Caught in transport
He was all alone; there was not a single person with him. The room was silent, there was the distinct absence of any noise other than the infernal beeping of the ECG machine that he so desperately wanted to rip apart and throw across the room. There was not talking, nobody flicking through pages of what would most likely be notes at the end of his bed, nobody was checking any of the connections which were embedded in his skin and as far as he could tell the was no sound of breathing except his. He took comfort in that his breaths no longer seemed to be induced by air being forced into his lungs via a tube which had been shoved down his throat. But all he could really think about was that John had lied, he had promised that somebody would be in there with him when he woke up but they weren't and he was all alone and why would they just leave him like that? Were they all just going to abandon him now that he could do nothing for himself?
It was ironic really, all he'd ever wanted was to be alone but now he was truly alone he wanted nothing more than for someone to be with him. Suddenly he felt terror overwhelm him, something he only ever recalled when the bomb jacket was strapped to John. He was alone and paralysed but he needed to escape. He managed to open his eyes and then there was a hand covering his own and a soothing voice gradually smoothing away his terror. "It's ok Sherlock; John will be back soon, he just needs to make sure he gets some rest." It was Mrs Hudson but anyone could have soothed him merely from their presence at that very moment. Even if Moriarty had been standing there he would have felt a bit calmer. "I'm just going to fetch John dear, he really did want to be here when you woke up but he's wearing himself out. I promised to fetch him if I knew you were awake."
Please don't go he begged in his mind. I don't want to be alone. Of course she didn't hear, she patted him gently on the hand and stood up. He would have given anything to reach out and grab her hand right at that moment, in fact he tried, he tried so hard, but it remained limp and useless, stationary on the bed next to him. Now he just wanted to scream in frustration, because he couldn't move, because he was all alone, because he couldn't even tell anyone that he wanted them to stay and because he could feel a distinct warm sensation spreading from around his crotch.
Now he didn't want anyone around, he desperately wished and hoped they would stay away so that they didn't have to see his humiliation. Logically he knew someone would find out but his mind screamed at him to make sure nobody found out. He hated having his emotions being so unguarded and free to roam around his mind, tormenting him. There were gentle voices approaching and his mind erupted into a desperate frenzy to escape from the perverse limbo he now found himself in. However his body remained still, the perfect façade of calm and indifference. "Hey Sherlock," he heard John say as he entered the room. His voice carried a forced light-hearted tone but Sherlock appreciated it, the more normality in the world the better.
Obviously he did not respond because he heard John sigh as he sat down next to the bed. He could tell John had not slept properly in a good few days, catching a few minutes here and there in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. As much as he was loath to admit it Sherlock did care about John and, even though he hated the man being away for any length of time really wished he would go back to Baker Street and get some rest. Scrap that, he wished they could both go back to Baker Street. "Sherlock, I really need you to make an attempt to respond when I talk to you, I have no other way unfortunately of knowing whether or not you are awake." The detective's eyes fluttered slightly but thankfully that was enough for John. He felt Mrs Hudson's gentle and rest on top of his and he was once again glad for the human contact, revelling in it and not feeling quite so alone. "Good, that's good. Now, knowing you I can almost guarantee you don't want me talking about your condition at all but I'm going to, I'll be quick but it's some stuff that occurred whilst you were resting. Communication is exceedingly difficult at the moment but Mycroft is out obtaining some special equipment that will allow more two way conversations. It works by registering eye movements, I hear it's quite complicated to use at first so I should imagine it will take you the whole of one day to learn to use proficiently."
There was a brief pause in which Sherlock actually managed to open his eyes and make brief eye-contact with John, just long enough to see him smile. How Sherlock loved that smile when it was directed at him. "That's great Sherlock, we'll need to get those muscles stronger before you can start using the computer but you're making rapid progress, I think by this time next week you will have tried it out at least. Anyway, once you get used to that you'll be able to regain some semblance of normality." Sherlock highly doubted that and mentally scoffed at John's foolishness. "I mean, at first you won't be able to go to crime scenes or anything but Lestrade can read you the reports of the cases and you can probably solve most of them from that information, even if they miss most of the important information. Once you are stronger, and we get a wheelchair sorted you may be able to go to some of the crime scenes but we'll have to wait and see about that one, I'm not making any promises."
The chair squeaked as John leaned back in it slightly and he rested his hand on the bed. Sherlock mentally froze, as did John physically. How the hell did he forget about that? It wasn't as if it was a minor matter to him, it was humiliating, and now John almost certainly knew and he was going to laugh at him. Not in front of him of course, but when he wasn't there, he would laugh and Sally and Anderson would find out, it was embarrassing and demeaning. The doctor leant forward again in his chair and gently felt the sheets of the bed, as if he could not believe what had happened. But John was a doctor; surely he had seen this before. He won't hate him for this will he? "It's ok Sherlock," soothed John, the kind doctor in him coming through. "I hope you don't mind but I'm just going to check the catheter. Sherlock could practically feel the confused stare Mrs Hudson was shooting John and he could also feel how hard John was trying to ignore it.
The cool air rushed to Sherlock's legs when the sheets were pulled back. As gently as he could he lifted Sherlock's gown enough to be able to get a good view of the catheter but not enough to reveal anything to Mrs Hudson. "What the hell?" John suddenly exclaimed loudly dropping the gown back to its original position. Mrs Hudson jumped violently and Sherlock felt a rush of adrenaline surge through his body, useless, pointless. "The valve on the catheter was closed," John seethed. That really was unforgiveable; if that had occurred earlier in the healing process it could have gone as far as killing Sherlock. It could still be dangerous, if it had infiltrated he could have developed septicaemia. Once he had stopped seething he opened the valve, it took only a few moments. "Sherlock, I'm very sorry I didn't notice before. Goodness knows how long you've been lying down in that." Stupid, it wasn't something John should be expected to spot, why would he be looking for it? "Can you move your eyes if you want a nurse?" Nothing. "We need to get you cleaned up mate, do you want Mrs Hudson and I to clean you up?" A slight flutter of the eyelids. "Ok, just let me go and get some stuff. I'm going to phone Mycroft, get him to hurry up with getting you transferred, and then I'll be right back, promise." With a quick squeeze of Sherlock's hand John left.
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