Sherlock listened idly to voices blurring in the distance. John released his hand (he missed the warmth of it immediately) and shone light in his eyes. Sherlock flinched. The act of moving seemed to unlock something inside him, restoring the connection to his body.
“Try to stay still,” John said. He was using a stethoscope now, which was cold. There was someone standing behind him, but they were irrelevant. “Shut your eyes for a minute.”
Sherlock obeyed and felt John remove whatever-it was from his forehead, replacing it with something which he must have taped on, because he didn’t hold it in place anymore.
There was beginning to be pain. A lot of pain, throughout his body and particularly in his head.
“It’s okay,” John said, as if he could read Sherlock’s mind. He took hold of Sherlock’s hand again, which helped a little bit. “I know it hurts now, but it won’t for much longer. The firemen are going to start cutting you out now that we know your condition.”
He considered asking but it seemed irrelevant. “Why?” he said.
“Why did you crash?”
Uncanny. He was supposed to be the one to do that sort of thing. “Yes.”
Speaking took a lot of effort.
“The driver’s dead,” John said. “It looks like a heart attack behind the wheel. You were just unlucky.”
No puzzle. It was a shame that there was no puzzle.
There was more pain now. He noticed himself breathing, which he hadn’t before, and it hurt each time.
“Can’t you put him out for this?” Lestrade asked. “Seems cruel otherwise.”
“We’re intending to,” John said. He was conjuring items from nowhere; a mask which was slipped uncomfortably over Sherlock’s nose and mouth, and something sharp which went into his arm.
“Go to sleep now, Sherlock,” John said. “It’s going to be okay.”
Sherlock had no intention of going to sleep, but somehow he did anyway.
--
He woke slowly. “You’re in the hospital,” someone said. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Sherlock Holmes,” he said, with effort. He fought his eyes open. The lids were very heavy. On the other side of them there seemed to be a lot of white, with dark blurs of shadows across it.
“That’s good. Your address?”
“221b Baker Street. Try some harder ones.”
He finally wrested his eyes open properly. John was leaning forward next to his bed, with an open book upside-down on the floor by his feet. He looked tired. “Welcome back,” he said. “You’d be surprised how difficult you found those questions yesterday.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve got a bad concussion, four broken ribs, and you took some heavy internal pounding, too,” John told him. “So they want to keep you in here on painkillers for a few more days, and then you have to rest at home for a while. Rest.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m going to be making sure of that,” John said sternly. He wasn’t all that good at looking stern. “Also, Lestrade doesn’t want me to tell you that he’s been dropping in regularly over the last twenty-four hours to see how you were doing. Mycroft says the same thing.”
“Why would they say that?” Sherlock asked in honest confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
John grinned. “Clearly.” There was a pause. “I should probably go now so that you can get some more sleep.”
“Please don’t,” Sherlock said, before he knew that he was going to.
John looked surprised, and then pleased. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll stay.”
Re: Stay (2/2)frith_in_thornsSeptember 24 2010, 01:10:47 UTC
Yay! I'm very very happy that you liked it!
And oh no, you've seen though my evil plan ;) But I'll carry on pretending that I friended you because you write awesome prompts to keep up appearances :D
Re: Stay (2/2)lien_cinnamonSeptember 24 2010, 17:31:41 UTC
“I’m going to be making sure of that,” John said sternly. He wasn’t all that good at looking stern. “Also, Lestrade doesn’t want me to tell you that he’s been dropping in regularly over the last twenty-four hours to see how you were doing. Mycroft says the same thing.”
“Try to stay still,” John said. He was using a stethoscope now, which was cold. There was someone standing behind him, but they were irrelevant. “Shut your eyes for a minute.”
Sherlock obeyed and felt John remove whatever-it was from his forehead, replacing it with something which he must have taped on, because he didn’t hold it in place anymore.
There was beginning to be pain. A lot of pain, throughout his body and particularly in his head.
“It’s okay,” John said, as if he could read Sherlock’s mind. He took hold of Sherlock’s hand again, which helped a little bit. “I know it hurts now, but it won’t for much longer. The firemen are going to start cutting you out now that we know your condition.”
He considered asking but it seemed irrelevant. “Why?” he said.
“Why did you crash?”
Uncanny. He was supposed to be the one to do that sort of thing. “Yes.”
Speaking took a lot of effort.
“The driver’s dead,” John said. “It looks like a heart attack behind the wheel. You were just unlucky.”
No puzzle. It was a shame that there was no puzzle.
There was more pain now. He noticed himself breathing, which he hadn’t before, and it hurt each time.
“Can’t you put him out for this?” Lestrade asked. “Seems cruel otherwise.”
“We’re intending to,” John said. He was conjuring items from nowhere; a mask which was slipped uncomfortably over Sherlock’s nose and mouth, and something sharp which went into his arm.
“Go to sleep now, Sherlock,” John said. “It’s going to be okay.”
Sherlock had no intention of going to sleep, but somehow he did anyway.
--
He woke slowly. “You’re in the hospital,” someone said. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Sherlock Holmes,” he said, with effort. He fought his eyes open. The lids were very heavy. On the other side of them there seemed to be a lot of white, with dark blurs of shadows across it.
“That’s good. Your address?”
“221b Baker Street. Try some harder ones.”
He finally wrested his eyes open properly. John was leaning forward next to his bed, with an open book upside-down on the floor by his feet. He looked tired. “Welcome back,” he said. “You’d be surprised how difficult you found those questions yesterday.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve got a bad concussion, four broken ribs, and you took some heavy internal pounding, too,” John told him. “So they want to keep you in here on painkillers for a few more days, and then you have to rest at home for a while. Rest.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m going to be making sure of that,” John said sternly. He wasn’t all that good at looking stern. “Also, Lestrade doesn’t want me to tell you that he’s been dropping in regularly over the last twenty-four hours to see how you were doing. Mycroft says the same thing.”
“Why would they say that?” Sherlock asked in honest confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
John grinned. “Clearly.” There was a pause. “I should probably go now so that you can get some more sleep.”
“Please don’t,” Sherlock said, before he knew that he was going to.
John looked surprised, and then pleased. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll stay.”
Reply
Reply
Reply
(Lestrade bringing a take away. Anderson turning up with a nasty little bunch of old flowers (just checking Sherlock's really out of it for a while)).
Reply
^^ So happy!
And you added us as friends too, thank you!! ^;^
...or was that just so you could insure that I worship you forever like I promised?...lol
Reply
And oh no, you've seen though my evil plan ;) But I'll carry on pretending that I friended you because you write awesome prompts to keep up appearances :D
Reply
Reply
Oh, I loved this line! All of it! <3
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment