Going Nowhere Fast (Mona, Casual)

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Oh God.
He didn't even believe in the fairytale.

How did he end up here?
Did he not remember?

He should remember.

At least... That was what his instinct told him. Though, in all honesty, however much he tried - he really couldn't. Memory loss? If it was, it was a bad sign. And if it wasn't? Well, truly that was possibly even worse.
Sherlock Holmes flexed the fingers of his left hand. Apart from feeling only slightly tingly, everything seemed to be fine. And, after doing the same with the right, came to absolutely, positively no conclusion whatsoever. Which was both disappointing and alarming, really.
And disappointing and alarming was definitely extremely very not good.

Where was everything? There was nothing there, not at all. Not a distant light, not the blankness of a wall or a ceiling, not a friendly face - not even an accusing one (Sherlock knows just how many times he had woken up to that). In fact, there seemed to be absolutely nothing but a rather daunting shade of black darkness in front of him.
Was he blind?
No! He couldn't be blind. Blindness wouldn't work for Sherlock Holmes. It just wouldn't...

Oh. Right.
Perhaps it would help if he opened his eyes.
Holmes did so, and was immediately met with a familiar scene.
The ceilings of hospitals were so dull these days. Perhaps they should spruce them up a bit, add a little colour. Though this thought was soon taken back without hesitation, as the brightness of a flash of blue to his right made Sherlock feel the sudden urge to vomit.

And, in that moment, Holmes seemed to remember just what had happened.

He was possibly too unaware to notice that the groan he felt like uttering somehow managed to escape his lips as he came to his first realisation of the day.
Number one: 'Back alley' deals in New York were much more 'dodgy' than in London.
And he would do well to remember that.

Though, of course, being the man that he was, Holmes was likely to forget realisation number one (perhaps it should be lesson number one, as the detective had learned it the hard way) almost immediately.
And, as he came to realisation number two, number one shot promptly from his mind.

He could hear breathing.
Of course, being in a hospital, one would generally consider this to be a good thing. Breathing (as far as he knew) usually meant that people were alive. And this was a good thing, as a hospital full of not-alive people was certainly not good.
But the problem was that the breathing was quite close.
Far too close to be in another room.

Which meant...
A shared room.

Sherlock sat bolt upright, ignoring (as usual) his body's complaints as he did so.
A shared room?
What was this?

In fact, Holmes would have definitely demanded that exact thing of whomever happened to be unfortunate enough to be sharing the room with him, if the most terrible thing hadn't happened. Because, for once, Sherlock's body seemed to be quite ahead of his mind.
He flopped back onto the hospital bed with a wince, snapping his head to the side to glare instead at the other person.

"Who are you?" He growled.

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona glared at her new roommate with a look of obvious dislike. She hated people at the moment, nothing against the man, but everyone made her want to scream. She had told the doctors this morning that she didn't want anyone to be in the room with her. Then she told them that if they tried and drug her again she would bit their hands off. Only one of her demands was met and they kept their hands.

Never less she now had a roommate who she hated already. She had been trying hard to keep to herself. She thought that maybe if just ignored him and kept her eyes on her book and tried to act as if she was okay that nothing would change.

Then he opened his big mouth.

"Who are you?"

Mona thus promptly shut her book and placed it on the bedside table. She looked over at the man and quickly recognized him as a drug user. It wasn't hard for her to notice, she was a trained therapist, or rather was a trained therapist.

"I'm the tooth fairy, who are you?" Her tone was bland and expressionless as she stared out at him, her eyes carefully blank, almost as if she was bored with him.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"I'm the tooth fairy, who are you?"
She spoke with a monotone tone, which would possibly (if he had been in a good mood, perhaps) have threatened to bring a slight smile to his features. She obviously wasn't very old, Sherlock thoroughly doubted that she had reached her twentieth birthday, but had mastered the skill of wiping emotion from her voice as she talked. Something that he, himself, had taken the time to become familiar with.
In fact, so much so that his voice tended to usually be rather monotone.

