This is just a random idea. I'm not a doctor and have little medical knowledge, so I'm sorry if anything is incorrect.
I know the writing style is a little different than how I usually write, but I'm testing different ones. I think I'm going to stick with my original style.
Sorry for any mistakes.
Dislocation
"Surgery?" Sherlock inquired, his voice raising a few octaves until it reached a pitch that John would only describe as a squeak, and looked towards him. He was lying back on his hospital bed, clad in a hospital gown, his right knee heavily supported by bandages, trying to keep his dislocated joint from causing any more damage.
"You've dislocated your kneecap and torn your ACL, Sherlock," John nodded, "you're going to require surgery to fix it." John stepped closer to the bed, reaching out to place his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and squeeze it reassuringly.
"Can you do it?" Sherlock questioned, a grimace appearing on his face when John shook his head, a sympathetic look in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I can't." John replied apologetically. "My PTSD means that my hands are no longer steady enough to perform surgery and I will not risk injuring you further. But I promise, Sherlock, I'll recommend that they use only their best surgeons. We both know that your brother won't settle for anything else."
"B-but, what if something goes wrong?" Sherlock stammered; John felt a lump appear in his throat and had to fight the urge to cry at the uncertainty behind Sherlock's question.
"It's highly unlikely that anything will." John assured him, his hand returning to his shoulder. "Your Anterior Cruciate Ligament will need to be restructured and your kneecap will need to be placed back into it's regular position. They're intending to use arthroscopic surgery and you'll be put under a general anaesthetic for the procedure. If they do use arthroscopic surgery then you'll be treated as an outpatient so hopefully you'll be able to go home after you recover from the anaesthetic." John informed him, applying a little pressure to his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him.
"What about aftercare?" Sherlock asked.
"I can help you with that. You'll obviously need to visit a therapist regularly, both for you knee injury and your surgery." John explained. "But I'll come to physio with you, if that's what you want. And I'll be here with you at the hospital the entire time. However, I can't perform your surgery. A nurse will be here within the next hour or so to prep you for theatre."
"Can you come into the room with me?" Sherlock questioned and John shook his head slowly, feeling bad for the detective.
"No, Sherlock." John apologised. "But if it would make you feel more comfortable, there's a screen through which I can watch your surgery."
Throughout John's attempt at reassurance, Sherlock had lifted his bare left arm and placed the crook of his elbow over the bridge his nose, blocking's John's view of his eyes. The doctor could clearly see that Sherlock was forcibly regulating his breathing.
"Are you worried, Sherlock?" John inquired in a soft voice, expecting a snarky response from the detective about how he didn't get worried. He had to admit that he was surprised when Sherlock nodded his head, the gesture so slight that had John blinked he would have missed the admission.
John moved his hand from Sherlock's shoulder and carefully pulled the detective's arm down so that he could see his eyes, noting his now watery pink sclerae as he returned his gaze to him.
"Sherlock, do you trust me?" John questioned, smiling as the detective nodded almost instantly. "Do you trust that I wouldn't allow anything to happen that I didn't think would be beneficial for you?" Another nod. "Sherlock, I need you to trust me on this; you'll be fine. And I'll be right here when you wake up."
As John had predicted, within the hour a nurse had appeared in the private room, courtesy of Mycroft, to prepare Sherlock for his operation. John let out a soft sigh as Sherlock was wheeled from the room, clearly trembling. The poor man was a wreck. But John could only assume that his best friend had never had any 'good' experiences with the hospital.
Around an hour and a half later, Sherlock's surgery was finished and he was wheeled back into the recovery room, still asleep under the anaesthetic. Dropping into a chair beside the bed that held his friend and flatmate, John couldn't help but question just how the day had changed so drastically in such a short space of time.
John found that he couldn't describe the noise that Sherlock made as he attempted to pivot, ready to trail the suspect in the other direction. It was an inhuman yell of sorts and John was certain that his heart skipped a beat at the sound of it. Moments later, the doctor had dropped to his knees at his friend's side, the detective having fallen to the floor moments after releasing the pained yell, his gloved hands clutching at his right knee.
"Sherlock, you need to sit still." The doctor ordered as the detective writhed, his hands working to try and rub away the pain from his knee. John placed one hand on the top of Sherlock's foot, just below his ankle, holding it in place to prevent him from causing himself further injury. Thankful that Sherlock's legs were thin and, therefore, his trousers weren't tight, John pulled his leg up to examine his joint.
Sherlock's kneecap was offset, resting to the side as the injury began to swell at an alarming rate. John could hear Sherlock focus on controlling his breathing and pulled out his phone, thankful for the emergency call button on the bottom of his locked screen. Holding it to his ear, he knelt on the detective's foot to hold it in place and used his free hand to pull Sherlock's hands away from his damaged knee.
The suspect had got away, much to Sherlock's discontent. Lestrade and Donovan had stumbled across the men as they made to run by, Lestrade came to a stop just as the ambulance pulled up and Donovan had failed to catch him.
"J'hn," Sherlock's anaesthetic laden mumble pulled John's attention back to the bed. John cast Sherlock a reassuring smile, standing up so that the violinist could see him without having to move. Sherlock reached up to rub at his eyes with balled fists, allowing them to wander around the hospital room before landing on John's face.
"Welcome back." John smiled softly, taking Sherlock's hand in his own.
"How...?" Sherlock, apparently unable to think of the words to convey his question, waved his free hand vaguely in the direction of his now heavily bandaged knee.
"The surgery went fine, Sherlock. Just like I said it would." John smiled. "I'll just go and let someone know that you're awake. Would you like some water?" At Sherlock's nod, John disappeared for a moment before returning with a nurse on his tail and a glass of water in his hand for his friend.
The nurse checked Sherlock's reflexes. Noting that they were slightly delayed, she put it down to fatigue and confusion from the anaesthetic and informed the boys that she would return within a few hours to retake the tests and run them through basic aftercare notes despite both John and Sherlock's assurances that John was a doctor.
"J'hn?" Sherlock mumbled once the nurse had left, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes shifted to hold John's gaze and the doctor reached out to card his finger's soothingly through his best friend's curls.
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"Thank you." Sherlock whispered softly and the doctor instinctively knew that he was not talking about assisting him with his knee. Something told John that he was referring to the fact that he had stayed with him and he couldn't help but wonder how often it was that Sherlock had woken up alone in a hospital bed after abusing substances.
One the one hand, John was glad that the consulting detective was now lying on his back on the sofa of 221B, a large blanket covering his legs, his pillow from his bedroom behind his head and a half-consumed mug of tea on the coffee table. However Sherlock, despite still being tired, had managed to complain about almost everything and John knew for a fact that Sherlock was definitely going to test his patience during his recovery period.
I think I'm going to delete Time's Arrow. I have lost inspiration to write it and I don't want to leave it at 5 chapters (or however many it currently has).
Thank you for reading, I'll love it if you could review.
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