Chapter 7: To Be Brave

You try to be brave, make it go away
Leave the lights on sometimes all night
And carry on regardless
So you won't get swallowed up by the darkness

Try to be brave, don't give the game away
You're a strong one, just carry on and
No one needs to notice that there's
Only silence holding this

To Be Brave – Bryde

"Here."

John looked up. Mycroft stood before him, handing him a disposable cup of tea. he took the cup and waited for Mycroft to sit next to him.

"Thanks."

When Mycroft gave no further response, John dropped his elbows back on his knees and clutched the cup of hot tea between his hands. He stared at the steam rising from the cup.

He was calm, in army doctor mode. This was a crisis and he was trained in this. Someone had to stay strong, someone had to be able to make decisions. And John knew he was the person that job. This was what was expected of him. By himself, by Mycroft and by Sherlock.

He looked at his watch. It was 11:14 p.m. It was going to be a long, sleepless night. The surgery started 45 minutes ago. A splenectomy. The spleen was the organ that had caused the internal bleeding. The operation would take two to four hours, if there were no complications. They would try to do the surgery laparoscopically to ensure that Sherlock's body had as little stress as possible under the circumstances. Everything was risky enough already.

John felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He knew it was Lestrade with an answer. John had texted him half an hour ago with a short update. With one hand, he took the phone out of his pocket while he nipped from his cup.

Do you want me come over? Keep you company? - GL

No, it's fine. Mycroft is here. - JW

Hmm, good luck with that. Keep me posted. - GL

John put back his phone and made a mental note to take the inspector to a pub on his costs as a thank you.

"There should be an update within minutes, as I requested." Mycroft spoke suddenly. John wasn't surprised that Mycroft had demanded hourly updates and even though John knew everyone would be incredibly busy, a little part of him was grateful for this request.

It took another ten minutes before John heard a soft knock on door of the waiting room. John stood up immediately, and so did Mycroft. Without waiting, a resident entered. He definitely was in a hurry.

"Doctor Wilson started a laparoscopic splenectomy with anterior approach. Everything went as expected, but when we identified the splenic artery, the patient started bleeding profusely. Doctor Wilson is prepping for an open splenectomy as we speak, but requested your approval before proceeding."

John heard Mycroft sigh. He knew what he thought. This was the first setback. It was naïve of them to think it would go as plan, that everything would be easy. They both knew that with Sherlock Holmes, that was just too good to be true.

"I approve," John said in a calm, deliberated tone. "I trust that doctor Wilson knows what's best. But I want to make sure she attempts to save as much of the spleen as possible. Tell her it will not be removed without my permission, understood?"

The resident looked like he was about to argue with John. He opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again. Then, he just nodded.

"Good. Now go," John ordered. He turned to sit back in his chair and saw Mycroft nodding approvingly.

The second setback came at 00:57 a.m. They were now operating for about three hours, and there hadn't been an update in an hour and a half. Mycroft was starting to get inpatient and started pacing the room.
John also started to feel nervous. He was sure that no one in his right mind would ignore Mycroft's request, not if it was absolutely necessary. He began tapping his fingers against the armrest.

The resident didn't bother to knock this time. When he entered the waiting room, Mycroft immediately walked towards him. "You better have a good reason for not updating us in time," Mycroft spit, trying to keep his self-control. The resident ignored the older Holmes brother and directed himself to John.

"Doctor Wilson Is trying to save the upper lobe of the spleen. At first, it looked promising. She was able to dissect the affected part and just started to suture the parenchymentous vessels."

John and Mycroft didn't respond. Both knew this wasn't the whole report. They waited anxiously for the resident to continue.

"However, the patient started to present signs of a pneumothorax. We did a bronchoscopy and were able to repair the damage. Doctor Wilson strongly advises to switch to a complete splenectomy so that the patients' body doesn't have to experience more stress from the surgery then necessary."

John shared a look with Mycroft. They both knew that a complete splenectomy meant. The risk of getting infections and getting sick was much higher. Sure, you could live without a spleen just fine if you would take your medicines every day and just be careful . But it would mean that Sherlock had to adapt his current lifestyle. And that was never going to happen.

Mycroft was the one who decided this time. "He's stable for now?" he asked. The resident nodded in answer. "Then we would like to stick to the original plan."

"Sir?"

"Continue the partial splenectomy." Mycroft's voice sounded annoyed. John couldn't blame him.

"Sir, I don't think you are making the right decision," the resident started impatiently. "Taking out the complete spleen will be quicker and the patient can live without…"

John cut him off. "Do you even know his name?"

"Excuse me?"

