bakerstreet | These are the things we lost in the fire

These are the things we lost in the fire

Mutual Healing Shipping Meme

Healing doesn't come quickly, whether the need comes from physical or mental wounds. But you're trying regain your strength - and yourself.

People, as a general rule, are kind, or at least not outright inflammatory to you, it seems. Still, you just can't connect with them. No matter how nice, how caring, they don't understand. They've never experienced anything like what you've gone through, or they're not like you in a way that lets them see what you still go through; they have no frame of reference. Sure, they have sympathy, but it's not the same. So there's no real connection, despite any friendliness. It's so easy, then, to feel detached...

...until you meet them, in this place of both death and healing.

They may not have been through the exact same struggles, they may not be exactly the same as you, but they know what darkness is light. How they handle this fact may be better or worse than how you do, yet you can see yourself in their actions. And for once? There's connection; more than that, too. Slowly, you can feel yourself opening up towards them, and then, falling for them.

Is this something your used to? Will you fight your feelings, or will you jump at the opportunity to be with someone who can begin to get you? You may have little choice in the matter, as your instincts may just reach out to be with whatever compatible contact you can get. That's better, in the long run, though. Who else could have wounds like yours?

Essentially, it's what it says: a "romance," in the loose definition, or "shipping" meme for characters who have been through the wringer or have hangups.
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Edited 2016-02-22 03:31 (UTC)

{.....yeahhhhhhh.....]

Of course sister had to bring her into the hospital, but that was clearly necessary. At least the transport isn't failing her mind for once.

She vomits again, wincing, hoping it's over with. Or maybe they'll put her under.
She'll just go back to Soho again, if that's what it requires. Be more of a disappointment, how worse can it be?

She should have gone home five hours ago. Everyone keeps saying she must be exhausted but it's more exhausting hearing them fuss. Most people try to avoid work and stay at home. With Jane it's the opposite - there's little point her having a home when she could have a bed in her office and it have the same purpose, as well as save her travelling.

It's two in the morning and she's ready to finally give in and leave when she's paged to head to A&E. Suspected overdose. Great.

She shrugs her coat back on and rushes down.

A nurse hands her a brief report; "28 year old female, condition critical, BP 50 and falling."

"What's she taken?" Jane asks.

A tall woman in a sharp suit and carrying an umbrella steps in her way and hands her a piece of paper.

"This should answer that for you." the woman with eyes like ice responds; "My little sister is reckless and suicidal but she's considerate enough to help you in this regard."

Jane's eyes widen as she looks over the contents.

"Bloody hell, how is she not dead already?" She has more questions to ask but that's not part of her job.

"Please be aware, Dr. Watson, I hold a major position in the British government. And should any negligence on your part lead to an unfortunate-"

"Madam, you could be the Queen of Spain or a school cleaner for all I care, it does not affect the care I give to my patients. Now if you want your sister to live I suggest you step aside." Jane says, feeling a slight thrill at the surprise on the woman's face as she talks back.

Jane steps around her and heads into theatre.

Edited 2016-02-22 21:45 (UTC)

She vomits again, heavily.
Maybe should have taken more morphine, obviously, it's so boring.
And her head hurts, and people are cruel and she's tired of it, and they're so dull and stupid.

God, it hurts.
Mycella hasn't made her go to the hospital before. Cold turkey, that's how it will be, she has too much in her system to try and wean her off one or the other.

She does feel like hell, though. Barely looks up when the curtains parted.
Probably My. Again.

"What did Mum say," she manages hoarsely, acting like she doesn't give a fuck she just took too much, because it was too much, dammit.

"Oh just threatened to have me incarcerated if you died on my watch." Jane responds, amazed that the young woman is still talking.

She scrubs up and looks to her nurse.

"Why isn't she sedated yet?" Dr. Watson demands to know. She hands the others the list; "It's all we need to be careful of. We can thank our patient for helping out there."

A nurse tries to put a mask over the young woman's face.

She frowns when she sees... oh. The doctor. Fucking gorgeous. She's high and puking her guts up and here's Madame Blonde here...

She pushes the mask away to get a better look.
She hadn't really cared about any of the others.
Boring. Straight. Married. Boyfriend. 3 kids...

She half-smiles, before vomiting again.
"Don't want me to choke, do you?" she'll ask, hoarsely.

