Sherlock100 24/100 #26 Teammates
Title: Help Me Understand Part 2/2
Characters: Sherlock/John
Prompt: Sherlock is hurt/wakes from coma with aphasia - he cannot make his words come out correctly, they're all jumbled, and he knows they're jumbled. To make matters worse, his hands are in splints. He freaks, especially knowing who the killer/kidnapper/baddie is. John knows him so well, he understands him, completes his chains of thought. Eventual return to happy normalcy.
Word Count (if fiction): 900
Rating: G
Summary: Sherlock has aphasia. John wants to know who to maim blame, but Sherlock can't tell him.
Spoilers: First season
Warnings: None here
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock or John.
My table: http://marill-chan.livejournal.com/4488.html
John was flipping through channels on the small television in the room, having instructed Sherlock to rest for awhile. Sherlock was watching through half-lidded eyes as the pictures on the screen focused and faded. The pain in his head was beginning to be nearly intolerable. It was all concentrated on the left side, which he pressed into his firm pillow trying to relieve the pressure. His hands were hurting as well, starting to burn and sting where bones were broken or dislocated. Also, an interesting pain on the right side of his body, which no one had bothered to explain to him, was starting to nauseate him.
It was getting to be too much. He was going to have to tell John. He rolled slightly back over to the right and decided to get his lover’s attention. Of course, John would probably get it if Sherlock just groaned and indicated his head. But Sherlock wanted to communicate more than anything with his fleeting vocabulary.
Schooling his face to get rid of any traces of pain, Sherlock cleared his throat. John instantly looked over and muted the telly, smiling. “What’s up, Sherlock?”
So far, if Sherlock’s assumption was correct, he had been able to communicate best with simple words, which he was already very familiar with, words that had been part of his language since childhood. Those were the words that he could form at will without stumbling too badly. Simple. Simple is best, he instructed himself. “John…felt battery…no.” He’d meant to merely say hurt but couldn’t. He tried for even simpler. “Ouch. John, ouch.”
John sat up to attention. “Are you in pain, Sherlock?” he asked, concerned. Sherlock nodded gently, not wanting to move his head too much. John’s hand was instantly stroking his brow and Sherlock allowed his face to melt back into its pained grimace. John’s expression similarly turned to pain and after a soft kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, he left to find a nurse.
When John returned, Sherlock had broken out into a sweat and was pressing the bulk of his arm into his right side, while lying on his left. John rubbed his back until his nurse came in to deliver a sedative and painkiller.
…………….
Several hours later, hazy awareness was beckoning Sherlock to come back. A tug at his arm was pulling him to swim up to the surface, away from the dark depths. He opened his eyes to fire and quickly shut them back, seeing red spots dancing around his eyelids.
“Hey, Sherlock,” said John very casually. Very tiredly.
Sherlock blinked his eyes back open to settle them onto John’s face, held up by his hand. He cleared his throat cautiously, wondering if the nap had cured his aphasia. “Cuddle pop you…” Too much to hope for. Too soon.
John’s mouth turned into a frighteningly happy oval as Sherlock’s face turned red. “I know you didn’t mean to say that, but…it was so cute!” Sherlock rolled his eyes as John attempted to give him a hug around all the injuries and tubes and wires.
Sherlock took a breath and let it go. John had told him he needed to learn to laugh at himself, and while he wasn’t going to do it, he could compromise and let John laugh at him. Most people laughed at him and then sometimes came to respect him. John had respected him first, then loved him, and then later started laughing at him. It was the most comforting, natural feeling Sherlock had ever been privileged.
John leaned back, leaving his hand rubbing up and down Sherlock’s arm. “You know what I’m going to try to get you to do, right?” he asked. Sherlock nodded. “Okay. Do you know the man who tried to kill you?”
Sherlock sighed. “Girl.”
John nodded slowly. “Okay, the name has something to do with ‘Girl,’ or sounds like ‘Girl…’ Or wait, it was a girl--a woman who tried to run you over?”
Sherlock met John’s eyes immediately and nodded. He couldn’t believe John had managed that. “Yes,” he said with determination.
John looked excited. “Okay, so a woman involved in a recent case?” Sherlock nodded. “Someone you were unable to help…no, I don’t believe there’s ever been a case where you didn’t help.” He smiled fondly at Sherlock. “A woman that you got into trouble, then…”
Sherlock shook his head. “No. Um…can’t. Um…” He lowered his head and put his palms at each of his temples, trying to focus and think. “Man. Listen…man.” John stared in apologetic confusion. Sherlock made a frustrated noise. Simple simple… “Man work--girl mad.” Sherlock sighed at himself, wishing he could crawl underneath his blankets and perish right at that moment.
But John got it. “Okay, her husband, her boyfriend did something, and you found him out, got him sent to prison. And she was after revenge.”
Sherlock’s mouth dropped open slightly and then he smiled. “Yes. Good, John.”
John beamed. “That shouldn’t be too difficult for Lestrade to figure out then.”
………….
Lynda Messenger was arrested for attempting to murder Sherlock only days after he succeeded in communicating with John. A month later, and with speech therapy and infinite patience from his teacher, and lover, Sherlock was back to his normal self-important vocabulary. But occasionally he would go quiet, to make John try to read his mind.
