A/N Welcome to the sequel to Cries of the Surviving Soldier! I would recommend reading the first one, well, first, but if you don't, nothing is stopping you. Just a few things (probably more than a few) won't make sense.
Thanks for taking some time to read this!
~Jules
Warnings: Panic attacks (everyone experiences these differently, I'm just exploding the symptoms that I get)
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, but the plot is.
To say that John woke up scared would be an understatement.
No, he woke up terrified.
When he opened his eyes the first thing his brain told him was to get out of this place. He had to find a way to escape, then find Sherlock, or anyone, and then kill Brenton. So naturally, the first thing he did was try and get out of the bed. He feels the pinch of the IV being pulled out of his arm, but at the moment he couldn't care less. Unfortunately, when he hits the floor, none to nicely, someone notices him.
As soon as this happens, Sherlock also gets down from his bed, careless of his injuries, focusing just on his flatmate.
But now that someone has noticed him, there's no point in being quiet anymore. "No! Stop!" John throws a few punches to whoever is attacking him, until another person comes up behind him. "Nooo!" The person behind him holds his right arm by his side, but lets his left arm down, probably because of the injury. Amatuer. He tries to swing his left arm up to hit the man in front of him, but immediately cries out from the pain and instead loses his balance while sitting.
John squeezes his eyes shut, he really doesn't want to see the men who are going to cause his demise. Not because he's a coward, but because we wants to have some peace before he dies.
"...ohn. John. John?"
The good doctor eventually looks up to see a very familiar face. "Sherl?" He mutters, throat scratchy and uncomfortable.
"Yes, yes, it's me. Just breathe. Innnn and ouuuttt." Sherlock soothes, crouching down next to John and putting a hand on his leg. "Just um… Try and match my breathing…" Sherlock had heard other people say that before. Perhaps he'd try it out and now and see if it really works.
John really does try and control his breathing, but it's so damned hard to. His throat feels like it's made out of rocks, and he still doesn't really know where he is or what is going on. A couple seconds later he is hyperventilating again, and this time he even faintly realizes it.
"No, no. John. Just match my breathing. Please?"
Lestrade, who has now released John's other arm, and John both pause and stare at Sherlock for using that word. Even to the detective it feels foreign, only using it in dire situations. The last time being when he was begging his brother to help find John.
The doctor nods slowly, trying to focus on a spot on the ground and trying to control his breathing. Lestrade hurries out of the room in an attempt to find a doctor, which leaves the two flatmates to themselves, something that hasn't happened for far too long.
"Please John, just try and breathe. Lestrade is getting a doctor." Sherlock feels awfully useless, making him use 'please' yet again. The detective is immediately on a higher worry when he sees that tears have begun to fall from John's face. "John? What hurts?" He mentally kicks himself; what a stupid question.
"Oh God…" John murmurs, and hangs his head, letting tears fall freely, not caring about the consequence. "I- I thought…"
"Shhh. It's okay." Sherlock soothes, even though he knows that it is far from it. "Just. Just breathe." He says, pulling his feet from under him and sitting fully next to his flatmate.
"Knee." John mutters, glancing at his injured limb with a mournful look.
"It's okay. Don't move yet. The doctor will help when he comes." Sherlock says, not wanting to upset the injuries anymore than John already has. "Just work on breathing." He adds, still not happy with the hiccups plaguing his friend's breathing.
John just nods in a reply and shifts slightly, in an effort to release some pressure on his knee. He eventually leans his head onto Sherlock's shoulder after finding it too difficult to keep it up.
When the doctor and Lestrade come back in the see the two flatmates each looking absolutely exhausted and each of them looking like they're about to completely pass out.
Although when Sherlock turns his head to see the doctor, it's not Dr. Abaine. Instead it's a middle aged woman with glasses and her hair pulled tightly into a bun. She treads in lightly and sits down next to Sherlock in front of John.
When she talks it sounds like her voice is honey, in a very calming type of way. "John? Can you look up at me?"
After a few seconds John takes a steadying breath and nods slightly. When he looks up his glassy eyes immediately search for Sherlock's blue ones. The next thing he notices is that Sherlock's face is slightly twisted up in a grimace, which immediately sparks John into worry. "What…?" He trails off, not really knowing where he was going with that sentence.
The new doctor speaks up again, "John, I need you to look at me. Sherlock is fine, you don't need to worry." Her voice is just as sweet as it was the last time, and John almost feels guilty for not doing what she said.
The good doctor looks up at the new woman and moves his hand to brush the hair out of his face. To his concern the hand is slightly bandaged. He doesn't ever remember getting cut… Why can't he remember it? What if there's more he can't remember? What if he was drugged? What happened? What if th-"
"John, look at me." The woman's voice dissipates his forming thoughts, but only for a second.
"I- Why- It…" John can tell that his breathing is picking up again, but he can't stop it. Pure worry is lacing itself through John's entire body. And oh God he can feel it, it's taking over… "No. No. NO!" John scrambles from his position and tries to back away, but he doesn't get very far because some is preventing him from escaping.
No, he got so close! He can't give up now.
As quickly as the good doctor can, he tries to pull himself off the floor. But while he's doing so he feels a liquid run down his arm. When he looks he sees the oh so familiar color of blood.
There's a small part of John's brain that's telling him that he's having a panic attack and should really calm down, but most of his brain is either telling him to run as fast as he can, or roll over and die.
In the outside world there are a few "John"s going around, but it all feels muted like they're talking through foam. Something clicks in his brain telling him that once auditory senses are gone it's going to be moments until he snaps, but the rest of his body is telling him to run away from Brenton.
He tries to stand up, but he instantaneously falls to the floor after putting the smallest amount of weight on his bad knee.
