Sherlock 100 6/100 #71 Broken
Title: The Bottom of the Staircase
Characters: Sherlock and John
Prompt: "John? John, where are you...? My back, I... I think... Oh god, I can't feel my legs..."
Word Count (if fiction): 665 (Whew! That was a close one!)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sherlock wakes up at the bottom of the stairs.
Spoilers: Series 1
Author's Notes: I am having fun guyse!
Sherlock was very disoriented when he woke up. He was staring straight at a dark spot on the ceiling which was the only place Mrs. Hudson couldn’t reach with her duster, and therefore collected dirt. Wonderful, understanding Mrs. Hudson, she tried so hard to keep a tidy home and only had minor fussing at Sherlock’s habitual apathy about where he threw things or left things or created things.
It seemed that most recently he had thrown himself at the bottom of the staircase. Only he couldn’t remember doing so.
His phone was gone from him. He couldn’t feel its weight in any of his pockets, no need to check. Sherlock shifted up onto his elbow and felt a startling pain in his lower back.
Right, time to get help. "John? John, where are you...? My back, I... I think... Oh god, I can't feel my legs..." As the sensation of numbness became real and apparent, he tried willing one of his legs to move or shift. His toes to wiggle. He kneecaps to flex. Sherlock’s breath came faster as he began to panic at the thought of what had happened to him. He could be paraplegic. Or he could have two broken legs. That was the nicer explanation.
Sherlock knew that he was alone in the flat. He couldn’t hear anyone else puttering about or talking or breathing or squeaking in a chair. He called for them anyway. Sherlock lay at the bottom of the stairs crying for John, for Mrs. Hudson, for the neighbors, until he exhausted himself.
~*~
John came home hours later, having bought postage stamps, a new slip cover for the couch, and getting through with a few other menial errands. He didn’t expect to see Sherlock on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. Next to the sofa, perhaps, but not stretched out with one long leg dangling across the third step.
“Sherlock?” he said, placing his shopping on the floor and kneeling next to his flat mate’s side.
Sherlock’s eyes opened and he craned his neck to observe John. His voice cracked when he said, “John, I think I’m broken.”
John’s stomach clenched painfully. “What happened? Do I need to call you an ambulance?”
Sherlock groaned and shifted his upper body, his legs following listlessly. “I can’t feel my legs,” he whispered.
Then John palpated. Cervical, thoracic, lumbar, gently gently. Sherlock cringed when John put slight pressure on his lower back. “Sherlock, I have to call for the paramedics. I know you don’t want that, but I can’t move you without a backboard.” He had already dialed 999, decidedly ignoring the token protest from his friend.
Only there were no protests that day.
~*~
“Pain sensation is good all the way to your toes, Mr. Holmes. And, your muscles respond to electro-stimulation. Your x-rays look good, MRI came back fine. I would guess that the shock to your system when you fell gave you some temporary paralysis. Should wear off in a few hours, at most a few days,” a Dr. Canson was explaining. “Take it slow, don’t rush anything, get lots of rest, okay? If you need any pain meds, let the nurse know before you leave.”
John breathed an even deeper sigh of relief than Sherlock did. He shot the laid up man a teasing look. “What’d you have to go and scare me like that for?”
Sherlock grunted and fidgeted restlessly with the hospital robe. “Can I go home now?”
“How am I supposed to get you up the stairs and into our flat?” John asked.
“Build me an elevator,” Sherlock suggested.
“I can’t build an elevator!”
“Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” Sherlock demanded. He sighed dramatically. “Fine, I suppose we will have to move in to a hotel.”
“My treat of course,” John said tersely.
“Of course.”
~*~
Marill: I am not a doctor. ;) I just remember things my doctor said when I fell and had paralysis in my arm.
Characters: Sherlock and John
Prompt: "John? John, where are you...? My back, I... I think... Oh god, I can't feel my legs..."
Word Count (if fiction): 665 (Whew! That was a close one!)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sherlock wakes up at the bottom of the stairs.
Spoilers: Series 1
Author's Notes: I am having fun guyse!
Sherlock was very disoriented when he woke up. He was staring straight at a dark spot on the ceiling which was the only place Mrs. Hudson couldn’t reach with her duster, and therefore collected dirt. Wonderful, understanding Mrs. Hudson, she tried so hard to keep a tidy home and only had minor fussing at Sherlock’s habitual apathy about where he threw things or left things or created things.
It seemed that most recently he had thrown himself at the bottom of the staircase. Only he couldn’t remember doing so.
His phone was gone from him. He couldn’t feel its weight in any of his pockets, no need to check. Sherlock shifted up onto his elbow and felt a startling pain in his lower back.
Right, time to get help. "John? John, where are you...? My back, I... I think... Oh god, I can't feel my legs..." As the sensation of numbness became real and apparent, he tried willing one of his legs to move or shift. His toes to wiggle. He kneecaps to flex. Sherlock’s breath came faster as he began to panic at the thought of what had happened to him. He could be paraplegic. Or he could have two broken legs. That was the nicer explanation.
Sherlock knew that he was alone in the flat. He couldn’t hear anyone else puttering about or talking or breathing or squeaking in a chair. He called for them anyway. Sherlock lay at the bottom of the stairs crying for John, for Mrs. Hudson, for the neighbors, until he exhausted himself.
~*~
John came home hours later, having bought postage stamps, a new slip cover for the couch, and getting through with a few other menial errands. He didn’t expect to see Sherlock on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. Next to the sofa, perhaps, but not stretched out with one long leg dangling across the third step.
“Sherlock?” he said, placing his shopping on the floor and kneeling next to his flat mate’s side.
Sherlock’s eyes opened and he craned his neck to observe John. His voice cracked when he said, “John, I think I’m broken.”
John’s stomach clenched painfully. “What happened? Do I need to call you an ambulance?”
Sherlock groaned and shifted his upper body, his legs following listlessly. “I can’t feel my legs,” he whispered.
Then John palpated. Cervical, thoracic, lumbar, gently gently. Sherlock cringed when John put slight pressure on his lower back. “Sherlock, I have to call for the paramedics. I know you don’t want that, but I can’t move you without a backboard.” He had already dialed 999, decidedly ignoring the token protest from his friend.
Only there were no protests that day.
~*~
“Pain sensation is good all the way to your toes, Mr. Holmes. And, your muscles respond to electro-stimulation. Your x-rays look good, MRI came back fine. I would guess that the shock to your system when you fell gave you some temporary paralysis. Should wear off in a few hours, at most a few days,” a Dr. Canson was explaining. “Take it slow, don’t rush anything, get lots of rest, okay? If you need any pain meds, let the nurse know before you leave.”
John breathed an even deeper sigh of relief than Sherlock did. He shot the laid up man a teasing look. “What’d you have to go and scare me like that for?”
Sherlock grunted and fidgeted restlessly with the hospital robe. “Can I go home now?”
“How am I supposed to get you up the stairs and into our flat?” John asked.
“Build me an elevator,” Sherlock suggested.
“I can’t build an elevator!”
“Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” Sherlock demanded. He sighed dramatically. “Fine, I suppose we will have to move in to a hotel.”
“My treat of course,” John said tersely.
“Of course.”
~*~
Marill: I am not a doctor. ;) I just remember things my doctor said when I fell and had paralysis in my arm.