Pain Management - Chapter 9

Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.

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There was a lot of pain in that episode….. though the management was somehow missing. So here is another chapter of how they might have dealt with the pain, it's Sherlock's turn now to handle it.

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Part 9 – Recovering

It was the beginning of December and getting cold outside, though the winter seemed to be a mild one. Sherlock had been back in Baker-Street for several weeks now. He still needed help with some things, which made him grumpy and unnerved on a regular basis. A physiotherapist visited him three times a week. Mycroft had managed to find someone who was enduring Sherlock's endless tries to resist every single exercise and being yelled at at least once per week. Stoically the man managed to go through the program unimpressed.

This evening John had tried to make Sherlock concentrate on relaxing and watching a film, but his flatmate hadn't allowed himself to be distracted from the files.

Finally John had realised it was no use, turned down the volume of the telly and tried to watch the film alone.

Sherlock had spread papers, sheets and pictures all over the living room floor and he rounded them constantly to look at them from different angles.

In order to jolly Sherlock along and keep him from destroying the house with nonsense experiments Mycroft and John had asked Lestrade to bring some cold case files over. Sherlock was only allowed to work at cases if he stayed in the flat and did the PT; Sherlock had agreed to that.

"Slow… too slow…" Sherlock murmured, he had stared at the chaotic floor for minutes in total silence.

"Hm?" John looked away from the TV.

"Why is my brain so slow these days? What is in the meds you make me take all day?" the healing man was unnerved once more.

"Sherlock, we have been over this - repeatedly - there is nothing in there that is affecting your thinking! You are recovering for god's sake, it is normal not to be on one's normal level."

"How do you know? I will analyse all the pills later with Molly."

John rolled his eyes and decided the only thing that would do both of them good was to look at the files with him.

Sherlock had made great progress in getting back to his former shape since he had returned to the flat, it was doing him good to be at home.

Because of the still present constant pain, his inability to move and his frustration about the whole Magnussen thing he was a pain in the proverbial.

Still, they were both enjoying living there again together. Their daily routine had switched back to the way it had been for years. John was extremely glad he was not alone there at nights any longer. The empty flat just reminded him too much of the time after Sherlock's fall. He was suffering nightmares regularly but they had become less frequent since Sherlock had been release from the clinic.

Life at the flat felt familiar and good.

John had realised during the long nights alone there that the events of the past months were getting to him more than he wanted to admit.

Some nights he didn't sleep at all and he had been seeing his therapist again several times in autumn. It was almost impossible to talk about his issues without unmasking Mary.

Nobody except of course Magnussen knew she was the one who shot Sherlock and they had agreed it needed to stay that way for now. So John had to keep the major aspect of his problems hidden, which made the sessions kind of useless.

Sherlock was not talking about his mental state of his own, sometimes though John saw small glimpses of distress. His friend was experiencing nightmares, too. John had seen and heard it in the hospital and back at home. He assumed that several of the emotions Sherlock had been faced with in the past months were absolutely new to him and he needed his time to sort them out and even find out what they were.

There was one thing though that was spiking now, Sherlock seemed very protective of John. He had been already since his return, though John had not noticed it in the beginning. But now Sherlock seemed even anxious when John left his sight and followed him to where he went regularly, sometimes it was almost comical.

It was worrying John a lot but he had decided to leave it until they were both better.

They were discussing the crime scene unfolded on the floor in detail now. Sherlock was comparing the outer circumstances and surroundings of the sites. Then he started unpacking the victim's photos, knelt down and added them into the collage.

The last victim was lying on the ground on paving stones, blood all over his face… he had been shot and John felt his blood run cold.

"Well, the victims have been beaten and then shot…" Sherlock elaborated.

The pattern of blood on the victim's face, it looked a bit like Sherlock after the fall, the wet black hair and the open eyes were adding to the impression.

John blinked several times to get rid of the association. He blew out his breath slowly to ground himself… His heartbeat was suddenly much too fast.

"Lestrade hinted that the incidents might…"

John stepped back and tried to calm down, this was either a panic attack or a trigger…

"…be connected to… John?"

John had backed away slightly and turned towards the kitchen to hide his rising distress.

"Where are you going? What's happening... John?"

"I need to pee."

Dammit! He was having trouble hiding his fast breathing, he knew he was about to be pathetic.

"John, I don't believe this is about a bathroom break," Sherlock informed.

"Don't…!"

He was breathing through his teeth and feeling shaky now.

"John… Tell me what's happening…" Sherlock had stood up, too, and was following him now.