The detective instead chose to frown, obviously displeased at not having received a useful answer. Though, really, if he were to think about if (which of course he would - as even in a not-quite-fully-functioning-state, Holmes automatically picked up many things about people that other would miss on their best days) Sherlock couldn't really have rationally expected to get one.

"Peter Rabbit." He grumbled, shuffling to sit up again - though this time with at least just a little bit of care.

He turned slightly, in order to stare at her just as she was to he. It seemed rather obvious immediately that he was not the only one who was irritated at the room arrangements. Her face seemed to be carefully arranged to match her voice - and Sherlock was rather pleased to see that she had not lacked in efforts to make it just as effective.
Usually, he would certainly not take an interest in people like this. But, he supposed, that if he was to share a room with the girl for at least just a little while - making it bearable by finding something of interest to think upon was probably worth the effort.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly narrowed, and he sat up straight on the hospital bed.
"What time is it?"

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

"Time for you to get a watch Peter."

Mona watch the man with an almost sad expression on her face. It had been a long time since she had talked to someone where she could be sarcastic and just a bit mean. She would never act that way to Dolores, who would take it personally and would just get hurt.

Mona pulled her knees up to her chest on the bed while she turned her gaze from the Rabbit on the bed next to hers and looked at the door in front of her bed.

" They are about to come in for round checks in 10 minutes. Which means it's 3:00 am. They are always 10 minutes late for rounds." Mona said flatly while staring at the nurses out side the window.

She wasn't surprised at the time, she rarely slept anyways. She hated doctors and would rather die from sleep exhaustion then to let one put their hands on her while she slept. And working in the very same hospital that she now resided in gave her in inside look on how the system worked.

"If you don't want them to touch you I would find something to throw. They took away the vases after I broke the last 4."

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

His second question received just as useless an answer as the first.
"Time for you to get a watch Peter."
Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly, but decided not to respond. After all, she was going to answer with something useful at some point. He just hoped it would be soon.
Sherlock didn't intend to stay there for long.

" They are about to come in for round checks in 10 minutes. Which means it's 3:00 am. They are always 10 minutes late for rounds."
She kept the delightfully flat tone, Holmes noticed as he followed her gaze to the window. The glass and wall framed an entirely typical Hospital scene. Far too dull to capture the detective's interest for long.

Three in the morning.
Which meant...
Honestly, it was useless for the man to attempt to work out how long it had been. The last time he had checked the time was three days ago, at 1:58 am. Having both not looked at a clock since (speaking of which, where was his watch? He must have left it at the flat. Or elsewhere in New York - it really didn't matter which as it would be a nightmare to find in either), and luckily gifted of a photographic memory, Holmes could see the hands on the watch face exceptionally clearly in his mind.
But that was three days ago.

So really, asking for the time had been quite useless.
And Sherlock hated useless questions.

"If you don't want them to touch you I would find something to throw. They took away the vases after I broke the last 4."
Sherlock chuckled lightly, though his eyes did dart quickly around the room (his brain did most of the work, quickly analysing and locating everything that could be of use within a matter of seconds) in response to her advice. He wasn't entirely sure whether it had been intended as advice or not, but decided to follow it anyway. It couldn't hurt, after all.
Most people wouldn't notice his scan of the room, as before she finished the sentence his eyes locked to the 'tooth fairy' again.
"What did you do with the flowers?"

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona turned her dull eyes on to 'Peters' and looked him up and down before turning away. She saw the scan, she herself had been trained to look at people, to see kind of person they were emotionally and mentally. That was advantage and a curse, She could tell a person's train of thought, the way they lived their lives from just a few softly spoken whispers. How sad and pathetic they thought they were by just hearing the crack in their voice. Yet, she could also know if someone was capable of killing another human life, weather a broken child would grow up to terrorize others, or if a dissolute soul, would kill themselves. And if she couldn't stop them, couldn't save them, then she would live with the screams of the people who would be hurt in the future. It was the curse that all people who work with the mind. They run around in your brain always, never to be released.

It was the price Mona paid for wanting to help people. She could almost snear at the thought of helping people now. No one helped her, so she didn't even care about the screams anymore, she just let them ring in her head over and over until it was all she could hear.

