Sherlock can't see under the gown, but he can see the rises and falls just under the fabric that indicate bandages. He remembers vividly just what John had looked like when the lights had gone on in the cell, though he hadn't been quite in his own mind at that moment.
He quiets for a moment, watching the way John comes to terms with being conscious. Without much in terms of communication between them, there's an odd disconnect that Sherlock has to work around. His friend is in very bad shape and he's frustrated since he can't ask him all the questions he would like to. Well, he could ask, but he wouldn't get the answers he's looking for. Even if there's no permanent brain injury, the amount of medication running through John's body and the time it would take for his brain to recuperate from the coma would make it difficult for him to speak and think like himself regardless of the skull fracture.
When John starts to move his hand, Sherlock draws back and watches the movements. He has no qualms with restraining John if it looks like he might accidentally hurt himself, but he also doesn't want to keep his friend shying away from curiosity.
"Dark?" Sherlock asks, making sure that's what he's heard. He doesn't remember the eye trauma. That's a difficult thing, he thinks. Explaining to someone damage like this should be easy. Clinical detachment, just explain the injury and let the patient do the processing. So why is it so hard to say now?
"John," Sherlock starts, reaching up and touching his friend's forehead above the bandage. It's at the hairline, so he could brush his fingers over John's hair if he'd like to. "They, ah... they took your eyes. Severed and cauterised the optical nerve as well, so that's why things look so dark," he explains, keeping his voice calm and calculating like usual. John, being of a medical mind, should know the implications of the optical nerve being damaged. Irreparable blindness.
no subject
He quiets for a moment, watching the way John comes to terms with being conscious. Without much in terms of communication between them, there's an odd disconnect that Sherlock has to work around. His friend is in very bad shape and he's frustrated since he can't ask him all the questions he would like to. Well, he could ask, but he wouldn't get the answers he's looking for. Even if there's no permanent brain injury, the amount of medication running through John's body and the time it would take for his brain to recuperate from the coma would make it difficult for him to speak and think like himself regardless of the skull fracture.
When John starts to move his hand, Sherlock draws back and watches the movements. He has no qualms with restraining John if it looks like he might accidentally hurt himself, but he also doesn't want to keep his friend shying away from curiosity.
"Dark?" Sherlock asks, making sure that's what he's heard. He doesn't remember the eye trauma. That's a difficult thing, he thinks. Explaining to someone damage like this should be easy. Clinical detachment, just explain the injury and let the patient do the processing. So why is it so hard to say now?
"John," Sherlock starts, reaching up and touching his friend's forehead above the bandage. It's at the hairline, so he could brush his fingers over John's hair if he'd like to. "They, ah... they took your eyes. Severed and cauterised the optical nerve as well, so that's why things look so dark," he explains, keeping his voice calm and calculating like usual. John, being of a medical mind, should know the implications of the optical nerve being damaged. Irreparable blindness.