Sherlock100 50/100 #36 Smell
Title: Millstone 3/9; Chapter 3: Care
Characters: Sherlock, John & Mycroft
Word count this chapter: ~1000
Rating: PG15
Summary: AU: Mycroft suffered a brain injury protecting Sherlock. Sherlock has put his life on hold to care for him.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Brain damage, dependency, mental illness, angst
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock, John or Mycroft
My table: http://marill-chan.livejournal.com/4488.html
Thanks so much to grassle for beta help, moral support, and luuuurve!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Millstone
Chapter 3 Care
Sherlock was in his study, looking over his collection of suicide photographs when a confident knock came at his door. “Come in,” he said, not looking up from a scene of a young woman with rope burns around her throat.
John Watson entered the room, obviously looking to Sherlock for assistance with something. “Sorry to bother you, um, Sherlock, was it? I think I might need your help for a sec.”
Sherlock turned to face him. “Ah, Dr. Watson, anything you need, I am at your service.” The quicker the man could be shown the ropes, the sooner Sherlock could start to pack.
“John, please. I’ve just met your brother, and your mother would like me to go ahead and give him a routine physical exam,” said John. “Only, he’s a bit apprehensive and asked if you would come in with us.”
Sherlock immediately got to his feet. “Yes, of course,” he said, no longer putting on an act for John’s sake.
Sherlock followed John into one of the guest rooms which had been fashioned into a sick bay after it was decided that Mycroft would need full-time medical care. Mycroft was sat upon a cushioned table, wearing only his shirt and pants.
Sherlock went to stand beside him. “So, you’ve met Dr. Watson? Do you like him, Mycroft?”
Mycroft smiled. “Yes. He’s very nice.”
Sherlock nodded. “So what’s there to worry about, then?”
Mycroft shrugged, studying his hands.
“Right, okay,” said John. “I’m just going to start by checking your senses.” He produced a tuning fork from his medical bag and did a formal test, asking Mycroft when he could no longer hear the vibrations after John had tapped it.
Following this, John tested Mycroft’s eyesight, his sense of smell (by far Mycroft’s favourite test, since it involved a little satchel of lavender), and his reflexes. John had Mycroft walk in straight lines, on his heels and on his toes. He checked his femoral, radial, and carotid pulses, and listened to his breathing. After listening through his stethoscope, John gave Mycroft a few more breathing tests to ensure that he had all the information on his patient’s condition.
John wrote a few notes on his pad and then prepared a blood pressure cuff around Mycroft’s upper arm.
“Be careful,” Sherlock said sternly. “Not too tight.”
“Of course not,” said John. “I have done this a few times before.”
Mycroft wasn’t bothered by the blood pressure testing. However, when John explained that he would be taking a blood sample, Mycroft drew up into himself and scooted back on the table.
“I don’t want to do this part,” he said.
John frowned. “It’s just a tiny, tiny drop or two. It’ll only hurt for a second, and then afterwards, maybe you can go and watch telly?” John looked at Sherlock for approval.
“Mycroft, why don’t you tell me about the ducks at the pond the other day. What were they doing?” asked Sherlock.
Mycroft turned to his brother. He had to think for a moment before answering. “They swam. And they made noise.”
Sherlock nodded, seemingly fascinated. “And what’s the name of the sound that a duck makes?”
John swabbed Mycroft’s finger with a bit of rubbing alcohol.
“I…don’t remember,” said Mycroft.
“But you know it,” said Sherlock. “You know the sound they make.”
Mycroft shook his head. “I can’t see it.”
“Well then, what else did we see that day?”
“The forest.”
“And what was in the forest?”
“Trees and plants. Probably animals.”
John pricked Mycroft’s finger and collected a small amount of blood on a glass strip.
“How do you know there were animals? We didn’t see any.”
“Because that’s where animals live,” answered Mycroft. His attention turned back to John as the doctor put a tan plaster on his finger.
John placed the glass strip in a holding container. “Okay, you’re all done Mycroft. Very good job, I know all this must have been a little tedious…um, boring.”
Sherlock helped Mycroft down from the table. “All right. Skip on, go and do whatever you were doing before,” he said.
Mycroft slowly left the room, seeming to have a little trouble balancing on his way out.
“Thanks,” said John to Sherlock. “Couldn’t have got through that without you.”
“You’re very patient,” said Sherlock. “I didn’t expect that, given your history of annoyed outbursts.”
John cleaned the area and packed away his things while they talked. “Some patients are difficult on purpose because they’re obnoxious. Your brother is a bit difficult, but he isn’t trying to be. He can’t help it.”
Sherlock burned a little at John’s last sentence. “He wasn’t always this way,” he snapped. “My brother was more brilliant than you could have imagined. More brilliant even than I.”
John nodded, soberly. “The way your mother speaks of him, I’d never have known that. But I saw the scar under his hair. Before that, I had guessed autism or possibly retardation.”
Sherlock nodded. “He’s very sensitive. He can’t understand a lot of things that he used to. His coordination is getting worse and worse all the time. How long would you give him before he needs medical implements for walking and eating?”
John contemplated for a moment, taking a breath through his teeth. “I don’t know. I’d have to watch him for about a month before I could make a judgement like that.”
“Of course,” said Sherlock. “Well, Dr. Watson, I shall be in my study. I hope that you will make yourself at home here. Mother is no doubt preparing dinner for the household now. Good evening.”
Sherlock returned to his study and rubbed his face tiredly. He hoped that Mycroft would take to John. The young doctor was very understanding and careful with him. Sherlock also hoped the doctor’s obvious compassion would lead him to care for Mycroft as a person, as well as a patient.