Part 1
Characters: Sherlock/John
Prompt: Sherlock is hurt/wakes from coma with aphasia - he cannot make his words come out correctly, they're all jumbled, and he knows they're jumbled. To make matters worse, his hands are in splints. He freaks, especially knowing who the killer/kidnapper/baddie is. John knows him so well, he understands him, completes his chains of thought. Eventual return to happy normalcy.
Word Count (if fiction): 900
Rating: G
Summary: Sherlock has aphasia. John wants to know who to maim blame, but Sherlock can't tell him.
Spoilers: First season
Warnings: None here
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock or John.
My table: http://marill-chan.livejournal.com/4488.html
John was flipping through channels on the small television in the room, having instructed Sherlock to rest for awhile. Sherlock was watching through half-lidded eyes as the pictures on the screen focused and faded. The pain in his head was beginning to be nearly intolerable. It was all concentrated on the left side, which he pressed into his firm pillow trying to relieve the pressure. His hands were hurting as well, starting to burn and sting where bones were broken or dislocated. Also, an interesting pain on the right side of his body, which no one had bothered to explain to him, was starting to nauseate him.
It was getting to be too much. He was going to have to tell John. He rolled slightly back over to the right and decided to get his lover’s attention. Of course, John would probably get it if Sherlock just groaned and indicated his head. But Sherlock wanted to communicate more than anything with his fleeting vocabulary.
Schooling his face to get rid of any traces of pain, Sherlock cleared his throat. John instantly looked over and muted the telly, smiling. “What’s up, Sherlock?”
So far, if Sherlock’s assumption was correct, he had been able to communicate best with simple words, which he was already very familiar with, words that had been part of his language since childhood. Those were the words that he could form at will without stumbling too badly. Simple. Simple is best, he instructed himself. “John…felt battery…no.” He’d meant to merely say hurt but couldn’t. He tried for even simpler. “Ouch. John, ouch.”
John sat up to attention. “Are you in pain, Sherlock?” he asked, concerned. Sherlock nodded gently, not wanting to move his head too much. John’s hand was instantly stroking his brow and Sherlock allowed his face to melt back into its pained grimace. John’s expression similarly turned to pain and after a soft kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, he left to find a nurse.
When John returned, Sherlock had broken out into a sweat and was pressing the bulk of his arm into his right side, while lying on his left. John rubbed his back until his nurse came in to deliver a sedative and painkiller.
…………….
Several hours later, hazy awareness was beckoning Sherlock to come back. A tug at his arm was pulling him to swim up to the surface, away from the dark depths. He opened his eyes to fire and quickly shut them back, seeing red spots dancing around his eyelids.
“Hey, Sherlock,” said John very casually. Very tiredly.
Sherlock blinked his eyes back open to settle them onto John’s face, held up by his hand. He cleared his throat cautiously, wondering if the nap had cured his aphasia. “Cuddle pop you…” Too much to hope for. Too soon.
John’s mouth turned into a frighteningly happy oval as Sherlock’s face turned red. “I know you didn’t mean to say that, but…it was so cute!” Sherlock rolled his eyes as John attempted to give him a hug around all the injuries and tubes and wires.
Sherlock took a breath and let it go. John had told him he needed to learn to laugh at himself, and while he wasn’t going to do it, he could compromise and let John laugh at him. Most people laughed at him and then sometimes came to respect him. John had respected him first, then loved him, and then later started laughing at him. It was the most comforting, natural feeling Sherlock had ever been privileged.
John leaned back, leaving his hand rubbing up and down Sherlock’s arm. “You know what I’m going to try to get you to do, right?” he asked. Sherlock nodded. “Okay. Do you know the man who tried to kill you?”
Sherlock sighed. “Girl.”
John nodded slowly. “Okay, the name has something to do with ‘Girl,’ or sounds like ‘Girl…’ Or wait, it was a girl--a woman who tried to run you over?”
Sherlock met John’s eyes immediately and nodded. He couldn’t believe John had managed that. “Yes,” he said with determination.
John looked excited. “Okay, so a woman involved in a recent case?” Sherlock nodded. “Someone you were unable to help…no, I don’t believe there’s ever been a case where you didn’t help.” He smiled fondly at Sherlock. “A woman that you got into trouble, then…”
Sherlock shook his head. “No. Um…can’t. Um…” He lowered his head and put his palms at each of his temples, trying to focus and think. “Man. Listen…man.” John stared in apologetic confusion. Sherlock made a frustrated noise. Simple simple… “Man work--girl mad.” Sherlock sighed at himself, wishing he could crawl underneath his blankets and perish right at that moment.
But John got it. “Okay, her husband, her boyfriend did something, and you found him out, got him sent to prison. And she was after revenge.”
Sherlock’s mouth dropped open slightly and then he smiled. “Yes. Good, John.”
John beamed. “That shouldn’t be too difficult for Lestrade to figure out then.”
………….
Lynda Messenger was arrested for attempting to murder Sherlock only days after he succeeded in communicating with John. A month later, and with speech therapy and infinite patience from his teacher, and lover, Sherlock was back to his normal self-important vocabulary. But occasionally he would go quiet, to make John try to read his mind.
Part 1