Sherlock can be revived...
John scrambles for his cellphone and asks Sherlock if he is awake and if he can respond. Sherlock does neither.
"999, how can I help you?" A lady asks.
"Lakenson Secondary School. My friend's been shot it the chest." A second passes.
A second that's to long for John's liking.
John lets out a breath sending everything around him in slow motion; he sets the mobile on speaker and sets it near him, making both his hands available.
Gun shot wound to chest. What do I do? CPR?
John leans forward, his nose bumps with Sherlock's and his lips barely skim Sherlock's. Suddenly he pulls back with doubt.
No, think, it's approximately three inches from the heart, meaning it's punctured the lung. Air is moving through the injury not the lungs; very bad. To stop it I need to cover the lung.
But where in the hell was he going to get a cloth at a time like this?
John strips off his shirt and tears a large path off, folding in to make it thicker, and gently presses it to the open wound. John feels his hand sink and rise, but to his naked eyes it doesn't seem like it's moving; shallow breathing.
A relief, indescribable to many, washes of John. Sherlock is breathing; John was to dazed to notice slight inflation and deflation of air. But John doesn't celebrate, no, being joyful would not save Sherlock. It could wait.
"Okay, help is on the way. Now, I'm going to give you instructions to help your friend until they arrive. Alright?" John is annoyed with her patronizing tone. He didn't have time for this and neither does Sherlock. "Okay." John answers distantly, obliged to have any help.
Check for the exit wound, John immeaditly goes to do so and is expecting the worse, it had to go through if it killed Moriarty.
John gently arches Sherlock's back with his free hand. He smoothly sides he hand around the area looking for the opening which he finds in seconds. It's not gaping open but it's fairly sized in width and terribly deep, enough to make John squeamish. Cover exit wound. John uses this time to lightly slide Sherlock off of Moriarty and used the rest of his rumpled shirt to set Sherlock's injury against, easing him onto fabric.
"Did you do it?" The voice penetrates John's focus. When had she started talking?
"I'm sorry, can you repeat." John feels bad that he had ignored her to begin with.
"See if he's conscious." John glares at the phone exasperated. How incompetent does she think he is?
"For love of- no, he's not but he is taking shallow breaths. I've kept him still and covered both the entering and exiting wounds. Now what?" John's past his limit.
Before the woman can answer, John can hear the sirens blaring outside.
As they haul Sherlock into the vehicle, John pleads with one of the large paramedics to go with him. they deny him, saying that only family and spouses are allowed. Which he quickly responds with: "But he is my cousin. Please, I need to be there for him." The large man blinks at John with a nod. He has no time for validation. John hops in.
He watches the scene from the window of the ambulance as they ride farther down the road. The students running to their parents for comfort and the police scattered around the area. He glances at the pinkish hue of the sky, feeling that time has eluded him.
"Kid, did you do this patch work?" One of the paramedics asks, securing the oxygen mask over Sherlock's mouth. John, holding his arms close to his bare chest, nods and listens to the heart monitor make high pitched beeps. "Not bad for someone who's never done this before. You might have saved your cousin's life."
John's wary features flicker with confusion before relaxing. He'd forgotten he is Sherlock's "cousin". John gives a grim smile at the word might. Might leaves room for another possible fate, might is a word that John does not want to here in this case.
Sherlock, you idiot.
John gawks at the slumbering boy; when again that damn need appears. John hesitates but locks hands with him. Sherlock's hand is cold and slacked against John's. His fingers twitch at the heat, John's lips tug in a small grin. It's a start.
When they get through the doors of the ER, they switch Sherlock onto a trolley, with John jogging right behind until they enter the surgery; he sits in a chair in the hall.
The adrenaline is fading and John begins to feel tired like he did in the arch way of the school. "John Watson." A low, strained voice speaks. John notices that this is a statement not an inquiry.
Swanky clothing, a slim black umbrella,and a face of an over worked man. "Oh, Mr. Mycroft Holmes is it? Sherlock's spoken of you." John grimaces. He never said anything good about Mycroft, in fact he went as far as to say that Mycroft is his arch enemy, but still. "My god, look at you." John glances down; his hands stained in dried blood along with his knees. Though Mycroft expresses no disgust or concern; nothing. His body huddled underneath an over sized jacket, courtesy of the paramedic. "I was just tryi-" "I've heard." Mycroft interrupts John's explanation.
A long pause settles between them but it's not like John was expecting anything more. This is Sherlock's sibling of course. "I'm going to use the hospital phone, real quick." John feels the need to say, it's not like Mycroft would question him. He studies the older Holmes brother who doesn't even twitch at the comment.
John calls his parents, alerting them to where he is and what state he's in. Naturally he down play's the entire event though, this calmness did not ease his parents. No, they insisted upon being there and were a little miffed about the distance: a three hour drive. They'd be there as fast as they could, dragging Harry's drunk-self along.
He sighs, returning to the hallway. An extremely tall man in a white coat, that John can obviously assume is a doctor, is speaking with Mr. Mycroft Holmes. John's pace increases to drop in on the talk.
He catches Mycroft's icy glance. "Here he is now, you may proceed with the diagnoses." John tries to remember this moment because, if Sherlock's been telling the truth about his brother and John comes later to confirm, this is a rare act of kindness.
"Sherlock is in the ICU and we don't expect him to leave it for a while. He is stable however, that's not to say he'll stay that way."
Hello! Sorry I've been gone. Hope you like it! Love you all.
We're cutting it close! Two more chapters before we part ways.