"My dear Mr. Rabbit, there were no flowers."

She looked away to glare out a window at a nurse who was staring at her while talking to one of the many doctors that tried to treat her. How she hated them all now, it just wasn't worth the effort to try and conceal it any longer. All of them could jump off a cliff into hell's warm embrace.

There had been no flowers because no one had brought any, rarely anyone came to visit her. They were either to afraid of her wrath, or just couldn't find the time. That was how important she was to people. They couldn't find the time to come and see her...to talk to her, or to hold her. It was why she tried to kill herself, she couldn't take the world and it's loneliness any longer.

"I wouldn't want the fucking things anyway" She said her voice laced with intense levels of anger and hurt. It wasn't hard to tell that she was mad at the world. Anyone could tell if they took the time.

They would only need to see the fire in her eyes. It was the only emotion they would hold in her depression.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

It was quiet, at least.
Obviously not silent. Being in a hospital made sure of the fact that there was always some sort of constant background noise - some far off mechanical beep of a machine. And there was even the regular noises made by the other person sharing the room. But it was still quiet. The walls and door of the room shut off the sound of everything outside as much as was possible, and the Tooth Fairy wasn't exactly loud.

For this, he was thankful.

What he wasn't, however, thankful for was that human beings (especially Doctors) had a tendency to assume things based on other things. A very poor example of deduction, really - especially when they got it wrong. Which, unfortunately, many tended to do quite often.
Realisation number three was that he was under suicide watch.

Now, this couldn't exactly be such a far off assumption, in all honesty. Sherlock had attempted to kill himself previously so many times that it had turned into somewhat of a bad habit, albeit a very strange, possibly psychotic one. But the thing that seemed to bother him the most, was that this time, he hadn't actually intended for it.
So he decided that it didn't count, and couldn't be included as one of the attempts.

The rest of the facts that promptly hit him weren't of any importance. Holmes would easily be able to get out with it - just like he did with all the others. Unfortunately, however, it would include sticking around in the hospital for at least a little while longer than he ahd originally intended.
The detective simply loathed how slowly his brain was whirring today.

"My dear Mr. Rabbit, there were no flowers."
No flowers? So nobody to visit. There didn't have to be three guesses as to why she tried to do it, then.
The real question, Sherlock contemplated, was why she was here, and not lying in a morgue.
There had to be at least someone that cared.
Unfortunate.

""I wouldn't want the fucking things anyway"
He couldn't help but grin at this, shifting to cross his legs and sit at the end of the hospital bed. The man rested one elbow in each knee, carefully steepling the fingers over his lips as he stared at the Fairy.
"Well, who wants flowers? Flowers are boring. Saving your life means more, eh?"
He arched an eyebrow, waiting for the response.

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona's gaze turned to stare at the rabbit in the bed next to her, Her eyes burning in a silent rage. Her fists shook as she clenched them tightly until her knuckles turned white. He had said the worst thing possible to Mona. Her mental wounds on the subject were to fresh and he had said the one thing that revved her up.

She hated the fact that she was alive, with every fiber of her being she hated it. It caused her massive pain in her heart and soul to think about having to continue on in the world that made her hurt so badly that she had tried to kill herself. and it was all the fault of a person she had held close.

She knew why he had done, why he had saved her from death. But she could forgive him, no matter how logical it was. He may not of realized it but by saving her, he had damned her to try harder to die. It was something that Mona knew that he would not be happy about once he found out. And Mona couldn't find it in herself to care about it.

But this Peter Rabbit was making her feel again, feel the anger, the sadness, everything she had buried under depression, and Mona did not like it. In fact she felt so angry that she could walk over to him and break him in half for what he had said.

"Saving my life means more does it? Oh I'm sure saving the life of a broken down lesbian girl, who has been beaten, used, and terrorized all her life means more then fucking flowers. " Mona snapped at the man before throwing the book that rested on her bedside table at the window, scaring the nurse who had almost entered the room.

"I hate being alive with every molecule in my body. Nothing could be worse in this world then living on the planet. Nothing. I have suffered too many years of life to be stuck here when I could be blissfully gone into nothingness. "

Mona felt her anger bubbling to the surface even more and her hands shook harder.

