bakerstreet | Physical Torture Meme

Physical Torture Meme

TRIGGER WARNING: this meme contains extremely graphic content.
if you are not comfortable with drastic violence, please don't proceed.

i. self-mutilation. for whatever reason, you're your own worst enemy. can another character save your from themselves, or are they in the same boat? maybe it's neither and they just like to watch.
ii. otherwise inflicted. one character is the torturer, one character is the tortured. state your preference or assume the top commenter is in the tortured position.

1. DISMEMBERMENT/AMPUTATION: You should never get too attached to your limbs. Who knows when you'll lose one? Or have it taken from you. Hands, feet, arms, elbows, if it sticks out, it can be snapped, sawed, crushed or pulled off. Better staunch that stump quick, unless life isn't worth living without your favourite foot.
2. IRREVERSIBLE SENSORY DEPRIVATION: See, speak, and hear no nothing. While temporarily muting a sense can heighten the others and make for a fun time in the short term, it's probably not an adjustment you'd want to make permanently. Too bad. Perforated eardrums, plucked eyes, and cut tongues fall under this category -- and don't forget those other senses you could always do without, like touch and smell.
3. FLAYING/SKINNING/SCALPING: People are layered. Time to find out exactly how much. Peel, shave, or pull the flesh off yourself or others and maybe you'll expose their true nature. Or organs. Probably that second thing.
4. SCARIFICATION/TATTOOING/BRANDING: Make your mark. Ritualism, boredom, or for any number of reasons, it's time to claim what's yours. Brand it with red-hot iron, slice it with a scalpel, write it in permanent ink -- make sure you're never forgotten.
5. BLUNT TRAUMA: Stop the blood flowing and keep the fun going. Blunt trauma involves any painful force that doesn't break the skin. Hitting, kicking, beating with brass knuckles or bats, and breaking bones. Nobody said anything about internal bleeding, did they?
6. TRAPS: From medieval torture devices such as iron maidens to the infamous reverse beartrap of the Saw series, isn't technology fascinating? Push your face through knives to activate the switch that releases your bonds, or stretch yourself thinner on a rack. For more implements, check the instruments of torture page.
7. PERFORATION/LACERATION: The opposite of blunt force trauma, this option is for those that prefer to dig a little deeper. Cut the skin with knives, suspend it with hooks, lash it with whips. Shallow or mortal wounds, see red red red!
8. EATEN ALIVE: A body is a terrible thing to waste. Perhaps you're the guest of honor at a cannibal's feast, you've been thrown to the dogs, or zombies, or there's always the good old brown rats ready to burrow through your bowels with a little incentive.
9. TEMPERATURE: Burned, boiled, frozen, drenched in wax, it's uncomfortably hot or cold in here and taking off all your clothes probably won't do the trick this time.
10. PHARMACOLOGICAL: You're the guinea pig in this ethics-committee-bypassing experiment, lucky you! Injections are the name of the game. Induce pain, pleasure, hallucinations, sleep, sleep deprivation, the sky's the limit. Or just toss them into a pit of hypodermic needles. Cause you know. That's cool. Oh and don't forget about withdrawal!
11. FREAK-FOR-ALL: Don't see it above? Don't worry about it. If it hurts, it belongs in here, so let your imagination run free, you twisted wild thing, and wreak a little misery. ♥

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Sherlock doesn't think of himself as a hero. "I'm not... I'm just selfish," he admits. He believes it, too. Any time he's ever done anything 'heroic', it's all been for selfish reasons. Solving a case, beating the clock, proving he's clever. Even when he'd jumped from Bart's rooftop, his motivation had been entirely selfish. Winning Moriarty's game, keeping the handful of people he gives a damn about safe - no, not because their lives in and of themselves matter on an objective scale, but because he's too scared to lose the only people who'd ever treated him like a person.

But, he doesn't have time to continue. Not when Moriarty is sending another of his men their way.

The light is on for several minutes this time before the door opens, but Sherlock's grasp doesn't loosen any more than to allow him to move his head back and look his friend over. That's what you meant by eyes. A mess. Barely recognisable as John Watson with the disfiguring marks over his face, but Sherlock knows it's him.

