Sherlock watches John as he hobbles out of the cell. He expects to 'see' him again in another few hours with God knows what new injuries that will come of it. If he had any inclination it would be longer than that, maybe he would have said something. Maybe an encouraging phrase, or some riddle to keep his mind occupied even for a moment. But, he says nothing and lets the door close without protest.
He's expecting the screams this time. Again, he doesn't want to listen to them, but hearing the screams tell him that John is alive and conscious. Both good things in the big picture, but terrible things for John's senses.
Don't think about what they're doing. Don't think about the flames and the knives. Don't think about them breaking his bones into tiny splinters.
Of course, thinking about not thinking about things just makes him think about them even more.
During the first break (some 132 minutes after John's relocation), Sherlock sighs his relief and waits. It shouldn't be long until they bring John back to the cell with him. Maybe he'd be able to convince Moriarty to let him bandage his friend's wounds again. And, John can rest. He'll sleep through the entire time they're caged up together this time, but it would be for the best. The longer he sleeps, the longer it will be before the torture continues. Right?
But, John doesn't return to the cell. The screams start up again and the cold sense of dread climbs down his spine. This isn't right. He should be returned. Treated. He doesn't let himself think of the possibility of them pushing John so far that he loses himself from the pain or dies from the abuse.
Sherlock can't sleep. He passes out every few hours only to wake from the nightmares brought by his friend's anguished screams carrying on through the bunker. During the first day, he does little more than sit in the same place John had left him. He drinks the last forth of the water because if he doesn't, he risks dying before John can return to him. He takes the last dose of antibiotic, too.
On the second day, he changes his bandages and eats the 'meal' slipped under his door. He takes to yelling at the camera until his voice is raw. Everything and anything that comes to his mind. Some of it is demanding John's return. Some of it threatening to kill himself so Jim can't have his fun anymore. He raves about Baker Street, Scotland Yard, old cases, and pretty much anything else just to keep talking. When he's talking, he drowns out the sound of John's voice.
Eventually, his voice gets hoarse and he slumps against the wall. That's when it finally hits him. Despair like a knife through his abdomen. And, he cries then. The first time since his capture. It's a dry sort of cry with very few tears - his body is clinging too desperately to water to allow for much.
Shortly after (and long before he's finished), the door opens and John is dumped into the ground nearby. "John," his voice is strained from worry and emotion as he crawls toward his friend. His chains keep his hands from getting close enough to do more than brush his fingers over his friend's hair. "Oh God, John. Say something. Any... anything," the relief of his friend here and clearly alive (for now) isn't enough. He struggles, wanting to gather him up close and never let him go again. To protect him with his own body if he can, but he's too far. With that, his sobs pick up right where they'd left off.
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He's expecting the screams this time. Again, he doesn't want to listen to them, but hearing the screams tell him that John is alive and conscious. Both good things in the big picture, but terrible things for John's senses.
Don't think about what they're doing. Don't think about the flames and the knives. Don't think about them breaking his bones into tiny splinters.
Of course, thinking about not thinking about things just makes him think about them even more.
During the first break (some 132 minutes after John's relocation), Sherlock sighs his relief and waits. It shouldn't be long until they bring John back to the cell with him. Maybe he'd be able to convince Moriarty to let him bandage his friend's wounds again. And, John can rest. He'll sleep through the entire time they're caged up together this time, but it would be for the best. The longer he sleeps, the longer it will be before the torture continues. Right?
But, John doesn't return to the cell. The screams start up again and the cold sense of dread climbs down his spine. This isn't right. He should be returned. Treated. He doesn't let himself think of the possibility of them pushing John so far that he loses himself from the pain or dies from the abuse.
Sherlock can't sleep. He passes out every few hours only to wake from the nightmares brought by his friend's anguished screams carrying on through the bunker. During the first day, he does little more than sit in the same place John had left him. He drinks the last forth of the water because if he doesn't, he risks dying before John can return to him. He takes the last dose of antibiotic, too.
On the second day, he changes his bandages and eats the 'meal' slipped under his door. He takes to yelling at the camera until his voice is raw. Everything and anything that comes to his mind. Some of it is demanding John's return. Some of it threatening to kill himself so Jim can't have his fun anymore. He raves about Baker Street, Scotland Yard, old cases, and pretty much anything else just to keep talking. When he's talking, he drowns out the sound of John's voice.
Eventually, his voice gets hoarse and he slumps against the wall. That's when it finally hits him. Despair like a knife through his abdomen. And, he cries then. The first time since his capture. It's a dry sort of cry with very few tears - his body is clinging too desperately to water to allow for much.
Shortly after (and long before he's finished), the door opens and John is dumped into the ground nearby. "John," his voice is strained from worry and emotion as he crawls toward his friend. His chains keep his hands from getting close enough to do more than brush his fingers over his friend's hair. "Oh God, John. Say something. Any... anything," the relief of his friend here and clearly alive (for now) isn't enough. He struggles, wanting to gather him up close and never let him go again. To protect him with his own body if he can, but he's too far. With that, his sobs pick up right where they'd left off.