Lessons in Friendship 1 - A Glimpse at PTSD
After what happened at the pool with Moriarty,in the beginning of SiB, John has a flashback and Sherlock wants to know about it. No First Person POV but almost entirely form Sherlock's side.
Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC and the guys who invented them. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.
Many thanks to my betareader Graveofthefireflies!
I have no medical knowledge and do not know if i followed the right procedures!
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For everybody who has read this story before/is following:
I rewrote small parts of the story and added a few things. It's the same story, so don't wonder if this doesn't feel new to you. I just divided it into two chapters.
This story was originally written and completed on September 23, 2013.
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Chapter 2
The Pool
Several weeks later, they found themselves in a pool area with John wearing a suicide bomber belt.
When Moriarty had simply left they – at first - thought the situation was solved.
Sherlock couldn't help but felt disappointed about the anticlimactic turn of events.
But then he saw John sway and ripped the bomb of him. The other man was pale and looked drained.
It suddenly occurred to the detective that there was a large time gap between John leaving the house and finding John at the pool.
What had happened to John in the time between.
Still confused and a bit shaken he tried to ask about John's well-being.
It was the second time Sherlock asked his flatmate about how he felt in just a few hours. He had never given such questions much attention before in his life, but during the past weeks had found it might be relevant to the outcome of cases.
The first time he had asked such a question was shortly before the TV host case had started. They had sat at a café having breakfast, after John had claimed he was getting sick with the lack of food their constant search for clues had caused.
The doctor's colour had improved after he had eaten, which confirmed that it was necessary to at least sometimes be aware that John needed nutrients. He was definitely more difficult to handle without a certain amount of sleep, tea, coffee and meals. It was slowing him down more than usual, which was inconvenient for both of them.
Bottom line: easier to give him the few minutes his body needed than cope with the lack of brainpower.
Since eating was something he'd forget regularly, he had decided to remember to ask for John's wellbeing, it was one thing to neglect his own health, but to do so with John's was unacceptable.
There was one delightful result this had already: John no longer got on his nerves by trying to convince him to eat.
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"Alright? Are you alright?" Sherlock was getting nervous when he didn't get an answer immediately.
When Sherlock tried to free John of the bomb vest the doctor stumbled and made a joke about being glad that no one saw them.
But then he needed to crouch down and lean on a changing cubicle, pale and shaking.
Sherlock was - for the first time in a very long time - really wrought up with the whole thing.
In addition, his friend's reaction was a freaking him out a bit. The stress that was so clear on John's face and in his posture seemed to kick-start something in Sherlock that felt foreign and absolutely disconcerting.
As if John's distress was contagious it shook Sherlock's core somehow, an absolutely new and odd sensation. He realised he was scratching his head with the gun.
Dumb thing, really, not like him… because: not very professional - and he hated being not professional.
Lost in his own affliction, he ranted about some nonsense, trying to ease John's - or maybe his own - agitation.
Was it even agitation?
He was appalled by his inability to form a coherent sentence, he was babbling!
No, not anxiety…
Maybe only the adrenaline wearing off?
A bit early for that, though.
Well, at least he was not too messed up the remember he had decided to be a bit kinder to John.
He had in fact tried to smile at John during the past days, although he still was not sure if it looked convincing.
Friends smiled at each other, didn't they?
There was a need in him to contradict the fact that John was so disappointed with him, he had expressed his displeasure about Sherlock's cold behaviour repeatedly in the past month.
Moriarty had invaded something. Had stepped over a line, but Sherlock wasn't able to pinpoint what had really happened.
A part of his brain was near panic, trying to sort the situation out, another tried to handle the fact that John had just tried to save his life by sacrificing himself, when a more immediate issue forced its way into his consciousness: John, distressed, unable to stand.
Panting, making distressed noises.
Shock?
Was he hurt somewhere?
What had happened to John before he had entered the pool area?
Closer evaluation necessary.
When he headed towards the doctor he heard the door open again - and Moriarty re-entered!
No, he hadn't seen this coming, too!
