A/N: Alright you guys so I'm just gonna go ahead and apologize for this chapter in advance. I don't know how you dearest readers will feel about it (which is why I love to get reviews *wink*) but I hate it. The thing is though, is that I need to post this because the next chapter (which is already mostly written) is a ton of awesomeness and it would bug me to have two "John" chapters in a row. So this is basically a filler, read it if you want, but it's just Sherlock's pain from his point of view as John is treating him.
I was in pain. The word pain sounds like it would be so simple, so easy to comprehend. I was in agony. Burning waves of pain were wracking my body and I lost myself a few times in the sea of red and grey misery. I was on fire. My body felt as if I was lying in a furnace with hot whips lashing across my chest. People moved above and around me, moving in and out of focus as I drifted in and out of lucidity.
"John…Doctor John…Watson."
I felt his name slide up my scorched throat, somehow escaping my tortured throat and lips. I clung to it even though it hurt. It was imperative that whoever was around me know that I wanted – no, needed – John.
I felt screams erupt from my battered body with each new wave of agony that ripped through me. I didn't care. I wondered if I was being punished by someone or something for my happiness. Call it karma or some other ridiculous religious notion but it was difficult to ignore the fact that this was happening so soon after John and I were just getting so serious about each other.
I lost myself after that. I dreamed of John for I don't know how long. I never thought of anyone else while I was out of consciousness. When I was aware, pain dominated my thoughts, so I preferred my delusions.
I sank into oblivion with a deep feeling of happiness. The pain couldn't follow me here and I could be with John in ways I was pretty sure he'd never agree to in reality. I didn't think I'd ever tell him this, but I loved it when John would pull rank or when his military service was brought up in conversation. Imagining my doctor in a dominant military position was…stimulating to say the least. I worked hard to hide it around him (at least for now) but it's still fun to explore in the confines of my mind.
I didn't have the luxury of enjoying my little military fantasies for long though as I was yanked from my stupor by a sudden wave of pain that was fiercer and more persistent than the others. My eyes flew open to find myself in a hospital room somewhere. My back arched off the bed as I tried to escape the pain somehow, a scream trying to work its way out and it finally succeeded, tearing harshly past my ravaged lips to erupt in the otherwise quiet room.
John's frantic face was suddenly above me, his hands hovering just over my chest as my back hit the bed again with a soft thump. I was trying to move my legs, to find some way to express my pain, but I found that I couldn't move my left leg without a sharp pain searing its way from my thigh to wash through the rest of my body. His face was worried, his eyebrows coming together as he studied my eyes. I nearly passed out as I was asking John to help me, somehow. Then everything went black as I actually did faint from the overload of pain.
It felt as if it had been only seconds when John began treating my wounds. I lost control when he applied bandages soaked in antiseptic to the gashes that were great bloody gashes across my otherwise pale chest; it felt as if he were applying strips of fire to my chest and I was tormented. I could do nothing to control the screams that were being wrenched out of me by my agony, John's hands moving furiously as he tried to apply the bandages quickly. I felt a flash of anger; why couldn't he just leave me be? Didn't he see he was torturing me? The thought was quickly gone however, washed away by a wave of fresh misery that surpassed the others. John moved closer to my face, and I allowed small whimpers to escape my iron control, and I knew he heard them by the way he stiffened his shoulders above me and a shadow crossed over his eyes. I promptly closed my own, unable to look at him anymore. We were in so much pain because of each other and that hurt worse than any physical wound.
His fingers brushed gently over my face, leaving a thick gel in their wake. This didn't hurt and it actually began to relax me just the smallest bit. I knew what was coming though. I braced myself mentally then told him to do what he to in order to heal me. I wanted him to finish so I could just sleep. He gave me a searching look before leaving my line of sight. His fingers were moving slowly and carefully on my chest and I felt a band begin to tighten around my ribs. His rough fingers were catching on my smooth skin as he wrapped the bandage. Normally I would've welcomed the sensation but today it hurt; same as everything else. I don't know why it was affecting me so badly, but this relatively small discomfort drove me to the edge of my endurance. As the linen tightened one last time, it pulled on the burned skin underneath it and the constant pressure added one more bit of misery on top of all the other pain.
"I have to… suture your gashes, Sherlock," John said, his gentle voice somehow catching my attention and holding it as nothing else could. "I don't know how long it will take…" His face almost broke my will - he looked so grim – but I know it had to be done. There were sounds of his preparation to my left and suddenly the needle was biting through my ravaged skin. I felt tears well up in my eyes and I shut them tightly to keep the tears from spilling over. The time when John was healing me, patching up my battered body, seemed interminable, stretching on forever with no beginning and no end.
I thought he had finished, but John apparently still needed to do one final thing; splint my leg. God I just wanted him to be done. Final spasms of pain wracked my body as I attempted not to writhe and kick my legs; I knew John would finish quicker if I stayed as still as possible.
Suddenly though, he was done, and he was walking away from me. I was honestly frightened for a moment; I didn't want him to leave me to face my pain alone. I suddenly felt like a child, and I was so afraid of being left alone by the only man I truly care about. He looked back at me as he opened the door and held up his index finger. I immediately relaxed into the uncomfortable cot I had been put on. John, my doctor now in the literal sense of the endearment, reentered the room shortly and went to the right side of my bed. He climbed in next to me, taking care not to jostle me overmuch. I was calm. The pain still raged through me, but John was here and he had done everything he could to heal me. I drifted into a merciful sleep next to the man I love and who loves me in return.