"I won't John, I'd rather die than let him take you again," Sherlock tells him, meaning it. John deserves to die in peace, not at the hands of Moriarty and his sadistic executioners.

The door opens and Sherlock stares up at the man, probably giving more of an impression of a rabid dog than a human being. "Stay back," he snarls, even after the officer calls for medical back up. It's a trick. A false hope to make the pain all the more potent. He won't fall for it and he's going to fight them off with his nails and teeth if he has to.

It's only a short time before three medical professionals push their way into the door around the officer standing guard at the door. One of them glances at the two huddling in the corner and gives the orders to sedate Sherlock and take them both up to the helicopter on the roof.

John tries to fight Sherlock off a little, tries to interpose himself between the men and Sherlock, but it's unlikely he's able to get very far. A medical officer approaches with a sedative in a syringe, wary of the half-feral looking man. "We've got orders to extract you, sir. You both need immediate medical treatment. If you don't cooperate, we'll have to sedate you. Will you come quietly?"

He can see that the smaller man is in bad shape, and he needs medical attention immediately.

If he were thinking straight, Sherlock would be able to read the evidence of truth in the medical officer's disposition, clothes, and shoes. But, he's not. The only thing he's thinking about is John Watson in his arms and the (seemingly) inevitable truth of his dying in the next half hour.

"Stay. Back," Sherlock repeats, snarling so much that he bares his teeth. Rabid, indeed. "Why should I trust you. If you want him, you'll have to kill me first."

Sherlock's hold might be too tight around John. He might be hurting the person he's trying to protect, because that's what desperation does. It takes away all the grace and elegance and leaves nothing but the raw emotion. He tries to strike at the syringe, but his muscles are too weak and a second officer approaches from the other side to restrain his hand. He struggles, but the needle gets plunged into his arm with a double dose of sedative. (They'd been informed of his tolerance to such things.)

Once Sherlock is out of commission, the doctors are able to work quickly. "Please cooperate. Your condition is more severe and we'd like to avoid sedating you if at all possible," says the officer that restrained Sherlock for the injection.

He barely makes a sound as his broken ribs are squeezed and jostled, starting to slip into shock. The man's words don't really register, and he just nods. If they want to take him, he'll go quietly. Just leave Sherlock alone...

He slips gratefully into unconsciousness, welcoming the painless darkness.

==

John will likely still be in treatment when Sherlock wakes in the hospital, hooked up to IV lines to start getting him rehydrated, as well as to start getting nutrients back into him. They'd had some sense in terms of setting up the room, pulling the curtains and only leaving a dim lamp on. There's a second bed in the room, but currently unoccupied. There seems to be minimal noise outside, likely a private hospital in a quieter part of the country instead of a large public hospital.

Sherlock's mind is cloudy from the sedative as he starts to come to. Mechanical chirping alerts him to the sound of an EKG monitor somewhere behind him and to the right. The moisture in his mouth and throat tell him he's receiving fluids even before he registers the IV catheter in his arm. His fingers, wrists, and ankles are throbbing in pain - no pain killers, then. Who would advise something as stupid as that? Who else. It had to be Mycroft.

John was right, he thinks to himself. Their visit from the 'Queen' had come two days too late.

"John," Sherlock calls out, but it's not the volume he'd intended. Still under the effects of the sedative.

Did he make it? He had to have. He was still conscious when I...

He looks around the hospital room. A second bed, but no one in it. Could it be laid for John? Please God, let him live.

Sitting still in one place when he's not tethered to chains has never been a strength of his. It's only a few minutes since opening his eyes before he's trying to climb out of his bed. John will be in the operating theatre. That's usually on the ground floor either across the way from or adjacent to the Casualty. Can't go with the sound of traffic, since this is a small hospital. I'll try the southern wing, first and go anticlockwise from there.

The room sways with the mild vertigo caused by his sedative, but he ignores it. At least he has the sense to grab for the bag stand before trying to step away from the bed. Not such a good idea, but he manages to stay on his feet.