"So never speak to me about my savior seeing my life better then flowers. Because the flowers would of been appreciated more then my soul. Oh wait I forgot, I have no soul according to the world!" She laughed in a hysterical, almost evil sounding laugh, due to her anger.

She turned burning eyes filled with hatred towards him "Now Mr. Rabbit, if you bring this subject up about me again I will chop you up and eat you in a stew. I hear Rabbit tastes wonderful this time of year."

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

The reaction certainly was extremely interesting.
And to think, he had feared that she would brush it off like she did to the other questions. It was thankful that she hadn't, though, because if that had been the case then Sherlock would be unrelentlessly bored for the next...
Well, he didn't like to think how long.

Perhaps such a situation required more deilcate handling. Unfortunately, however, Holmes would not know how to 'delicately handle' things if the fate of the world depended on it. In short, the detective had never been particularly empathetic.
But for some reason, her anger did seem to cause some sort of internal, unintentional flinch.

Her anger...
Anger was a detective's best friend. It allowed even dark secrets to bubble to the surface, allowed bountiful truths to emerge. It helped one in the face of an enemy, and also in the expression of a stranger. Unreliable, unpredictable, and potentially dangerous. Anger really was a beautiful, useful, and oh so delicate thing.
Holmes was able to brush it off easily.

She hadn't wanted to be 'saved'. And neither had he.
Oh, that was very curious indeed.

"Saving my life means more does it? Oh I'm sure saving the life of a broken down lesbian girl, who has been beaten, used, and terrorized all her life means more then fucking flowers."
Expression not changing once, the man kept his eyes on the Tooth Fairy constantly, only seeing the book hit the window due to handy peripheral vision - oh, the poor vases.
"I hate being alive with every molecule in my body. Nothing could be worse in this world then living on the planet. Nothing. I have suffered too many years of life to be stuck here when I could be blissfully gone into nothingness."

He was extremely still, the only action made was to tilt his chin upward slightly, regarding the girl with a look of curiosity as she continued to talk. Every word was processed calmly - and despite intially coming a a faint suprise, the laugh was regarded with a slight smile, hidden by his steepled fingers.
And the threat! It was a supremely marvelous one.

Holmes was almost grinning when he removed the hands from his face. But the most intriguing part of all, was that it was a genuine grin. A real one. A rare one.
"Poetic." Sherlock commented, ignoring the fact that she could quite possibly, be seriously threatening him. And also ignoring the fact that angering a person with nothing to lose isn't the wisest choice.
"It seems like we have something in common, Miss Tooth Fairy."

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona was never a violent child when growing up, she kept all her emotions buried deep inside her so no one could tell what she was feeling. Her parents never found out how much they scared her growing up, Her friend never knew that she was in love with her, and no one knew that she had given up on the life she once worked so hard to make better. It wasn't until the deep depression set in that people finally started to notice that there was a change in her.It might of been her lack of enthusiasm for her work, or the fact that she slept for hours upon hours, when before she lived on basically no sleep. Or quite possible the fact that she had stopped going to her NYU classes.

She had once been know for her intelligence, being one of the youngest to get how far she had gotten in life. She was able to learn things amazingly quickly without really trying to. It made people in awe of her, though she thought that it was just her doing what came naturally to her. She once loved to read and write, to just explore the literary world with excited eyes.

But all that had ended once she stopped hiding her emotions. She used her intelligence now to cut people down to the core, till they left her crying about how mean she was. She didn't care, not anymore. It took much energy to care about people.

So it was when 'Peter' was smiling at her threat and speech that the anger in her just died away to not caring. The heated fire in her eyes glazed over into boredom and she looked away once more to stare out the window of their room.

Poetic huh? Well she had been called worse in her life. Tragic, sad, desperate were some of the more finer ones she liked to describe herself. Depressed though would be the best one that she could come up with. It suited her well enough.

"Other then the fact that we both are in the hospital, don't give out names, tried to kill ourselves, and most likely of course have some mental malfunction that put us in this situation, there is only one thing I could see we have in common."