A body hovers around him, and John knows that this is the end. There is no way that he's ever going to get out of here. Instead he's going to die at the hands of one of his old comrades. He curls himself into a ball and pulls his head in, wishing that this would all finally end so he could die.
John's knee is still put out at an awkward angle due to the fracture, but he knows that these people can still take full advantage of that. A hand comes to rest on his good shoulder, and John flinches, but doesn't move. He knows that all of his efforts are futile at this point.
He then feels a small prick in his leg, and then the voices stop, and his vision goes black.
Everyone in the hospital room lets out a breath when John stops shaking and eventually falls unconscious in the corner of the room. Sherlock inches himself closer to John, but then doesn't know what to do. You can't really comfort an unconscious flatmate. Friend, actually. Though if we're being technical the term 'best friend' might be more appropriate.
Disrupting the silence the new doctor says, "Mr. Holmes, I understand your concern for John Watson, but you need to be resting."
Sherlock opens his mouth to disagree, but Lestrade interrupts with, "Now, Sherlock. Get back on the bed." His voice is hard and stubborn, almost opposite of the woman's.
Begrudgingly Sherlock moves to get back on his bed. Lestrade and the doctor both help him get up, and then the doctor re-inserts his IV line which got disconnected in the past… bustle.
Then the doctor and Lestrade slowly and carefully pick up John, attentive to his injuries, and place him back on the bed.
Looking at Sherlock she says, "I'll be back quickly, but for the mean time please stay in bed." Then with a quick nod to Lestrade she hustles out of the room, her small frame not letting her go very fast.
"Sherlock?" Lestrade asks, sitting himself down in the plastic chair next to the bed. "You doing alright?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Was the curt response that came from the Consulting Detective.
"Because you just witnessed your best friend have a severe panic attack and you still have a healing bullet wound. Any of this ring a bell?" He asks with his eyebrows raised.
"I am fine. Sherlock replies angrily, even though he's not fooling himself or the DI.
"Right then. Do you want anything?"
"Some peace and quiet away from imbeciles sounds great right now." Sherlock replies sarcastically, turning his head away from Lestrade and toward the bed that holds his drugged flatmate.
"I'm going to chalk that up to the drugs and not take offence to that, but for next time try and be a little nicer." Lestrade says, knowing full well that this conversation is most definitely over.
"Hmph." Sherlock says, still turned away from the DI.
After about a minute passes by, the woman comes back in holding a manilla folder in her hand. She dips her head in greeting and says, "I apologise for the wait, it's ghastly out there. I would've also like to introduce myself earlier, but that wasn't able to happen." Holding out a hand to Lestrade she says, "I am Doctor Melanie Whitley, somewhat of a specialist, and I've been called in my who I understand is your brother," She says pointing at Sherlock, "Mycroft Holmes, to help John Watson. To make things easier I have relieved Dr. Abaine of over seeing you too, Sherlock."
Looking up at her, and slightly wondering when his brother stopped being so incompetent, Sherlock says, "What happened to John?"
With a sigh she says, "There's something that you have to understand, and that is that many, if not all, mental issues are not black and white. People experience trauma in very different ways. Because I can not talk to the patient - John - at the moment about what happened, I can only guess.
"And…?" Sherlock says, clearly not being satisfied with her answer.
"My guess is that after waking up in a place he doesn't remember falling asleep in, it triggered past memories, as well as the stress of the last couple of weeks. As I understand you were able to help him through that." Melanie says with a curt nod toward Sherlock. "The second attack he experienced was more severe though, as you could probably tell. I will work on what triggered the attack, and we will go from there." She takes a longish breath after that sentence and looks at the two other men in the room to make sure that she's not overwhelming them with too much information.
"I would like to advise you to - not necessarily walks on eggshells - but to not bring up any events regarding…" She looks down and opens the manilla folder, scanning it a bit before continuing, "Brenton Walker. At least for the time being."
Lestrade and Sherlock both nod, not really knowing how to reply.
"Now, Sherlock, you are also my patient now, so I will advise you to please, get some rest. Your wound has been aggravated far too much since the initial shot." With another one of her nods she says, "Ta." And leaves the room with her manilla folder.
A few seconds pass before Lestrade turns to Sherlock and says, "She means that. Get some rest. John isn't going anywhere."
A supposedly sweet statement, trying to show his affection, but Sherlock finds it the opposite. Because with John's health at the moment, he wouldn't be surprised if he tried to punch and kick his way out of the hospital. Granted, he wouldn't get anywhere because of his physical injuries, but one's mind can take a person a long way away.
"Sherlock." Lestrade's thoughts interrupt the Consulting Detective's though process. "Seriously now, just take some time and sleep. Even your highly functioning sociopathic brain needs some rest."
Sherlock rolls his eyes at the DI and replies, "Can't sleep. I'm on a case right now."
Lestrade looks at him with eyes of disbelief. What case could you possibly be one right now? You've been trying to track down John's kidnapper all up until yesterday- and that was only because you fell unconscious!"
"Yesterday? Oh dear, I most definitely do not need sleep if that really is true."
"Sherlock!" Lestrade takes a breath and tries to talk more quietly, after all, John is still in the room. "My point is, the case is closed. Brenton Walker was found, and your insane brother has him locked up somewhere. Now, get. Some. Sleep."
"I am on a case! Or perhaps your boring little brain already forgot?" Sherlock says condescendingly.
"Well then I will also reiterate: What bloody case?" Lestrade says, again, trying not to punch the man in the bed in front of him.
Sherlock stops staring at John and looks up at the DI. "The case of John H. Watson."
A/N Hey friends! There's this wonderful button down below labeled "review"! If you click it and write even just two words it'll make my day 1000 times better! Even if you don't have an account, just leave a review as a guest!