Handle with care
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.
Chapter 11 was beta-ed by Graveofthefireflies! Many thanks to her and her medical advice.
This story was originally published December 1, 2013 and finished January 18, 2014. It is currently reposted due to the beta-ing and the resulting rearrangement of the chapters. If you have read this story before, there is nothing really new here, sorry.
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Chapter 11
John was partially glad when Sherlock had announced he'd be gone for the morning, investigating with Lestrade. He was glad Sherlock had been with him when he had felt so bad, but now he dreaded for some minutes of privacy. He was grateful he had had company during his ordeal, he really was, despite Sherlock's odd way of showing… yeah, what was it? Care?
Things were different with Sherlock, he had understood that already. Sherlock was operating on a different set of rules, a different mindset. The conversation in the taxi a few days ago had it again made quite clear that Sherlock didn't do things different because he wanted to, or because he wanted to be different… but that it was how he worked.
His youth must have been a rough time… learning the rules of the world and trying to cope as every child had to, but then realising the rules didn't work out as promised by the grown ups, teachers, and the rest of the world. The frustration when the expected results didn't come and he had to figure out why, probably alone… and then working on finding the sets of rules that would apply to him… also alone, by trial and error… but when managing to find out what works for him, learning that the world didn't approve, maybe even punished him for them… John understood Sherlock's frustration.
He promised himself to try to learn about the pathways Sherlock's mind took and why and in more detail in the future….
He assumed his care… if it was care he had been given…. had had the same evolution… or was this just the beginning of Sherlock learning about this topic?…. Several of his friend's statements had hinted he was totally new with this, even kind of lost. Well, at least he was willing to follow instructions. John remembered Sarah had ordered him to do things… and Sherlock had done them, maybe hesitating, maybe only to find out if they would work for him, but he had tried. And John was grateful and even amazed to what extend, Sherlock had tried to sooth him if he remembered right…. and established physical contact.
Sarah had taught him some bedside manners. John couldn't help but smiled. It had felt so awful, but that aspect was… warming. Sherlock must have been really worried.
Partly the time after coming back from Afghanistan had been so bad because he was so alone.
The emergency surgery had taken place somewhere he couldn't remember, but there were only strangers and distant faces, when he was med-evaced everybody was kind, but… he felt so left alone with his pain and fear and memories….
He knew nobody and none had the time to care for more than his body's needs… and all his buddies had stayed in war… Then he had been in surgery again… and he was alone, no friends, no visitors, no distraction… Finally rehabilitation and PT and psychotherapy… Harry had seen him when he was in rehab… but… she was not what he had needed. He had felt abandoned… by the world, by happiness, by everything that was good in life.
Now, there was Sherlock, whose mere presence was making him feeling not alone, though until last week he had been sure Sherlock had the talent to abandon and ignore every single need he might have and would be gone the moment he would need his presence.
He remembered last night. He remembered how easy it was to trust Sherlock's abilities once he had understood the depth of his knowledge and skills and that they were even deeper than one could guess even when he was showing off. The knowledge that was behind this was incredible and if one understood the enormity of it the word showing off became less and less appropriate.
Sherlock was just using what was in his grasp and range, like everybody else would… though he was enjoying putting together the pieces and seeing them slip into place… and also explaining what he saw. It was not his fault the rest of the world didn't have the same understanding of things and of course it was frustrating for him to be misunderstood, tired of explaining.
John was sure when he explained things he left out two thirds of what was actually in his mind because he knew it would be just too much and too boring for the average person. Sometimes he seemed a bit lost about what to leave out and he compressed stuff the average mind needed to understand and then mistakenly assumed he was lying or dumb because he reduced at the wrong point.
The fact that Sherlock had prevented him from being sedated again last night, when he had had a nightmare about suffocating and how he had dealt with it, showed John again how much Sherlock cared and how much he actually listened and understood… As soon as one managed to get through to make him realise he needed to listen. When his mind, still halfway caught in his nightmare, had registered Sherlock was there and pressing the mask onto his face he knew he wouldn't be left to asphyxiate. This fact had been more than crucial in fighting off the panic attack.
This morning he had found the sedative on the table. Sherlock had told him that he had prevented it from being administered, he was grateful because he knew he often got more bad dreams from the stuff. It was still there.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. His doctor and two nurses rushed in. They gave him an thoroughly exam and removed the remaining tubes and wires.