Fortunately for him, the operating theatre and waiting room for it isn't far from his room, only down a short hallway. As he enters the waiting area—plush chairs, there's a nurse in light green scrubs who stands when she sees him half-stumble inside. “Sir, you shouldn't be up yet!” She’ll start to go and try to lead him back to his room when a calm voice speaks from behind them.

“That won’t be necessary. I shall escourt him back to his room.” Mycroft looks impeccable as ever, though Sherlock might be able to deduce the telltale signs of a frantic last three days. He hadn’t known when Sherlock was captured, but John’s kidnapping had made it quite clear that something was amiss. In truth, after the first 24 hours had passed without news, he’d feared the worst. This hospital is highly discreet, and didn’t ask too many questions about a patient being admitted who ought to be dead.

He goes to offer Sherlock his arm to lead him back to his own room. “I can provide you with far more information, once you’re resting. I’m quite sure Dr. Watson would say the same.” He isn’t entirely sure what transpired; there were cameras monitoring the two, but the footage was cleared from the memory banks before Mycroft’s people could attempt to retrieve it. And more’s the pity, Moriarty himself escaped, though they have his second-in-command in custody.

“When Dr. Watson was captured, I took the precaution of having Mrs. Hudson and D.I. Lestrade moved to safe houses. They should be secure for the moment.”

Edited 2013-10-29 01:25 (UTC)

Being on his feet for so long is exhausting and the drug-induced vertigo makes his movement down the hallway very slow. He doesn't come across anyone other than a very confused and concerned looking janitor until he reaches the waiting room for the operating theatre. He's using the wall as support and the colour on his face is all but drained completely from the effort on his very insignificant amount of muscle mass.

"I'm fine," Sherlock says when the nurse starts coming toward him, but his eyes aren't on her at all. Mycroft. He's more grateful for his busybody brother than he's been since he was twelve-years-old. It's all thanks to Mycroft's efforts and resources that he's alive right now. That John's alive, if that bed is any indication. And, it's only because of that fact that Sherlock takes the offered arm without more complaint than an affronted look.

He doesn't mention the things he reads from his brother's state. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands shake from caffeine. A vague scent of coffee - Mycroft never drinks coffee unless he's trying to keep from sleeping. Even more telling, wafer crumbs on the inner sleeve at his left wrist. Quick snack food, completely lacking in nutrition and not within the limitations of Mycroft's 'diet'.

It's quiet work using Mycroft as support on one side and his IV stand on the other. He uses it like a crutch, because when Mycroft is concerned, he's got too much pride to admit to needing the wall as support.

Dr. Watson, sentence in the present tense. Mycroft will be able to see the sudden relief on Sherlock's face when he makes the connection that John is alive, and not just presumably. "I'd be resting a lot sooner if we were moving faster," Sherlock points out. The first word's he's spoken directly to his brother. A hair-width fraction of his tension's left his shoulders. John's alive. Mrs. Hudson's safe. Lestrade hasn't been dragged under the water for being in the wrong place at the wrong time in helping him.

When they reach his room, Sherlock lets his brother help him up and into the bed. He even mutters a 'thank you' under his breath as he covers up with the thin hospital blanket. "How long have we been here?" How long as John be in the operating theatre?

"You've been here just over four hours." Long enough to do the necessary tests on Sherlock, and get him bandaged and on IV fluids. Though he hides it well--it doesn't do to show such things of course--he was worried for his brother. He's frankly relieved that he wasn't in far worse shape, though it's not a difficult guess as to why Dr. Watson is so much more severely injured.

"Dr. Watson has been in surgery since just after arriving here. He's not expected out for several hours yet, and there has been no news since the initial admission. I do have the medical file if you wish to see it, though I would ask that you not overexert yourself, since if they have to sedate you again, I can't promise you'll be awake when he's moved out."

If Sherlock chooses to look through it, it's the full admission report (which Mycroft officially shouldn't have, naturally, but confidentiality has hardly stopped him before).

