Twentytwo hours later the doctor arrives to remove the drain and Sherlock looks expectantly up at him as he hears the frankly slightly sickening sound of the implement being pulled out of his head.
"Right, you said once the drain was removed I could see John. " Sherlock argues looking intently at Mycroft who is once again stood at the side of his bed.
"Just give it a few hours. If you're still doing well in a couple of hours we will bring a wheel chair up and you can go down and see your friend." The doctor directs and Sherlock turns to his brother… "You promised" he argues "Once the drain was out I could see him" he grumbles and is frustrated to see Mycroft shake his head.
"I said in a few days, Sherlock, you should be glad things are progressing faster than expected." Mycroft offers stepping a little closer to the hospital bed.
The doctor pats his leg and offers a placating "Soon, soon" before leaving the two brothers alone.
"Why are you even here? Aren't there wars to stop, government officials to control" Sherlock spits, angry that his desires are not being heeded.
"Even I get compassionate leave when my brother is nearly killed." Mycroft offers calmly and Sherlock frowns…
"I was not nearly killed." He grumbles and pushes into a sitting position, trying to ignore the nausea rising at the back of his throat.
"Would I be here if you weren't" Mycroft asks and Sherlock grudgingly has to accept that yes this is probably true. Mycroft would never take this much time away from work if he was not genuinely worried. It annoys him that Mycroft worries, it seems that worrying about him had somehow passed from Mycroft to John and now it is John's prerogative to worry about Sherlock's wellbeing.
"Mycroft, if you care about me at all… just please let me go and see John." Sherlock pleads in a way that is exceedingly painful but the closest to the tone he expects people usually use when trying to evoke compassion.
"I will Sherlock, just give it a couple of hours like the doctor said, so that we know you won't keel over and die on us when we wheel you down there… John would not like that… he would never forgive me if he woke up and found you had died trying to visit him." Mycroft argues and the mention of his friend's dislike of Sherlock's behaviour is enough to placate him. After all John is his moral compass, his opinions must be heeded to some extent.
Hence Sherlock spends four excruciating hours in bed doing absolutely nothing before Mycroft agrees to go in search of a wheelchair. He proceeds to return with a chair and two nurses to help Sherlock manoeuvre into it, something which takes a fair amount of time and results in Sherlock being in rather a lot of pain and both nurses being very flustered by Sherlock's less than kind deductions about the state of their love lives.
One of them remains behind to push him to the lift and Mycroft walks alongside him, silent and overbearing. Sherlock is unusually agitated and it is terribly frustrating that the broken leg is hindering him from pacing or even jiggling his legs to alleviate the tension.
It takes eight long minutes to get from his room to the ICU but it seems like forever to Sherlock. When he is finally wheeled into the cubicle holding John he feels like his breath has been pulled from his chest.
John is lying very still and very pale on a bed attached to a multitude of machines… his chest is rising and falling evenly with the aid of a ventilator and his heart beat is being measured by a monitor at his side but he looks for all intents and purposes like one of the corpses from the morgue at Bart's.
Sherlock stares in horror as Mycroft moves around to John's other side placing a hand on the doctor's leg.
"He said it wouldn't kill him, was he wrong? Mycroft? He can be so stupid sometimes." Sherlock asks a horrible lump in his throat.
"I honestly don't know Sherlock" Mycroft states in a detached voice. "The fact that he survived the ride here is good, but there's still a risk" Just as Mycroft utters those words the even rhythm of John's heart monitor stops for a second and an alarm goes off and keeps wailing even as the heart beat returns to the screen.
Staff flood into the cubicle, checking John's vital statistics but placated that he is doing fine they leave again, only a solitary nurse remaining crouched in front of Sherlock who stares in terror at the heart monitor's even pattern.
"It's ok… his heart is bruised, it is to be expected, you don't need to panic" she offers as she places a hand on Sherlock's and squeezes briefly." Your friend will be ok." She urges as she stands up and leaves the cubicle.
Mycroft watches his younger brother as he grabs the doctor's hand looking miserably at the splinted fingers. Sherlock may claim that he has no heart but right now it is exposed for the world to see and Mycroft is painfully aware of how frightened his brother must be. He had felt something very similar only a day and a half ago when Sherlock was rushed into surgery to relieve pressure on his bleeding brain.
They sit in silence watching and listening to the beeping of the heart monitor and the whoshing of the respirator until Sherlock starts to nod off, his head coming to rest on the bed next to John. At this point Mycroft goes in search of the nurse who brought them down, hoping that they will be able to convince Sherlock that he needs to go back to bed.