Sherlock never imagined he would let it get this far, this far beyond his own boundaries, set once in his mind, a silent reminder in his above average brilliant brain.
Stirring slightly in the uncomfortable seat he was in he tried to become aware of his surrounding, the sounds around him, the ever so subtle smell. Blood. maybe his own. fresh.
A searing pain became apparent in his nose at that point and he sloppily sniffed his nose, almost gagging as he swallowed the thick clot of blood that hard formed, the reflex made his eyes water and he tried to open them, but to no avail. He tried to coax them with his mind, 'please open, I need to see, please. Stop hurting.
He slowly tried to raise his hands to inspect his evidently battered face, but found that he couldn't.
His hands lay weakened and limp in his lap.
Not being able to see or move Sherlock tried to deduce his own body by what he felt, searching his brain for any recollection of what had happened to him which had put him in this state.
Nose;Definitely broken. He noted to himself. 'Two slight fractions in the skull, near the Parietal bone'.
Feeling around the cavity of his mouth with his tongue, trying to somewhat moisten it he noted with slight shock that there was a hole in his left cheek, oozing a steady flow of hot blood into his throat.
His surroundings smelt like leather and cigarette smoke, 'Marlborro Lights. Lit atleast thirty minutes ago'. Sniffing in his environment.
Feeling more light headed then when he just woke up, he sagged in his seat.
He was definitely in a car, he thought. Sherlock tried to open his thick swollen eyes again, but found he still couldn't because it seemed the swelling was covering over half his face.
He felt himself slipping back into unconciousness rapidly and the last thing he noticed, while swallowing another ghastly blob of foul warm blood was a continueing wicked sound, like the moan of a dying animal, rising up from someones throat.
His senses abandoned him even further it seemed, everything he thought he heard or smelt was blurred and hazed in his mind.
The sound continued, sometimes a low abominable growl, then a quiet drawled intonation of severe pain. Sherlock takes in a painfull breath, his clearly bruised ribs hurt like hell.
Suddenly the terrible moaning stops. Then it hit him before he succumbs back into nothingness, the noise is coming from his very own being, resonating in the quiet space around him.