Chapter 2: What's in a miracle?
John found himself awake this time not because of the nightmares but because of this slow persistent knocking on his door. He rubbed his eyes as he got off the bed, yawning as he twisted the door knob.
What happened next was something he never prepared himself for.
A body slumped onto John, he smelled like sweat, rain and blood. The man had a strong physique beneath the trembling. His breathing was shallow and labored… barely noticeable. He was murmuring something but John could make nothing of it. John, feeling the full weight of the man on him, with much difficulty dragged the shaking and wet body onto the sofa. He took a step back taking in the scene. He couldn't quite make out who this man was with all the dirty curls covering his face. Curls. John's eyes widened as he came to realize who this man was.
Sherlock.
This man lying on the sofa, half dead is Sherlock. He knelt on the soft carpet, brushing away the locks of hair and dirt revealing the man's face. Indeed, it was Sherlock, his eyes shut and face tensed from pain. He was dressed in a white tank top in rugged blue jeans and boots… way too little for November in London, plus it was raining that night. John had no idea how Sherlock got here or how he is even alive. He saw his friend lying dead on the pavement, blood streaming endlessly onto his face, he had no pulse. He remembered clearly, he took his pulse and there wasn't one. John was very confused, questions filled his mind and a wave of emotion overwhelmed him. He stood staring at this shell of a man before him barely alive on the sofa.
"Sherlock" John began, holding back tears.
"Sherlock, can you hear me?"
"ye…yess" was all Sherlock could reply, his eyes squeezed tighter.
"Hang on, I'm going to clean you up, hang in there." John replied before getting up towards the kitchen. He grabbed a small pail and filled it with lukewarm water and soaked a towel in it, stopping to dim the lights hoping to soothe Sherlock's eyes. He was kneeling on the carpet again, he wrung the towel and wearily began cleaning the dirt off. Sherlock flinched at the touch. He looked so fragile, so vulnerable…
"Hey it's okay I'm just going to wipe the dirt off, make you more comfortable and check your wounds, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." John replied gently.
Sherlock visibly relaxed at his voice and let John clean his face. After John wiped the dirt and dried blood off, a huge gash across his face beginning from his right temple and ending at his cheek was revealed. John frowned at it making a mental note to remember to check if Sherlock has a concussion. He dipped the towel back into the pail and wrung it once more, the water in the pail turning brown. John took out the towel putting it between his fingers intending on cleaning Sherlock's body. He looked up. The hazel brown met the electric blue.
"John" Sherlock said, his voice sounding hoarse from lack of use.
"Sherlock" was all John could manage before tears streamed down his face.
"I'm…I'm so sorry"
John didn't know how to reply to this but except stare, his mind was reduced to a hollow shell.
"Um… let's not talk about this now, I need to get you out of this shirt and into some proper clothes, can you sit up?" John finally replied.
Sherlock struggled grasping his side, his breathing hitched. John slipped his arm under Sherlock's armpit pulling him to a sitting position, head propped up against the union jack cushion. John gently removed Sherlock's shirt careful to make sure he doesn't aggravate his wounds, this only revealed Sherlock's naked, broken and battered chest. Bruises painted Sherlock's pale chest blue-black. He was sure there were broken ribs, there were lashes everywhere his body some quite recent and some old. The worse was a poorly stitched gunshot wound below his right shoulder, it looked infected and there was fluid seeping out of it.
"Jesus Sherlock, what the hell happened?"
"I…I'm sorry" Sherlock's eyes were beginning to water now.
John looked at him, sighed and said "Be right back, I'm just going to grab the first aid kit."
John's disappointed… you're a disappointment, you shouldn't have come back.
The first aid kit was tucked under Sherlock's bed, dusty from lack of use ever since Sherlock was gone. He had patched Sherlock up before, usually because Sherlock was not careful while on a case or got into a scuffle. But this time is different, this time is big. He opened it and saw that there were enough materials to roughly clean and patch the wounds up before turning around, making his way back towards the living room.