Mona turned her eyes back and stared into his as she spoke ina cool emotionless voice.

"We both hate being saved, Mr. Peter Rabbit. " Mona looked away once more and got up from her bed to grab the book from the floor and wedge it under the door frame and tested the door by trying to open it and found it trapped. It was a trick she used many times.

"And don't call me Miss, I do not wish to sound like my Mother...I want nothing to remind me of them"

She whispered the last part to herself, almost as if she had to keep telling herself that it was better for them to be gone from her life.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Anger died away as quickly as it had sparked up, like a warning flare fading into the sky. It was perhaps more effective than letting one's anger run away with themselves. That way, there would be no unexpected plummet to the ground at the end; if the lights faded into nothingness, there wouldn't be remains left behind afterwards. Not even evidence that it had been there.
The detective found himself feeling somewhat pleased at that. It had been the intended response, after all. And it was so very good to see a plan coming together.

"Other then the fact that we both are in the hospital, don't give out names, tried to kill ourselves, and most likely of course have some mental malfunction that put us in this situation, there is only one thing I could see we have in common."
Mental malfunction. Well that definitely was intriguing. Not so much as her's, per se. More the fact that she was most likely correct, and that he probably did have one floating about in that funny old head of his. Finding it would prove to be a challenge, he supposed. But he was always up for one, provided it was beneficial.
"We both hate being saved, Mr. Peter Rabbit."
Oh, there it was. The common denominator. At least she shared his thoughts on the subject.

The lanky detective slid silently to his feet as the Fairy moved toward the door, and began to trap it. Just a few steps forward caused him to stand little over than a metre away, watching with piqued curiosity at the restraint she had placed on the door.
This being a familiar situation to him (more the being in this part of the hospital, rather than sharing a room with someone who was currently trying to stop anyone from getting in), he already knew that blocking people out of the room one way or another resulting in extended time spent in said confined space. But despite not wanting to stay there any longer than was absolutely necessary, a few factors produced a reason for him to not complain - at the moment anyway.

Her whisper was quickly analysed and added to the list labelled 'Tooth Fairy', before Holmes responded.
As much as he was, surprisingly, rather enjoying the use of childish nicknames for once (he had always been told to 'grow up' during his youth, and so never spent what was probably considered much needed time being a true child), it was definitely now time to end it. Or at least for him to try.
If she didn't respond at least mildly positively, Sherlock would know that it was not worth the effort of attempting to form alliance with the woman. Then he would simply tweak a few records and talk his way around the staff (standard procedure for the detective when faced with suicide watch and the possibility that they would forcefully keep him there 72 hours, during which they would be given time to silently judge him and most likely deem the man worthy of being sent away and 'treated'), and be out as quick as that flare.

"Actually, I'm Sherlock Holmes. If you honestly would prefer me to call you by 'Tooth Fairy', then by all means keep your own name a secret." An eyebrow quirked upward in unison with the emphasized word.

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona grinned at the nurse who came to the door and started banging on it loudly. Her face looked almost evil at that moment. Her dark emotionless eyes filled with a sort of darkness that only stemmed from hatred. It was easy to see all her hatred in a single glance. The nurse started to yell and demand for her to open the door, but Mona just smiled and waved in a sarcastic way. The Nurse ran off almost tripping over her shoelaces as he searched for some way to get the door open.

Mona peeled herself away from the door window and pulled the blinds to it down. Ignoring Peter Rabbit, excuse her, Sherlock Holmes, she walked over to her bed and got down on her knees and looked under her bed. Pulling out a wooden box she opened it and stared down at the items that were in it. It consisted of an array of items; her parents picture and wedding rings, her favorite book as a child (The Giving Tree) , 3 nails, a screwdriver, and a half tube of extreme super glue.

She took out the screwdriver and the super glue and walked away from the box and back to the door. She knelt next to the door and took the screw driver into her hand.

