AU for post "Great Game."
Wha -?
What's going on? Why can't I see? Wait.
The pool . . . the bomb . . .
Explosion. Right then, let's take inventory. Can't see . . . can't move. And . . . Sherlock!
"John? My name is Dr. Howell. Don't worry about speaking; we're monitoring your brain waves for responses. We have you in an experimental form of life support. Your body suffered enough trauma that by rights you should be dead. "
Experimental. Mycroft must've pulled some string; nice of him, I guess. But life support - how am I conscious? And what about Sherlock?
"Actually, John, you were dead," Sherlock's voice broke in. "I told you bodies are useless; this proves it."
Yeah, but it's my body. It's not perfect by any means but it's mine and I want to know what's happened to it!
"That's enough, Mr. Holmes. John, we were forced to perform emergency surgery. A, um, radical amputation."
Amputation. OK, calm down. How radical?
"There's no medical name for it yet. I suppose we could call it a corpoectomy."
. . . corpoectomy . . . removal of corpus . . . oh my God!
"Honestly, John," Sherlock scolded. "You're not seeing the possibilities. You're what I've always wanted to be – unencumbered by a body, a being of pure brain."