Admission Report: Patient Name: John H. Watson, MD Related Prior History: GSW to left shoulder, resulting in fractured clavicle and scapula Admission: 28-09-14, 08:43 Patient was admitted via emergency helicopter in a comatose state. Patient presented with severe burns and lacerations, and visibly displaced bones in both feet and right hand. Patient also had severe bruising. Pulse was 53bpm and respiration was 10. Blood pressure could not be taken due to burns on arms. X-Rays showed the following: Compound fractures of all five left metatarsals Compound fracture of the first and second left phalanges Compound fractures of the first three right metatarsals Simple fractures of the first two right phalanges Simple fractures of ribs 3, 4, 6 Compound fracture of rib 5 (punctured lung) Simple fracture of left radius and ulna Skull fracture, appears depressed Patient also presents with third degree burns over approximately 15% of body, skin grafts likely required MRI confirmed depressed skull fracture, punctured lung, and further internal bleeding in the abdomen: immediate surgery required Patient entered surgery 28-09-14, 09:37

Four hours. That gives Sherlock enough information to tell him travel time must have been somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five minutes. He's got a very high drug resistance and anything longer than five hours wouldn't have him feel so dizzy on his feet. If the travel time had been longer than half an hour, John probably wouldn't have survived it, anyway. No matter how strong he is.

"I'll behave," Sherlock tells his brother. The threat of more sedation is one he knows isn't empty and he understands the consequences. He feels the need to be awake when John gets moved to the room. As comfort? No, selfish through and through. It's for his own comfort. To know that John's alive and going to make it.

He can always get out of bed and be a nuisance after the fact.

He takes the file from his brother and opens it without hesitating. He's already got a fair idea of what kind of damage to expect based on what he's seen, and he wants to make sure that the doctors in this place know what they're doing. Of course, they do. Mycroft's involved and they've probably imported a few specialists.

He reads through the file quickly, then goes back to reread it three times after. Each time his eyes hover on the 'confirmed depressed skull fracture' more than any other writing. All that blood. I should have noticed it then.

A few minutes go by of him simply staring at those four words. Eyes unfocused, mind having retreated somewhere into his Mind Palace. First thing first, he updates his anatomical model of John for his new injuries. Compound skull fracture. His expression is fairly blank as he closes the file and holds it outward for Mycroft to take. He's not sure at the moment whether Mycroft's read it or not. If he has, Mycroft will be able to determine what's predominantly on his mind.

"It's incomplete," he states flatly.

Several more hours to go and knowing hospital staff, they won't get one word from it unless something goes very, very wrong. Because of that, he hopes they don't hear a thing.

He has read the file, but he did not see Dr. Watson when he was admitted, so he can't attempt to hazard a guess at what other injuries there may have been. "I imagine that they were primarily concerned with the most life-threatening injuries," he hedges, not certain where Sherlock's going.

"It's incomplete," Sherlock repeats, glancing at his brother. "Including a rather severe and traumatic injury involving the annihilation of both eyes using a heated knife-like instrument. If they've forgone mentioning something that extreme, then what else have they left out?"

If it's as Mycroft says and they only added the most severe injuries, that's one thing. It's quite another if the staff here is too blind (no pun intended) to see such extensive injuries.

He inclines his head. "I'll look into it--but I imagine it wasn't immediately life-threatening. They needed to assess the most urgent issues quickly to get him into surgery."

He hesitates for a few moments. "I think we both know that this is not our natural tendency. However--do you wish to say anything that you feel others might...misunderstand?"

Perhaps it's his way of saying do you want to talk about it.

Sherlock knows that if he can rely on Mycroft for one thing, it's getting information from people. He wouldn't be stupid enough to barge into the operating theatre to see for himself (much more Sherlock's style of things, when he's feeling particularly dramatic). But, whatever the extent of John's injury, the knowledge of them doesn't help as much as the treatment. He'll see more than a medical report can give him once John gets placed in this room.

He's trying to comfort me. Again. Only last time, his 'grief' hadn't been quite so... normal.

"You should have brought me a cigarette," Sherlock says simply. It should be more than enough for his brother to go by. A reference to Irene Adlers's untimely 'death' and his emotional state that evening. His fears that John might not make it through the night, and if he does, there's the chance that he might suffer irreparable brain damage. To Sherlock, that might be harder to handle than a clean, absolute death.