John walked closer to the resident. "You keep referring to him as the patient. What's his name?"

The resident didn't answer. Instead, he looked at Mycroft for support. Big mistake.

"I am going to teach you a valuable lesson, one you will remember the rest of your career." John's voice was dangerously calm. He had his hand clenched in fists, the look in his eyes furious. "You don't know a thing about the person lying on the table. You don't know if he's married, if he has children or if he's a criminal. You don't get to decide anything," John told the resident trough clenched teeth.
"This man you are operating on? He's someone's child, someone's brother and someone's friend. And above that, he is a good man. So the least you can do is show some respect and learn his damn name!"

John waited for a response, but didn't get any. "You heard mister Holmes. If he's stable, continue the surgery as initially planned."

The resident looked utterly frightened when he stormed out of the waiting room, but John couldn't care less. He turned and looked up at Mycroft, who was smirking.

"What?" John spit.

"Now, I do understand your excellent reputation at the 5thNortumberland Fuseliers. Nobody would dare to go against captain John Watson."

John looked at his watch. 03:18 a.m. It had been more than two hours since they had seen the resident. Maybe he just was too afraid to show his face again, but John could not shake the nagging feeling he had started to feel. He tried to remain calm and steady, but deep down he was frightened. He knew something was off; the surgery was taking too long. "Something's wrong," he stated.

Mycroft looked up at John with a serious face. For a moment, he was thinking. Then, he stood up from his chair. "I think we ought to get our own update, then."

John stood up and quietly followed Mycroft trough the building. He suddenly realized that he had developed a new sense of respect for the man. Even though the relationship with Sherlock might have been disturbed, it had become clear how much Mycroft cared for his brother. The fact that he had simply accepted that John had the final say regarding Sherlock's health was perhaps the best example of this.

After they had taken the elevator, they arrived in the basement where the operating theatres were located. They held their cards against the lock and hurried through the sliding doors. John heard a woman call after them, but completely ignored it. Only when he heard his name for a second time, he stopped.

The woman who called after John walked towards them. "Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes, what on earth are you doing here? You're not even sterile!"

Mycroft did not seem impressed. "We came here to collect an update, since you clearly forgot our agreement, dr. Wilson."

Doctor Wilson sniffed. "I apologize, Mr. Holmes. We were busy saving your brother's life," she said sarcastically.

"What do you mean?" John asked immediately, no longer able to hide the anxiety in his voice.

Doctor Wilson seemed to realize she was talking to family. Her face relaxed slightly. She turned to John, sighed and started talking. "I was able to partially save the spleen, but when we closed, he crashed. We had to shock him twice before he came back."

A rush of panic went through John's body. It must have shown on his face, because the doctor quickly continued. "Don't worry, Mr. Holmes is stable now. He's in the recovery room. It won't be long before we can take him up to the ICU."

John closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply. He made it. He survived. He was going to be okay. He looked at Mycroft, who was also visibly relieved.

"Thank you," John replied softly after a moment.

The doctor nodded in answer. "I will speak with you tomorrow to work out a treatment plan. We still have a long road ahead of us. For now, try to get some sleep." With that, Doctor Wilson walked away, leaving Mycroft and John behind.

At 4:46 a.m., John was finally able to see Sherlock. He had received an extensive briefing from the head nurse of the ICU, something he greatly appreciated. John had tried to listen as good as possible, even though the imminent tiredness came calling. Now that the danger had passed, John knew that his body would give in to that fatigue.

The fact that John had previously seen Sherlock in the ICU, didn't make it much easier this time. He was still taken a little aback. Despite his height, Sherlock looked quite small in the large hospital bed. The amount of equipment was considerable and a fair number of tubes disappeared under Sherlock's duvet.

John grabbed a chair and put it next to Sherlock's bed as quiet as he could, not wanting to wake Mycroft who was asleep in the far corner of the room. He sat down and immediately grabbed Sherlock's hand. He ran his thumb across the back of it without thinking.
Sherlock's eyes fluttered open for a second. He looked at john and John saw that he was fighting to keep his eyes open. John just gave him a little, reassuring smile. "Go back to sleep, I'll be right here," he whispered. Sherlock closed his eyes again and within seconds, he was drifting off into the hazy world of sedatives and painkillers.

John ran his other hand trough Sherlock dark, thick curls. A simple, loving gesture. It was full of meaning and emotion, but John was too tired to wrap his mind around it. The fatigue hit in, making it hard to keep his eyes open. His head felt heavy. Slowly, he sank down and rested his head next to Sherlock's, still holding his hand. He quickly fell asleep and for a couple of hours, everything seemed under control.