I wake up on a bench in a park. I touch my head and my whole hand is covered with blood. It's midnight and I only hear quacking ducks. In my entire life I never slept that much. Deterred by a few cars in the street I try to stand up. In the distance I see men are walking, but I don't dare to speak with them. First I need to reach John, he will be worried sick. I search my phone and I marvel I still have it.

I try to send a message, but I don't have any clue how I have to work with this. And John did his best to explain it to me. I curse my mobile phone and throw it as far as I can. A splash.

I scream very loudly and I rub with my hand in my eyes. This isn't the park where I come usually. This isn't the park near to my house. This is a unfamiliar territory to me. It seems like I've been drugged. I have lost my orientation completely.

I finally stand up and I seek support from the bench. I'd never throw my phone away, because now I have no flashlight anymore. The light of a few lampposts isn't enough. I barely see my feet and the paths seem stopping every metre. Foot by foot I dodder forwards. It's stupid I am no animal whisperer, then I could ask the ducks to lead me. I think, but my brain seem to hide himself for me. They do not want to send me any information. Knowingly I never get away from here, I let myself fall to the ground. My knees painfully press against the pebbles and I scream of rage and loneliness.

I push myself up from the ground and run to the leak. My phone should be here. I don't think and jump into the water. I don't care anymore. My life is already ruined. I slog in the cold water with my hands. Fortunately it isn't the same leak as that time with John. I don't want the memories will be ruined because of this.

I haven't the faintest idea how long I've been busy, but finally I take my soaked phone. Of course it don't work anymore. My efforts has been for nothing. I prefer to throw it to a tree, but maybe it will be useful later.

"Ducks, help me!" I shout of exhaustion. They are no wizard-ducks, who can help me. They just are swimming ogres who quack when they want to. This is how I think they are now, but actually they are really clever. Why would anyone have anatidaephobia?

I walk to the first lamppost and lean a little time against it. I need to reach my house before it gets light, but waiting for the light will be a good idea too. This case is hopeless, I don't want John becomes anxious – what he is probably is already – and calls the police. I have to find a way to go home. Do I have money? I feel into my pocket and sigh of relief. If I find a cabdriver, then I am saved. Why I am an idiot like that and I didn't think about it earlier... I laugh because of my ridicule.

***

I unstop the door and fall forwards, when I open the door. I shout of fatigue. John runs rapidly downstairs.

"Sherlock! Where were you?" I sigh because of his annoying question. Soon he sees it and he pulls me up. Relying on him, we walk up the stairs. He makes sure I lie stylishly on the couch. When I finally lie down, he sees how terrible it is.

As a soaked, tired zombie I came home. This is the most perfect impression you can give someone...

"Sherlock. Sherlock." His hands are still in front of his mouth. I want to tell him he has to get some disinfectant, but that takes too much effort. Besides he wants me to hush, because he knows I can't. I seem like a confused Minotaur, who do not know anymore who he rather eats. A human or a sheep.

I try to laugh at him, but he immediately shakes his head. "I take care."

I let myself sink in the cushions and sigh of real relief. It feels elate to be home, with a sweet boyfriend who want to help me as much as he can. After a few minutes he comes back with a lot of things in his hands. I want to stand up to help him, but thereafter I think of the situation I am in.

"Sherlock. Sherlock." He repeats again. He pushes my head sideways, so he can take care for my wound. He lays on my head a wet towel and I shiver. He sees I am totally soaked and he subtracts from my coat. He puts on me a blanket. It seems he has hands short and he begins to stress. Instead of the wet towel he presses a disinfected cotton wool against the wound, without warning. I am startled. "I'm sorry." He gently rubs my hair. Thereafter he wipes off his wet hands on his pants. I laugh.

When he sees I'm still trembling, he deducts the blanket and he pulls my shirt off. He rapidly runs up the stairs, while I lie here in my bare chest. My chest is bloody at all. He comes back with a warm sweater, but first he wipes off the blood from my body. His gaze shows he really want to know what happened. I am thinking the same...

They hit the back of my head, they didn't stone me...

After a half-hour he's finally ready and he curiously sit on the edge of the couch. Looking at a tired me. I lie on my side, staring at nothing in special.

"Sherlock. You're ok?" He lays a hand on my shoulder and gently rubs my arm. I smile at the thought that he just saw my bare chest. I nod with my head. I don't have the pep to move my mouth. "Tea?" I shake my head. He does his best to help or let talk me. A few minutes he sits next to me and stand up when it is 5 am. I hear the church bells in the distance.

"Asking about what happened, is no point. Think rather about where my funeral will take place." He turns around and he raises his eyebrows. He is as fast as he can next to the seat and he embraces me dearly. During a minute he maintains his arms around my waist.

"I've missed you." He reacts.

"I lie her for a long time though." He sits next to the couch and he looks at me full of expectation? What I have to do?

"Your sarcastic responses weren't." He laughs. He again rubs my hair fast. Why everyone finds my hair attractive? "Where you want your funeral is going to be? Nearby or where you were born?" He kisses the top of my hand. My hands are still trembling and while I think what I will say. The truth is no option.

"You want to know what I've done?" I ask. First I feel the back of my head. The wound is perfectly cleared. What am I lucky with this hot doctor. He nods. 'In every way it wasn't a spar."

"Definitely."

"I passed a troupe of gangsters. They asked my money and phone, but I didn't knuckle under." I get tears in my eyes to seem credible. "They kept fighting. My phone even felt into the water and they just have a bit money." He sighs sadly. Sadly because I have a pathetic life.

"Silent. Rather rest."

"Rest I will have enough in my grave." I snigger.

"I'll let you burn though." I raise my eyebrows.

"No. I'll always stay with you. Always." He leans forwards and he kisses me softly on my lips. I touch with trembling fingers his cheek. He feels hot, but my cold hands cool down.

"I would not want anything else." He places his hand on my chest and I groan. "Oh, I'm sorry." Immediately he unzips my sweater and he observes the wound carefully. "You have to pay attention your heart doesn't jump out of your chest." He laughs sweetly.

"Then you can catch him." I pull him closer to me and he gently rubs my cheek.

"May I feel how rapid your heart is beating?" I nod honoured. As a doctor he has to know I'm not dying. With care he rubs the border of the wound. I grasps the blanket, because it peaks awfully, but while very exciting. He moves his hand like a spider over my chest. Thereafter he lays his both hands on my heart. "You're still alive." He knows to say me.

"Can you say me whose fault it is my heart is beating like that?" He comes closer to me and he kisses my neck.

"I think you know. And it's not because of the gangsters, who I'll fight with tomorrow." He whispers attractively in my ear. I rapidly pull him closer to me and he leans a bit on me.

"You're best doctor ever. And the hottest."

"You are the most attractive patient I've ever seen."

"I don't want to be your patient. I want to be your love."