It also signifies the close of a conversation.

He's indifferent to whether Mycroft wants to sit quietly at his bedside like so many ODs before or if he wants to go and take care of his business by proxy. But, he's in no mood for conversation. He's got too much to sort out in his mind regarding everything that's happened over the last several months.

"Flame and oxygen make poor companions." A reference to the reason he couldn't bring a cigarette, but perhaps--something more. That which burns like they do are dangerous for other, more ordinary people to be around. There's a slight note of regret there, but he stands. He won't go far, but he does have a few things that need him to attend to them.

"I shall return later. Do try not to irritate the staff too much."

==

It's another four hours before there's any news. Mycroft had returned after an hour or so to keep vigil, and then left to make a meeting, though not without leaving someone to keep an eye on his brother. Around six, after Sherlock's been brought a light and easy to digest liquid meal, a nurse from the surgical wing comes. "Mr. Holmes? Dr. Watson is out of surgery. He's still in the ICU for observation, but you can come see him, if you gown and are willing to go in a wheelchair." She'll be quite inflexible on that point, and he'll need to wear a gown, gloves, and a surgical mask. But at least it'll get him in to see his friend before John's ready to be moved into Sherlock's room.

In the ICU, John is still intubated, not yet breathing on his own. Monitors quietly beep out his pulse and respiration as IV lines keep antibiotics and fluids in him. What skin is visible is ashy pale, clear evidence of how much blood he'd lost. His eyes are very carefully covered in gauze and bandaged, and the rest of his injuries are bandaged or in casts. It'd be hard to recognize him, between the bruising and how little's visible under the bandages. But he's alive, at least for now.

By the time Mycroft makes his exit, Sherlock's more invested in his Mind Palace than reality. A defence mechanism. He's able to literally take his feelings, thoughts, and observations and distribute them accordingly and in a way that he can manage without much external struggle.

People come and go from his room as time passes by. He acknowledges them only when he needs to and comes out of his thoughts on two separate occasions. One being his liquid meal (a mild broth, jelly, and grape juice) and the other being the nurse who comes in and mentions John's name to him. Surgery's done. He's in the intensive care unit. They'll have me in disposable scrubs before they'll let me see him, he predicts what the nurse tells him before she has a chance to speak it herself.

He shakes his head when she's done with the introduction. "The wheelchair. Always something," he says out loud, though without the thought process leading up to it, it just sounds like a random comment.

In order to see John, he's willing to play by the rules without putting up a fight. He'll let the staff push him around in a wheelchair and he'll wear whatever protection is necessary to keep John from the heightened risk of infection.

As soon as he's in John's ICU room, he kicks the brake on the wheelchair and stands up. They had only told him that he had to travel in the wheelchair, not that he had to stay in it. His eyes scan over his friend's unconscious form, taking in any other injuries that the doctors failed to add into their report. Much of him is covered, so there's several things still missing.

"Leave us," he tells the nurse dismissively as he lowers himself back into his wheelchair. He'd only needed to see John from a higher angle for a moment.

If he chooses, John's chart is at the foot of the bed, and includes directions about changing the bandages on his eyes, as well as continued blood transfusions among other things. They'd found the broken collarbone too, so that's been placed in a cast as well as everything else. He'll be in the hospital for at least two months, with outpatient care needed longer.

He's fortunate in that it had been only a few days, so things hadn't had too long to fester. However, both his eyes and the foot they'd broken and manipulated to hurt him further are at high risk for infection. They've got the internal bleeding controlled for now, but there could still be further complications. And they aren't sure whether there was any brain damage from the skull fracture. They were able to treat it fairly quickly, but there was some swelling.

The stillness doesn't look like him, not really. The ventilator pushes air into and out of his lungs, but there's no other movement besides the rise and fall of his chest. It's odd for him, because John's always a fairly dynamic person. Even in his sleep, he turns even when he's actually sleeping soundly.