Second big miscalculation in one hour!
Mental note: never let your guard down when dealing with Moriarty!
But the situation got dangerously close to an unpleasant end until the evil man's phone had started to ring… then it dissolved again when he just left to take care of more important things.
This time, neither John nor Sherlock even tried to relax.
Without hesitation Sherlock had phoned Lestrade for a SWAT team while he dragged John to his feet and they stumbled out of the pool area.
They left the building through the back exit, John unsteady on his feet and trembling so much it disturbed his walking.
Delayed fear reaction?
Or just the cold without his jacket?
Sherlock took his time to observe his friend closely.
Clenched jaw. Slight frown. Distant gaze - not the cold.
Distant gaze?
Shock!
Shell shock? - Expression from WW1 and 2 for PTSD, also called 'Thousand Yard Stare' - check for response to be sure.
This was the first time the monitor-PTSD-routine kicked in, more delayed than he liked, but that was probably due to his own disconcerted state.
So, PTSD trigger?
"John?"
No answer.
"John, are you alright?"
They stood in the back alley, leaned against some wall and panted. It was dark. He gently shook John's shoulder.
"John!... Answer me! Do you need to go to a hospital?"
The man was a doctor, he'd know if he was physically hurt or if he needed medical attention.
No reaction.
Sherlock grabbed the other man's wrist.
Pulse: thready and fast.
Breathing: panting, seems to be an effort.
Shock due to stress presumably.
Keep person warm to prevent state from becoming life-threatening.
He slipped out of his coat and carefully manhandled John into it, who wasn't helping but was also not resisting.
Sirens in the distance.
"John, please answer me," the detective begged but John only stared blindly into space, seeing nothing.
"John, I need you here! Your medical knowledge is needed!" Sherlock's voice was raised and the whole thing distressed him more and more, too.
He flipped his fingers in front of John's eyes and this was when John gasped and started to move. But his legs wouldn't carry him and he started sliding down the wall.
Sherlock caught him and held him upright.
A few moments later John found his balance and leaned heavily against the wall, able to stand himself finally. Sherlock let go.
"What did just happen?"
John looked disoriented and ashy.
"I don't know…. "
"You weren't responding and just staring ahead."
"I… know," the doctor swallowed.
"Are you alright? Are you in shock? Do you need to go to the hospital?" Sherlock repeated.
"'m fine. Just a flashback, nothing to worry."
"You are not fine… What does a doctor do when a person has a flashback?" the detective tried.
"Not now, Sherlock,… please," John tried to reclaim his composure, frowning when he realised Sherlock was only in his suit jacket and looked around for the coat.
When he shivered once more Sherlock grabbed the coat's front and wrapped it tighter around his friend. The doctor felt a bit like a child, dressed by his mother. It took him a moment to look down at the unfamiliar sensation and saw himself wrapped in Sherlock's Belstaff.
"Why am I wearing your coat? What the hell happened?"
He of course knew where his mind had been, in a combat situation in Afghanistan, but what had happened in the real world during that time?
Shit.
He hadn't had a flashback in months and he had hoped that he was finally over those.
"I feared you might be in shock, so I tried to keep you warm. Lestrade is coming."
Sherlock wanted to tell John indirectly that if he didn't want to be seen wearing the coat now would be the best time to get rid of it.
However, John wasn't reacting, probably because he was still to far away to understand the hint.
Lestrade came around the corner and ran towards them only moments later.
"I want to go home," John whispered in a tight voice.
"We will, as soon as possible."
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John convinced the ambulance crew that he was fine and after a short examination they let him go. He was grateful for the bright orange blanket they provided, though.
After they assured they'd come to Scotland Yard first thing in the morning they were allowed to leave.
The moment they arrived home John started to make tea, still wrapped in the blanket.
Sherlock let himself fall into his armchair, coat still on, no time for unnecessary distractions - the activated monitoring routine needed attention.
"John, how often do you get flashbacks?" he asked.
"I am not in the mood to discuss this."
"I need to know!"
