He was considerably calmer when the man returned later that evening.
"Why didn't anyone notice the bleed in his brain?" Sherlock asked calmly, not looking away from John, clutching his hand.
The doctor seemed startled.
"Sorry?"
"Why did no one notice the bleed in his brain before it was too late?" Sherlock repeated.
The doctor froze, and Sherlock could practically hear him choosing the right words.
"When John came in, there was no indication of a serious head injury. He was lucid and remembered most of what had happened. Besides a short loss of consciousness, he had no neurological symptoms. You yourself spoke to him before the surgery. Did he seem like he had any neurological deficits?"
When Sherlock didn't reply, he went on.
"The main focus was to stop the internal hemorrhaging in his abdomen, as that was what would have cause him the most harm."
"But it didn't," Sherlock noted bitterly. "You fixed that, but let him break in other places. No matter how perfect that surgery was, no matter how minimal the blood loss, none of it matters because he is brain dead. And there is nothing that can fix that."
"No. There's not. Nothing can fix what happened to John, but something can come of this horrible tragedy."
They were both silent for a minute.
"Are you his medical proxy?"
"Yes," Sherlock confirmed.
"And he has no living family?"
"No. His sister died about a year back, and his parents have been dead for decades."
The man nodded, and Sherlock kept staring blankly at John. He wasn't an optimist, but he had to believe that there was always a chance.
Sentiment. How ridiculous.
Sherlock could feel the stinging behind his eyes.
"Get out," he ordered.
This time, the man obeyed.