Sherlock will look at the chart, since he wants to make sure that the doctors have managed to be thorough this time. Two months in the hospital (an estimate) and then outpatient care. If Sherlock's got two months, he could learn the basics of giving outpatient care easily in that time. All it would take is Mycroft bringing him the appropriate studying materials. It's not that he's a nurturing person - he's anything but that - it's just that he doesn't want someone else in his home that often. Too many people, too much noise. It would be a bother.

The fracture would have caused intercranial pressure, which had been what Sherlock was worried most about before. This report brings a new concern: cerebral oedema. Temporary inflammation, he hopes. He can't test for any malfunction with John in the state he's in, so all he can do is wait. He hates waiting.

He sets the chart back where he'd found it, then sits back in his wheelchair and listens to the respirator and the EKG monitor. Looking at John does him no good. He's got his state and current appearance memorised well enough to see it in his head, even if there's too many differences from what he's used to seeing. He still accepts it as it is, even if he's unhappy with it, because that's what he does. He also doesn't allow himself to focus solely on a full recovery, but runs through various complications they could face: brain damage, systemic failure due to hypovolemic shock, infection; and even with a full recovery, psychological trauma, exacerbated PTSD, nightmares, depression. Unbiased observation, deduction, and prediction.

The mood's grim all around and it's left Sherlock in the rare condition of not having anything to say, so he'll sit quietly by the bedside. No touching even with sterile gloves (not sterile enough). If the nurses come round to bring him back to his room, he'll refuse and resist unless they take him out of the room manually. That is, unless there's an emergency or he feels that he's in the way of them treating John.

While they try to escort Sherlock back to his room after an hour or two, they don't fight too much when he balks at leaving, though they warn that they can't move John until he's breathing on his own, and Sherlock will not be sitting here all night, since he still needs rest himself.

After they leave, hours drag on with little change besides the regular coming and going of nurses--not entirely a bad sign under the circumstances. Later in the evening, a doctor comes in to see to the bandages on John's eyes, a rather unusual thing since that would normally be a nurse's job. Sherlock might be able to deduce that he's an ocular trauma specialist, not one who normally works at this hospital. He glances at the man in the room. "You want to stay for this? It won't be pleasant."

On the other hand, he won't object if the man does want to stay, long as he doesn't get sick. Either way, he'll get started, gently removing the top bandages, and then the gauze to see how things look underneath. The knife they used was heated--which is actually good, relatively speaking. Would have helped minimize the germs actually coming in on the surface. But the conditions were none too sanitary after that, and infection is a major danger with such severe and deep damage. He damn near bled out from it on the table before they managed to get the bleeders clamped.

"If you've got questions, I can answer 'em too."

After the first time the nurses try to convince him to go to his room, Sherlock lets up the wheelchair brakes and moves to the corner of the room where they will have to work harder if they decide to come and move him manually. He can still see John from here and he finds a strange sort of comfort in hearing the EKG monitor beep along to a steady pulse.

He takes in the appearance of the specialist and decides that he's been shipped over specifically to care for John. Mycroft's doing. He doubts there's much hope for John's eyesight returning, but the sentiment is a sweet one coming from a Holmes.

"I'm certain I've seen worse," Sherlock points out when the specialist speaks. The words make him remember the moment he'd seen the trauma first-hand in the cell when the lights had gone on. Partially cauterised wounds and a mess of flesh and torn ocular tissue. The smell of blood and burnt skin and hair. He's gotten a stronger stomach for that kind of thing over the last few years.

He watches the specialist work from his seated position. The angle is bad to see the full extent of damage, but he doesn't stand up to get a better look. He's feeling tired and he wants to conserve his energy, since he'll be moved to his room as soon as he falls asleep.

"I've got several," he admits when the doctor lets him know that he may have some answers. "What do you know about the condition of his brain?"

Pretty near no chance, in fact, at least with current technology. It's not just the physical eyes that were destroyed; both optic nerves were damaged both by the cuts themselves and the resulting swelling. Even with the best visual prosthesis technology available, there's nowhere to hook into. His job here is to minimize further damage and try to prevent infection.