"Hold the door closed" She didn't bother to see if he did it or not, but just started to unscrew the door hinge. She filled the pin hole that was now empty with super glue and pressed the pin back in place. After a few more seconds she stood up and did the same with the top hinge, and stopped and pushed on the door, it stayed in place perfectly. She'd done this twice before, each time it took nurses 3 hours to get her out, but it would be shorter this time, since then would figure it out sooner.

"My Name is Monica Dragoti, but everyone just calls me Mona, and it's no secret," She showed him the silver suicide watch braclet on her wrist , "It's been here for a while now, like me"

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

He honestly had to admit it - the girl had skill.
The door held tight even as one of the nurses began to furiously pound against the surface, which was definitely fortunate, as Sherlock did so hate to see an attempt at something so amusing go to waste by failure. Judging by the snippets of sentences he was able to hear through the solid barrier between the two of them and the rest of the ward, this wasn't exactly the first time such an event had happened.
But they were blessed idiots to not learn from their mistakes.

Holmes remained stood by the door, listening half-heartedly in a small attempt to hear their plans for the blockade the girl had set up. Whatever it was didn't seem particularly interesting, however, as the lanky man found himself watching curiously as the Tooth Fairy retrieved a box from beneath the hospital bed. It seemed she had already planned to infuriate the staff.

Whether or not she was going to take it further than merely locking out the people outside, Sherlock honestly had no idea.

The consulting detective complied as she told him to keep the door closed, paying close attention to her actions and storing away the process for future usage. It was, after all, a rather clever method, and so one he felt was certainly worth borrowing at some point.

"My Name is Monica Dragoti, but everyone just calls me Mona, and it's no secret,"
Sherlock smiled. Finally.
"It's been here for a while now, like me"

Sherlock retaliated to her revelation of the standard-procedure band on her wrist by rolling up his own sleeve, and holding up his arm to compare.
"Snap," the slight lifting of the corners of his mouth were the only indication that the man was pleasantly content with the fact that he now knew her name. But it was there, at least. Holmes spun around to inspect the door and its holdings, before coming to the quick conclusion that it seemed the hinges would, pardon the pun, stick. Meaning the door wouldn't be opened.

Opportunity.

The tall man bounded toward the far corner of the room, eyeing the air vent located a small distance above his head with much more than just ordinary intrigue. After a few seconds of casual cataloguing, it took only a further few to heave over a (fortunately empty) cabinet, that would soon act as a means of access to the hospital's intricate ventilation system. It was lucky that Sherlock had the right sort of knowledge for these sort of occurrences, as he knew by fact that all systems were very much similar in design - and so, due to habitually crawling through such things back in London, he could work his way through one rather well.

He climbed onto the surface of the cabinet with ease, before thumping the cover of the vent just-off-centre, which naturally caused the thing to fall open.
Holmes glanced toward Mona (much nicer than 'The Tooth Fairy', by far), before shrugging his shoulder and indicating upwards.

"I think it's time I depart. Care to join me?"

Time to do what he did best: Do something random and pretend it's a plan.

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona watched the man with a thoughtful expression. God this seemed like a bad cheesy spy movie. The two heroes meet, not trusting each other, yet working together to escape from the villain's lair. And then they save the world once again and go home and take a vacation.

Yeah...Right.

She wasn't a fool, and she didn't believe in stories. But it would be a chance to get out of the hospital, even if it was just a short time away. Last time she tried to get away it took them 2 hours to find her again, and she was only down the street siting on a park bench.

She bent down to her box and retrieved her parents wedding rings and the three nails, putting them in her pocket along with the screwdriver. She turned her head towards the window one last time, before walking over to where the open vent was.

"Very impressive Mr. Bond."

Climbing up into the vent, wasn't hard for her , in fact it was an easy task compared to the last time she escaped. But that was a story for another time a place. Looking around the airways she took a nail out of her pocket and carved an X into the side of the vent.

She started to crawl forward, every turn placing another X. She made sure to keep with Sherlock (She couldn't decide if she liked Sherlock or Peter better for him) and while the crawled trying to find there way out a tune popped into her head. She laughed at the thought of it and then started to actually hum it out.

The mission impossible theme song could be heard filling out the air duct that the crawled through. Now they truly were spies stuck in an evil liar.