aware than most how quickly the unexpected can happen-”
“What does it say?” Lestrade interrupts the babbling because Sherlock looks like he’s about done staring and is about to move on to something else. What that might be, Lestrade would rather not find out just yet.
“Oh, yes.” Cartwright flips some pages again. “It’s fairly standard, really.” She points to a paragraph at the bottom of a form and hands the clipboard to Lestrade.
Lestrade reads aloud, “I, John H. Watson, being of sound mind, declare that if I suffer an irreversible illness, disease, condition, or I become unconscious and, to a reasonable degree of medical certainty, I will not regain consciousness, and the likely burdens of treatment would outweigh the expected benefits, I direct that life-sustaining measures be withheld or discontinued.”
“Idiot!” shouts Sherlock.
Cartwright gasps and grabs the clipboard back from Lestrade, clutching it to her chest like a shield. “I...I understand that these things can be upsetting to hear, sir, but that is no reason to insult me.”
Sherlock isn’t listening. He is up and pacing the length of the waiting room, barely avoiding everyone’s legs with each pass.
“Why? Why would he do this?” Sherlock shakes his head.
“Sherlock,” Mycroft says.
“What is a reasonable degree of medical certainty anyway?” Sherlock continues. “There’s nothing reasonable about this! Nothing! John should know better than anyone how often doctors get it wrong!”
“Sherlock, please,” Lestrade tries.
“And what could possibly outweigh the benefit of John not being dead?” Sherlock is yelling now. He stops his pacing and snarls at Cartwright, “Tell me!”
Cartwright’s eyes fill with tears. She shakes her head helplessly.
“Sherlock! Control yourself!” Mycroft raises his voice.
Surprisingly, Sherlock does. He pulls himself up then sits back on the sofa, looking at the floor, his shoulders sagging once again in defeat.
“Why would he do this? It doesn’t allow for any contingencies or complexities or discoveries or...me,” Sherlock says to the floor. “It doesn’t allow for me.”
There is a long silence in the waiting room.
Mycroft offers Cartwright a handkerchief and she dabs her eyes with it, smudging the fine silk with mascara.
“Well,” says Cartwright, trying to compose herself. “A patient’s family does have a say in matters such as this. Although we encourage family to acknowledge advance directives whenever possible. It helps with closure.”
Sherlock’s eyes snap up to Cartwright and she freezes.
“Ah, who is his next of kin?” she asks in an effort to recover the control of the conversation.
“That would be his sister,” begins Mycroft as Lestrade winces. No one has thought of Harry in this mess.
“No,” says Sherlock in a clear voice. “I am.”
Mycroft and Lestrade look at him incredulously.
Sherlock straightens on the sofa and looks directly at Mycroft. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was very spontaneous. You know John. We married last month.”