[fic] Sherlock drabble
A Sherlock drabble that demanded to be written RIGHT NOW! It contains spoilers for the 3rd episode "The Great Game." Read at your own risk.
Title: [untitled for the moment]
Genre: General
Rating: K (G)
Word Count: 568
The first thing that John was aware of was pain. It was not the localized pain of being shot but, rather, an overall pain that he decided was quite worse. After cataloging where he didn't hurt, he focused on his surroundings.
If the medical smell had not told him he was in a hospital, then the beeping of the heart monitor and the feeling of the IV in his arm would have clued him in.
He decided that it was time to open his eyes open but they felt glued shut, an indication that he had been out a while. Not that he knew from experience, not at all.
Eventually, he did get his eyes open and, yes, they confirmed he was in the hospital in the ICU ward.
John tried to work his sluggish mind through the drugs. What was he doing here? He lay in the bed for several minutes as he gathered his drug fogged mind together.
He remembered going out to do some shopping. Then being strong armed into a bomb vest.
Bomb vest! The memory hit him like a, well, explosion.
Moriarty! Sherlock! The bomb vest!
"You're finally awake," said a droll voice from somewhere to his right. John looked to his right was immediately frustrated by a curtain separating him from the other patient.
"Sherlock!" he tried to say but found that, yes, his mouth felt like dry sock had been shoved in it. He took a moment to moisten his mouth and tried again. "Sherlock!"
"Yes, yes," Sherlock said, sounding bored, which he probably was. "I expected you to be awake sooner. In summation, we survived, the police found some bodies but not Moriarty's." He sounded almost angry as he said the last name. Whether it was with himself or Moriarty, John was unsure.
John relaxed back in his bed and sighed. Of course. Sherlock was hardly phased by what happened now that it was passed. He was probably trying to figure out when he might go toe to toe with the 'consulting criminal' again. "You think he's still alive, don't you?" John asked, fairly certain he knew the answer.
"Yes," Sherlock said after a minute. It sounded like he was far away, thinking about things mundane people never consider.
Knowing his flatmate was not going to be good for any more conversation, John made himself comfortable. He did not think it would be long for one of the nurses or doctors on the floor to notice he was awake.
Then the most random question occurred to him. "What are we doing in the same room? It's goes against standard policy to have two patients in the ICU together."
"Mycroft," Sherlock said, "Something about us being easier to guard if we're in the same room."
"Oh," John said. "Wouldn't that just make us easier to take out?"
Sherlock did not answer. John did not bother to repeat his question. He was getting sleepy again because the pain was tiring to deal with and the meds were making him sleepy.
A doctor walked by and noticed that he was awake. John absently noticed that he was stopped and checked by a guard outside the door before being admitted. Tired as he was, he decided he would try to stay awake to answer the doctor's questions.
He was up in the air on deciding what hurt worse, getting shot or getting blown up.
Title: [untitled for the moment]
Genre: General
Rating: K (G)
Word Count: 568
The first thing that John was aware of was pain. It was not the localized pain of being shot but, rather, an overall pain that he decided was quite worse. After cataloging where he didn't hurt, he focused on his surroundings.
If the medical smell had not told him he was in a hospital, then the beeping of the heart monitor and the feeling of the IV in his arm would have clued him in.
He decided that it was time to open his eyes open but they felt glued shut, an indication that he had been out a while. Not that he knew from experience, not at all.
Eventually, he did get his eyes open and, yes, they confirmed he was in the hospital in the ICU ward.
John tried to work his sluggish mind through the drugs. What was he doing here? He lay in the bed for several minutes as he gathered his drug fogged mind together.
He remembered going out to do some shopping. Then being strong armed into a bomb vest.
Bomb vest! The memory hit him like a, well, explosion.
Moriarty! Sherlock! The bomb vest!
"You're finally awake," said a droll voice from somewhere to his right. John looked to his right was immediately frustrated by a curtain separating him from the other patient.
"Sherlock!" he tried to say but found that, yes, his mouth felt like dry sock had been shoved in it. He took a moment to moisten his mouth and tried again. "Sherlock!"
"Yes, yes," Sherlock said, sounding bored, which he probably was. "I expected you to be awake sooner. In summation, we survived, the police found some bodies but not Moriarty's." He sounded almost angry as he said the last name. Whether it was with himself or Moriarty, John was unsure.
John relaxed back in his bed and sighed. Of course. Sherlock was hardly phased by what happened now that it was passed. He was probably trying to figure out when he might go toe to toe with the 'consulting criminal' again. "You think he's still alive, don't you?" John asked, fairly certain he knew the answer.
"Yes," Sherlock said after a minute. It sounded like he was far away, thinking about things mundane people never consider.
Knowing his flatmate was not going to be good for any more conversation, John made himself comfortable. He did not think it would be long for one of the nurses or doctors on the floor to notice he was awake.
Then the most random question occurred to him. "What are we doing in the same room? It's goes against standard policy to have two patients in the ICU together."
"Mycroft," Sherlock said, "Something about us being easier to guard if we're in the same room."
"Oh," John said. "Wouldn't that just make us easier to take out?"
Sherlock did not answer. John did not bother to repeat his question. He was getting sleepy again because the pain was tiring to deal with and the meds were making him sleepy.
A doctor walked by and noticed that he was awake. John absently noticed that he was stopped and checked by a guard outside the door before being admitted. Tired as he was, he decided he would try to stay awake to answer the doctor's questions.
He was up in the air on deciding what hurt worse, getting shot or getting blown up.