"What for?… To evaluate how nuts I am?"
Aggressive tone, insulted?
"I don't think you're nuts."
"Really? Why not? Psychosomatic limping is considered pretty nuts by most people."
So, not insulted, more like protection from further hurt?
Was that why John never told anybody he was shot in the shoulder?
He left everybody to believe their own wrong conclusion that he was hit in the leg, didn't correct them. He also never mentions his PTSD to anybody, or that he had been invalided in Afghanistan.
Nobody except Sherlock seemed to know his leg was physically okay.
Had John been treated as if he had a defective mind?
Sherlock had known all his life that he was different, but never considered himself damaged, though he knew other people did.
People called him 'freak' and other names, but he had learned to live with it.
He knew his social skills weren't the best. Knew he had more brains than a lot of other people and he knew other people's senses were blind and deaf in comparison with his.
But people didn't like to realise others were smarter, it made them hostile or they tried to prove they were smart themselves all the time.
He had accepted these behaviours and partly encapsulated himself.
But John was an open, friendly character, a fully functioning member of society. And now his world was upside down and his PTSD prevented him from functioning on a satisfactory level in his profession, robbing him of his job as a soldier and army doctor, rendering him unable to work fully.
Was he himself thinking he was damaged goods?
Or did other people make him think that?
His self-consciousness had obviously been affected since he was shot.
Then Sherlock wondered if he himself had added to that issue?
Probably.
It hadn't been his intention, but he might have been careless.
But John was a friend and he wanted to care.
Though friendships were kind of an unexplored area.
His first action was to start a new routine which's task it was to prevent him from saying things to John that might be condescending in the future.
"I'm frequently called a freak, and I don't think you are nuts. And since we live and work together I want to know what I can do to understand, prevent and be of assistance in case help is needed. One day it might be the small thing that makes the difference."
"You mean you're afraid that I blow it and you can't compensate?" John was getting more hostile by the minute.
"I consider you a friend and I want to help."
"Now, what makes you think I want the help of someone who doesn't want my help himself, and who pushes me away or is rude whenever I try?" John stood up. "A friend would accept my help, too, Sherlock… Besides, I like friends to be eye-to-eye… I'll have a shower." And he was gone.
Was that it?
Was it impossible for John to entrust Sherlock with his most vulnerable topic?
Was he afraid Sherlock might rampage there?
A bit horrified about himself he wondered if he had done that too often with John?
John was right, he pushed him away when he himself was vulnerable, in pain or depressed or overwhelmed with something.
When John had offered help in the past he had regularly rejected it.
Even though it was John's profession he had avoided to ask him for help when his transport was physically affected. He kept quiet about things that a doctor could take care off or should have been entrusted with - like being almost choked to death by a Chinese villain.
Sherlock finally realised that to receive trust meant you had to give some first.
He knew that, but he was so out of practice to rely on anyone, he had forgotten it worked that way with normal people.
So, entrust John with a bit more of his own vulnerabilities and give some more care about the doctor's needs.
He had already started to practise that…
And google in depth what to do when flashbacks happen and how triggering works.
Nevertheless, the thing with eye to eye he didn't understand.
This was not the moment to ask, obviously, so he might check that concept on google, too. Although he was aware of the meaning of the phrase he wasn't sure why John assumed it wasn't present.
Or had he said it for another reason?
Was it an exclusion criterion?
The idea felt dark purple and ugly.
Didn't John want to be his friend at all?
But John had said he 'liked friends to be' like this, was that a challenge?
An invitation to learn how friendship worked in detail?
The tone of his voice had made it sound more like an exclusion criterion.
The one thing Sherlock knew for sure was that he needed to evade rejection, because the idea of John being disappointed had felt not good either.
He surely needed to gather a lot of data concerning that topic.
Thankfully John was usually prepared to explain human nature, inappropriateness and sentiment to him when need arises.
He needed data.
And he wanted John's friendship - definitely.
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A/N:
This is the start of a series called 'Lessons in Friendship'.
Please let me know what you think and write a review/comment. :)