There's some discharge that he really doesn't like the look of, and he takes out a swab, starting to clean the area carefully and taking a sample for culture. He doesn't answer for a few minutes, focusing on cleaning the area, checking to make sure that nothing's started bleeding again, and checking for signs of infection.

"Not much. I'm an ocular trauma specialist, not a brain surgeon. There was some swelling with the skull fracture and several pieces that needed to be placed back where they belong."

He pauses again, seeing a bit more of that discharge and cleaning it carefully. "The fracture was located more or less over the motor cortex, so it's possible there may be some mobility issues there, but hard to tell before he's awake. He was unconscious when he was brought in." And he'll need physical therapy if he lives anyway, with the shape his foot was in. "Good thing is that it was pretty fresh. 6-8 hours after injury when they started working on it. Best to get to that kind of thing as soon as possible."

He has a very pragmatic voice, neither pitying nor harsh, just very practical. He tells it as he sees it. "What else do you want to know?"

Sherlock isn't fond of being ignored, but he gets the impression that he's not entirely unheard. The specialist is focused on his duties - as he should be, considering the importance of his patient. In another circumstance where Sherlock had more energy and John's condition were less dire, he would have spoken up against being (apparently) disregarded.

The physician's face tells him all he needs to know about what he's finding through his cleaning, as does the culture swab. On the bright side of things, any infecting organisms are not likely to be antibiotic resistant considering the unsanitary conditions they'd been in. He'd be far more concerned over any hospital dwelling microbes.

Sherlock decides that he likes the feel of this specialist as soon as he hears the description of the injuries. Knowledgeable and emotionally detached. It's the kind of interaction Sherlock prefers and he trusts the man to focus on his duty.

Motor cortex. That should minimise the chance of personality change or defect in cognitive function. He can handle that, but he can't disregard the possibility of the swelling affecting surrounding brain tissue. 6-8 hours after the skull injury. Assuming one hour to get the bleeding under control, which means that bastard kept John in his interrogation room for at least four hours after cracking his skull.

"What's the extent of the ocular tissue damage, then?" Sherlock asks. He'd said it himself that it's what he's there to do. He can ask the physical therapist how long it will be until John can walk. He can ask the brain surgeon more about the skull fracture.

He’s impressed by the calmness with which the man handles watching his work, as well as by the practicality of the questions. Much more sensible than asking “Will he live,” which is impossible to quantify. Besides which, people who ask it don’t want to know the truth (“Maybe,” most of the time), and want a false promise that he can’t give.

“The ocular tissue was effectively destroyed. And there was significant damage to the nerves on both sides--deliberate, I think. With current technology, there’s nothing that can be done to restore his eyesight.” With future developments, who knows, of course, but he won’t hold out hope on speculation.

“At the moment, the primary concern in this area is infection. The injury was applied with a sharp heated tool--which probably saved his life by partially cauterizing the injury. There were a lot of particulates that got in there, however, which irritated the tissues a lot, as well as carrying in bacteria. It also bled very severely, so we’ll need to keep a very close eye on it for the next few days to be sure nothing opens back up.”

He finishes cleaning out the area and gently packs it with gauze before covering it with bandages again. “Loss of a sense can be a long adjustment. Keep getting kicked with things that you used to take for granted and are now a hell of a lot harder. But, when he’s ready, I know a doctor, GP who’s blind. Might be helpful to chat with him.” He’s not a touchy-feely person by nature, but he’s worked with a lot of patients who’ve lost part or all of their vision.

'Will he live' is a question that Sherlock isn't stupid enough to ask. He's clever enough to realise that there's a very large possibility that he won't make it through the night, let alone the two months the doctors have written on his chart. Even that estimate is completely bogus at this time, considering John's physical state right now is technically comatose. If he stays that way, he won't be allowed home until he's conscious and able to care for himself in some capacity. (Or, since Sherlock would agree to it, live by the care of someone else.)

His mood is a quiet one such that he doesn't interrupt the doctor as he explains things in more detail than he needs. For instance, Sherlock had been able to deduce quite accurately pretty much everything the doctor has spoken besides the damage directly applied to the ocular nerves.