Characters: Sherlock, John & Mycroft
Word count this chapter: ~1000
Rating: PG15
Summary: AU: Mycroft suffered a brain injury protecting Sherlock. Sherlock has put his life on hold to care for him.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Brain damage, dependency, mental illness, angst
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock, John or Mycroft
My table: http://marill-chan.livejournal.com/4488.html
Thanks so much to grassle for beta help, moral support, and luuuurve!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Millstone
Chapter 3 Care
Sherlock was in his study, looking over his collection of suicide photographs when a confident knock came at his door. “Come in,” he said, not looking up from a scene of a young woman with rope burns around her throat.
John Watson entered the room, obviously looking to Sherlock for assistance with something. “Sorry to bother you, um, Sherlock, was it? I think I might need your help for a sec.”
Sherlock turned to face him. “Ah, Dr. Watson, anything you need, I am at your service.” The quicker the man could be shown the ropes, the sooner Sherlock could start to pack.
“John, please. I’ve just met your brother, and your mother would like me to go ahead and give him a routine physical exam,” said John. “Only, he’s a bit apprehensive and asked if you would come in with us.”
Sherlock immediately got to his feet. “Yes, of course,” he said, no longer putting on an act for John’s sake.
Sherlock followed John into one of the guest rooms which had been fashioned into a sick bay after it was decided that Mycroft would need full-time medical care. Mycroft was sat upon a cushioned table, wearing only his shirt and pants.
Sherlock went to stand beside him. “So, you’ve met Dr. Watson? Do you like him, Mycroft?”
Mycroft smiled. “Yes. He’s very nice.”
Sherlock nodded. “So what’s there to worry about, then?”
Mycroft shrugged, studying his hands.
“Right, okay,” said John. “I’m just going to start by checking your senses.” He produced a tuning fork from his medical bag and did a formal test, asking Mycroft when he could no longer hear the vibrations after John had tapped it.
Following this, John tested Mycroft’s eyesight, his sense of smell (by far Mycroft’s favourite test, since it involved a little satchel of lavender), and his reflexes. John had Mycroft walk in straight lines, on his heels and on his toes. He checked his femoral, radial, and carotid pulses, and listened to his breathing. After listening through his stethoscope, John gave Mycroft a few more breathing tests to ensure that he had all the information on his patient’s condition.
John wrote a few notes on his pad and then prepared a blood pressure cuff around Mycroft’s upper arm.
“Be careful,” Sherlock said sternly. “Not too tight.”
“Of course not,” said John. “I have done this a few times before.”
Mycroft wasn’t bothered by the blood pressure testing. However, when John explained that he would be taking a blood sample, Mycroft drew up into himself and scooted back on the table.
“I don’t want to do this part,” he said.
John frowned. “It’s just a tiny, tiny drop or two. It’ll only hurt for a second, and then afterwards, maybe you can go and watch telly?” John looked at Sherlock for approval.
“Mycroft, why don’t you tell me about the ducks at the pond the other day. What were they doing?” asked Sherlock.
Mycroft turned to his brother. He had to think for a moment before answering. “They swam. And they made noise.”
Sherlock nodded, seemingly fascinated. “And what’s the name of the sound that a duck makes?”
John swabbed Mycroft’s finger with a bit of rubbing alcohol.
“I…don’t remember,” said Mycroft.
“But you know it,” said Sherlock. “You know the sound they make.”
Mycroft shook his head. “I can’t see it.”
“Well then, what else did we see that day?”
“The forest.”
“And what was in the forest?”
“Trees and plants. Probably animals.”
John pricked Mycroft’s finger and collected a small amount of blood on a glass strip.
“How do you know there were animals? We didn’t see any.”
“Because that’s where animals live,” answered Mycroft. His attention turned back to John as the doctor put a tan plaster on his finger.
John placed the glass strip in a holding container. “Okay, you’re all done Mycroft. Very good job, I know all this must have been a little tedious…um, boring.”
Sherlock helped Mycroft down from the table. “All right. Skip on, go and do whatever you were doing before,” he said.
Mycroft slowly left the room, seeming to have a little trouble balancing on his way out.
“Thanks,” said John to Sherlock. “Couldn’t have got through that without you.”
“You’re very patient,” said Sherlock. “I didn’t expect that, given your history of annoyed outbursts.”
John cleaned the area and packed away his things while they talked. “Some patients are difficult on purpose because they’re obnoxious. Your brother is a bit difficult, but he isn’t trying to be. He can’t help it.”
Sherlock burned a little at John’s last sentence. “He wasn’t always this way,” he snapped. “My brother was more brilliant than you could have imagined. More brilliant even than I.”
John nodded, soberly. “The way your mother speaks of him, I’d never have known that. But I saw the scar under his hair. Before that, I had guessed autism or possibly retardation.”
Sherlock nodded. “He’s very sensitive. He can’t understand a lot of things that he used to. His coordination is getting worse and worse all the time. How long would you give him before he needs medical implements for walking and eating?”
John contemplated for a moment, taking a breath through his teeth. “I don’t know. I’d have to watch him for about a month before I could make a judgement like that.”
“Of course,” said Sherlock. “Well, Dr. Watson, I shall be in my study. I hope that you will make yourself at home here. Mother is no doubt preparing dinner for the household now. Good evening.”
Sherlock returned to his study and rubbed his face tiredly. He hoped that Mycroft would take to John. The young doctor was very understanding and careful with him. Sherlock also hoped the doctor’s obvious compassion would lead him to care for Mycroft as a person, as well as a patient.