"Don't want you to be in too much agony while we're flushing your body out." She responds; "Count backwards from ten, Miss. Holmes."

The girl is too off her head and sweaty for Jane to consider if she's attractive.

She's got spirit though, Jane can give her that. Most people she's dealt with have already croaked with this much crap in their bloodstream.

As soon as the young woman is under, she and her team get to work trying to stabilize her as her BPM quickly starts to fall. She might seize too.

She does seize and BP drops fairly low, too.
But at least there's the list to go by.

She wakes with a headache that only serves to make her grouchy and she's rather determined to get out of the hospital. She's not happy about it.
Mycella can't make her go to rehab again.

Things got pretty intense in theatre. More than Sherlock probably remembers.

It started well, attempting to restore her vitals to normal and counter the fatal effects of her dosage. Standard routine. But then she seized majorly and her heartbeats decreased rapidly. Jane had gone into crisis mode, for a second her brain flashing back to working on the field in Kandahar, trying to bring a wooded troop back from the beyond. A combination of elation and terror. Jane lived for these moments and it made her feel sick afterwards.

It stops being fun at all when the heart stops. They tried hard to restart it but at first had no results.

Jane pressed roughly on her chest.

"It's no use. We've lost her. We need to call it." Another doctor said.

"Keep going." Jane said, bloody gloved hands pressing at the ribs.

"Dr. Watson-"

"I said keep going!" She shouts; "More adrenaline, come on! Stupid girl, you've got your whole life ahead of you..." Just like Harry.

It's then she notices that her breathing tube is faulty.

"Oh shit!" She pulls it out and presses her lips to the patient's, giving her a heavy lung-full of air.

How did no one notice? How did...Fuck, she was so tired.

Thankfully it works and the heart monitor gives off a wonderful repetitive beep.

After they've stabilized the girl, Jane disappears to her office and collapses over her desk. She's too exhausted to even call a taxi home.

Edited 2016-02-23 00:23 (UTC)

She feels like shit.
Well. She's still alive, much to her chagrin. She might try to tear out the IV and rip off the monitor, unless there's a tube down her throat that keeps her there. Then she'll press the button and gesticulate angrily at it.

Can't be tearing ones vocal chords out.

The nurses come in and try to calm her down, probably having to sedate her if she tries to hurt herself.

They have no choice but to use the binds Mycella consented to in order to keep her restrained, wrists cuffed to the sides of the bed.

Jane gets about five hours sleep before she wakes, going back to work after a quick cup of coffee.

The young woman might see how tired she is, as well as other signs of her life lately. The nurse removes her oxygen tube, looking a bit like someone frightened to put their hand near a tiger's mouth.

"Morning, Miss. Holmes. Glad to still be in the land of living with us?" Jane asks, stifling a yawn.

"N-not particularly," she grumbles. "I assume it won't do me any good to ask for a cig." She knows it won't. She still feels like hell.

Why didn't she die, anyway?
Mycella. Always... interfering.

"You assume correctly." Jane says, checking her over; "You've probably worked out you're on suicide watch. You actually achieved it for a few seconds last night."

She doesn't mention giving her the 'kiss of life'.

"Do you wanna talk about why you wanted to die?" she asks, sounding detached. It's not part of her job but often ODers spill their metaphorical guts to the staff about why they hate the world eventually.

"Is that what everyone's going to ask me?" She's annoyed. "My wants to know the same thing." She rolls her eyes, shrugging.
That felt kind of good. A rush.

"Just - go home, will you, the fact my sister has you playing nursemaid is a shade annoying. Unless, you want to play doctor, then I'm amenable." She flashes a sarcastic smile. Barbs, clearly.

"I am a doctor, I'm the one who saved your bloody life." Jane retorts, bluntly; "And sorry to disappoint you, but I don't take my work to bed with me."

She smirks as she writes up some of her notes.

Is the girl gay or just trying to push her buttons? Hard to tell with junkies.

"You've clearly got some friends." She pokes the small basket full of mini chocolate chip muffins; "One of the nurses said an older man dropped these off while you were still out of it...your dad?"

Jane shows her the tag, opening it as the girl's hands are tied.

Sorry to hear you're not well, love. Give me a call when you're better to discuss the flat. Take care, Mr. H. :) xx

Edited 2016-02-23 01:16 (UTC)

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