Why would Moriarty be so thorough with ensuring John's vision would be lost irreparably when the other injuries should have left him dead in the matter of an hour? The colour drains from Sherlock's face and it has nothing to do with what the physician is saying or doing. He knew Mycroft was coming. That's why he kept John in there for two days. He understood the reference to the 'queen'. That means he must have escaped. He'll need to ask Mycroft for sure, but things are pointing to that.

The doctor's voice is drowned out by his thoughts, but he's physically heard the words. It takes him an extra few seconds to play the 'audio file' back through his mind so he can understand them.

"I'll forward that message to him," he says in flat sort of tone, still distracted by the numbing fear of the thought of Moriarty's (probable) escape. No wonder Mycroft had still been so shaken.

He still has his questions. The comment about the GP and helping John cope with the loss of sight has sparked new ones. He's not one to like asking for help in anything, at least not from a person. But, the doctor is here and of the sort of practical-mindedness that he can trust. "We've got a flat share, so I'll be his home caretaker. What sort of things should I anticipate?" Because these things can't simply be deduced from the physical evidence.

He's still finishing with his patient, so he misses Sherlock's face paling. He marks a few notes on the chart, and then strips and discards his gloves, changing them for new ones. He glances at the man with an assessing look. They don't quite seem like lovers, but flat-mates don't plan to be a caretaker. "Start by understanding that he might not need one in the long term, and if he does, he might not want you to be it. Some people do better with a stranger, and it's not about you. You try to push it, you're likely to drive him off."

He looks at the man in the bed, having read his file. Gunshot wound previously, military doctor. "He's independent and stubborn as a mule, I imagine--doctors usually are and military ones doubly so. He'll hate that. Probably swing between angry and depressed a lot. He probably won't want to hear about new treatments or possibilities at first. It's like losing a family member--you can't rush people past it. They've got to go at their own pace."

"When vision is lost in a traumatic incident, nightmares can be worse because it's harder to anchor when you wake up. Be particularly aware that waking someone up from a flashback-induced nightmare can be dangerous, and doubly so when they've recently lost a sense."

He thinks a few minutes. "There may be other adjustments, but you'll have to wait to see what his physical and mental condition is."

Good, for the first point. Sherlock would rather John not have need of a caretaker later on. But the doctor's language had been non-committal. There's a possibility that he will need someone for quite a while. Sherlock would prefer to be that person, for his own reasons. Part of them being the guilt he's trying to ignore over John being in danger in the first place. Other parts include the fact that he doesn't want someone interfering with his life, he doesn't particularly feel like he can trust just anyone in his home and around John (especially not someone who will come and go regularly), and also because he likes being the centre of attention. If someone else were to take care of John, that just means dragging a third person along on a case and it would not work well for anyone.

The advice is sound though and he needs to hear it, whether he wants to or not. 'You try to push it, you're likely to drive him off.' That's the last thing Sherlock wants. It's bad enough that there's some part of him in the darkest, farthest corner of his mind scared that John will take this as an excuse to wash his hands of their friendship.

Angry and depressed. He's known John to shift between the two at other times throughout their partnership. Usually it's involved Harry and her addiction. She's probably on the drink again. John won't like that, either.

Losing family members, Sherlock can relate to on a more personal level. Though, his emotional expression tends to be different than a normal person's. So, I should give him space and let him grieve his disabilities. Not just sight, but the possible loss of motor function from cranial damage as well as the mangled mess Moriarty's left of his foot.

He's also dealt with John's nightmares regularly during the time they'd lived together. He knows when to wake John with a strategically timed explosion or to soothe him with violin music. He's quite good at it, so much that he doubts John's even noticed he does it.

When the doctor's finished speaking, Sherlock doesn't say anything. He's tired and feeling reclusive. If he could use his fingers currently, he would have asked Mycroft to bring his violin by so he can compose a few things. Instead, he'll have to rely on his mind to imagine it and remember it for another time.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Sorry for the delay - sudden company

NP work's been a zoo

no subject

no subject

no subject