The hospital corridor was dark. The sound of spluttering coughs and sneezes filled the air. Sherlock hesitantly walked remember the remember the reception had told him. He kept his gaze to the ground out of respect and to hide the worry filled in his eyes. He paused reaching an open doorway. Mycroft stood behind his younger brother but didnt dare to place his hand on Sherlocks shoulder to offer support; he failed his bother, his word meant no good to him anymore. The person lying on the bed was pale and looked as fragile as a doll. Sherlock tried to fight back the urge to run over to the cots side and instead kept at a slow pace, advancing forwards. Heart beat monitors and different sort of medical machines beeped slowly showing no signs of progress. Mycroft picked up the clipboard hanging at the edge glancing down to see what her issue was. Mild stroke brother. Shes in a coma now. Sherlock glared at Mycroft. You said. You PROMISED. I know bu.. Dont. Dont even try to explain yourself to me. Youre the one who always upset mummy. You. Not me, you. Mycroft placed the clipboard back trying to hide the hurt and shame he clearly felt. Ill just leave you alone.. The room soon became silent, apart from the beeping. Sherlock held his mothers hand tightly believing that if he let go then his mother may slip away. Only time would tell. ~TheBlindBanker
Posted on: Sat, 16 Nov 2013 16:23:22 +0000
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