Sherlock's eyes were closed again. John's doctor mode was on and he cleared his throat softly before setting a chair opposite Sherlock, getting ready to clean and dress his wounds. He began by cleaning off the congealed blood on his chest with the wet towel, he would love to give Sherlock a bath but that would have to wait. He reached into the kit and took out a small bottle of gel labelled 'Arnica" and untwisted the bottle, he dug the spatula into the bottle scooping up a greenish black gel before applying a thick layer onto Sherlock's bruises resulting in Sherlock flinching at the sudden cooling sensation. He let the gel set, moving on to the other wounds. He removed the blood-stained stitches below his shoulder and began to examine it. John was going to have to drain it to prevent the infection from spreading. This was going to hurt. Sherlock's eyebrows knitted as John began draining the wound as quickly as possible before applying the antiseptic solution onto and around the wound letting some of it seep into his wound burning the already injured flesh.
"It'll be over soon, just hang in there." John comforted upon seeing Sherlock's pained face.
John quickly finished up before stitching it back with a fresh set of stitches finally bandaging it to prevent Sherlock from ripping them out. He then went back to the broken ribs taping them up, tight enough to prevent them from aggravating but not too tight not wanting to affect Sherlock's already labored breathing. He then proceeded to clean and plaster the remaining lashes on Sherlock's chest, he was thankful that none of them were too serious to require stitching. John left to get Sherlock a new shirt and sleeping pants returning shortly to find Sherlock fiddling with the bandage below his shoulder.
"If you fiddle with that and rip your stitches it's going to be another painful round of disinfecting." John warned.
Sherlock stopped and lifted his head up looking at John, his face pale and expressionless.
"I need to get that gash on your head checked out, and your ankle looks bad." John said shifting his eyes to the ankle that was twisted at an awkward angle.
"But first let's change your clothes so you smell less like Hyde Park." John said attempting to lift the mood but only received a blank stare from Sherlock.
After ten minutes of getting Sherlock out of that wet pair of pants, into some new underwear and trousers he knelt to the floor beside the twisted ankle. He was thankful that it was twisted and not broken but it also meant that he'll half to pop it back in, and he hasn't done that in years.
"Okay this needs to go back in." John told Sherlock pointing to the ankle.
"I'll count to three. It'll be over real quick."
Sherlock took a deep and hitched breath, grabbing the cushion tight, his knuckles turning white.
"One…Two.."
POP!
"You said three!" Sherlock cried, fresh tears streaming down his face.
"Three." John replied, standing up taking a seat besides Sherlock.
Sherlock smelled John's familiar scent.
Still using Hugo Boss
Sherlock thought to himself.
After examining the gash John concluded that Sherlock was suffering from a mild concussion, not bad enough to leave any serious repercussions, just one hell of a headache.
"This, it going to leave you with a headache for quite some time." John said pointing to the gash.
"I want to move you to the room so you can get some rest, come on." John said slipping his arm under Sherlock's armpit again, slowly pulling him to a stand.
The short trip to the room was difficult and painful, for both of them. Despite Sherlock's malnutrition, he still weighed a hefty amount. By the time they reached the bed, a thin sheen of sweat formed on Sherlock's forehead, both were panting. Sherlock's breathing was still uneven, John deduced that it was due to the pain and left to get him some pain medication. He came back with a tiny syringe and a bottle of tiny white pills to find Sherlock hunched over, trying desperately to catch his breath.
"Sherlock lie down." John said gently lowering Sherlock onto the bed tucking him under the duvet.
"This is a mild pain medication and sedative to help you sleep." John said lifting the syringe up
"While this should help with the headache." John said again lifting the bottle up. He gently inserted the syringe into Sherlock's vein. The transparent fluid flowing into Sherlock's bloodstream.
"Don't go…" Sherlock begged.
"I'm not going anywhere, rest now, I'll be here when you wake." John smiled as Sherlock's eyelids drooped slowly.
"Tha…thank you… for being my doctor… John." Sherlock murmured before the sleep took him in, his eyes now completely closed.
"I'll always be your doctor Sherlock, good night." John said, a smile forming on his face.
John spent the next hour in the chair he moved into the room, contented just staring at the slow but steady rise and fall of his best friend's chest.
This chapter's a little longer... I am physically incapable of writing long chapters so sorry! There's more to come, trying to update regularly. Do leave me reviews on how I can improve and ideas on how you guys want the story to be like. I have chapter 3 written out I just need to edit it :D MORE COMING SOON!