Finally one of the nurses helped him wash in bed, he was not allowed to shower, yet. But he was helped into one of his sweat pants and his favourite jumper. It was more difficult than he had expected because he was still uncoordinated and the headrush he got when slowly standing up made it even worse. But when they had finally managed… it was good! It smelled like home and felt like some kind of shelter.
He sighed with the luxury of the good sensation when she parked him in a chair next to the bed while she put clean sheets on it.
Back in the clean bed… this felt even better.
"Thanks! This is great." He smiled at her when she left the room. He had just started to write Sherlock a text message when they brought lunch. He finished the text and send it before turning towards the meal. At least it consisted of real potatoes and carrots and some meat but he looked forward to Mrs Hudson's pastries in the bedside table he'd fetch as soon as the tray was gone. He hadn't eaten any of the breakfast so he was in fact a bit hungry, he ate the two potatoes, not enjoying a single bite.
But the little exercise of changing clothes had left him exhausted and he was asleep again before they came to get the tray.
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The keeper named Yong opened the door when Sherlock and Lestrade rang and let them in willingly after Lestrade had shown his badge and briefly explained why they were there.
"We found some scorpions where they didn't belong and would now like to know if you have some at home or breed them."
The young man stated he only worked with them at the zoo and had no private interest, he was eager to show them his rooms to prove his statement. His answers seemed honest but too fast to Sherlock.
"Have you heard anything about three missing fat tailed scorpions or someone who might be breeding them and who owns a gibbon." Lestrade probed further, Sherlock cursed inwardly about the blunt approach, something was… difficult.
The young Chinese-looking man hesitated.
"A gibbon?"
"You have heard of someone with a gibbon." Sherlock stated, it was an observation, not a question.
"… Ehh, yes….."
"Who?" Lestrade wanted to know.
"I…. I don't know his name."
"Do you know how to meet him?"
"No."
"Have you been threatened?" Sherlock tried to find the reason for the man's sudden nervousness.
"Ehm….. no."
"But someone has told you about a persons who owns a gibbon…Who?" Sherlock demanded to know.
"Yes, my sister."
"And what exactly did she tell you?"
"There was a Chinese man, middle aged, he had contact to her friends somehow… and… and he told her he had heard I work with scorpions and that I could earn some good money by getting some for him. She told him I was an honourable person and to go buy some in a store. He slapped her in the face for her stroppy reply."
"Did he threaten her?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow.
"Not that I know of…. but she was kind of shaken…. And she said some friends of her had seen him with a monkey before, somewhere at a… there's water… and maybe a camping ground."
"Which one?"
"She didn't tell."
"Can you ask her?"
"Is this dangerous?" The obviously suspicious young man asked.
"We still need to find that out. This is really important. If you need protection we will give it, be assured." Lestrade tried to appease him, but it did the opposite, Yong became more and more nervous.
"I… I will ask my sister, how can I reach you?" the young man stuttered.
Lestrade left his card and the offer to call him anytime but tried to press ahead a bit more. Can you call her now?"
"No, she is working in the medical profession and I can't disturb her now, shift just started."
Lestrade thanked him and they left the building several seconds later.
"That was most intriguing. We are getting somewhere, finally!" Sherlock stated, obviously in an exhilarated mood.
"If he really calls us back with the information, he was… maybe… frightened."
"Yes, but you'll get him and his sister to Scotland Yard if he doesn't talk… and search for camping grounds in the vicinity."
"I already have the list, we want to start with the ones en route back to London?"
"Where… No."
"What?… Why not?" Lestrade handed him the list.
"I need to go back to the hospital."
"What for?… You are worried?" Lestrade raised his eyebrows.
They climbed into the car and headed back.
"I need to think."
"Why don't you think on the way."
"Can't…."
"I don't believe it, you are worried." Lestrade gave a friendly chuckle.
"…and it would be a lot faster to call the owner of the camping grounds and simply ask, there are just too many to go to every single one in a proper amount of time… According to the addresses at least four of those are near some body of water… no, wait, even more… like six maybe…." Sherlock was studying the list.
Lestrade eyed Sherlock, he looked kind of dishevelled, well, he had spend the past three nights in a hospital and was probably worrying about John more than he himself knew.
"I need some lunch. You want to accompany me? There is a nice diner on our way."
"No." Sherlock left out the usual lecture about how eating was a dense idea when working, which caused Lestrade to worry some more. He hadn't expected a 'yes' anyway. He decided to eat at the Scotland Yard cafeteria later.
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A/N:
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