The doctor felt reality slip away, he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Well aware that he would not be able to stay on his feet much longer so he sat down next to the bathtub and leaned against it, not trusting his legs any longer.

Suddenly, Sherlock was next to him and knelt down with a low grunt.

Privacy was still a foreign word to Sherlock. John should have locked the door if he wanted him to stay out.

"John? You're having a panic attack…"

Sherlock was holding out his hands but didn't touch him.

"Go'way!"

Was this a panic attack? The feeling of reality being torn away and him losing his footing in it grew stronger…

He had had those episodes before, they came with PTSD.

"I… need some space," he panted.

"I will not leave you alone," Sherlock informed calmly.

Cold fingers sneaked around his wrist.

He tried to drew away but Sherlock was persistant and easily followed his movement.

The touch grounded him and made reality feel a bit more real again.

"John, talk to me… tell me what's happening in your head, now!"

"She… shhot you… Oh god… she shot you…" John sounded panicked and angry at once.

"She didn't want to kill me! I am here, I am fine. Calm down!"

John leaned back his head and closed his eyes. He was trembling and trying to get his breathing under control.

"You haven't had a panic attack in ages, why now?"

"Had them… in past three years. You'ere not there, remem'er?"

Sherlock frowned, he tended to forget - or block out - that the time of his hiatus had been far worse on John than he had expected. He needed to soften the impact, he had failed to do that before, so he needed to do it better now.

"This will past, just breathe slowly."

"Don't… I know how this works. Just get out."

"Getting out would probably qualify as rude… and also would be careless, so I will not consider that." Sherlock fetched a large clean towel and made a loose roll, then worked it in between John's neck and the bathtub.

"Concentrate on listening to my breathing… an mimic it, please," Sherlock tried to assist. "You want to lie down?"

John shook his head. He knew it would fuel his panic.

"What do you need?"

John had never imagined Sherlock could ask this question. But he didn't know what he needed right now… and he knew Sherlock had changed a lot… so maybe…

Sherlock took his left hand and to his surprise lifted it to his own throat and pressed it against it.

"John, feel my pulse and know that I am alive… I'm fine."

He held John's hand against his neck and John was indeed able to feel the heartbeat in the blood vessel.

"Concentrate… John!"

"You were dead!… You looked like… that picture… after the fall… And she… she tried to kill you again… How could she do that!" John panted.

"I am so sorry I made you watch me fall… And Mary tried to safe us all!"

"No… How could… she do that…"

"I am fine, John. Slow down your breathing."

"She… almost killed you, your heart… stopped…"

"And I decided to come back to you."

"What?… Are you telling me… you had a… a near-death-experience?"

"I was in my mind palace… and I decided I need to be back with you," Sherlock explained.

"God…"

John's breathing was becoming faster again, he took his hand back and rubbed his eyes.

"This is nothing to be stressed out about… In fact it was meant to be reassuring."

"I tried… I tried to talk to… to you about how it affects you to have been shot… and you were all… closed up and now… now you jump out of the box… like that… and…"

John slowly blinked, it was harder to breathe.

"I know what it feels like to be shot… I… being this near death is…"

John realised he was fighting tears now.

Sherlock felt for his pulse again and looked into John's eyes, he maintained physical contact.

"I am sorry. I will not mention it again."

"No… that's not what I meant… I mean I want to - maybe I even need to - know such stuff… but this was just not the right timing… okay?… I understand why you said it… at that moment, though… Thank you… thank you for not… being dead," his voice broke and he clenched his teeth to calm his emotions and keep them inside.

"Yes, timing… I'll answer your questions concerning that matter later if you want to ask."

John fought to slow down his breathing rate and raised his eyebrows, kind of thrown off guard about the turns of events of the past two minutes.

Sherlock stood up and went to the kitchen. He fetched a plastic mug, put two teaspoons of sugar into it and then filled it with water. Stirring it, he came back to the bathroom and knelt down in front of John again, who had managed to regain a bit of his composure.

"Drink. It's water with sugar."

John wrinkled his nose but took the mug with still trembling hands.

For a long moment, he just stared at it, his breathing had calmed down a bit.

Sherlock had changed so much, or was he just thrown out of line after all the events?

His caring side was something not totally new but John was still overrun with it.

The speech Sherlock had done on his wedding was… it was extraordinary on all levels one could examine it… and it showed a whole new side of Sherlock, John was still not fully understanding.

John looked up into Sherlock's eyes, he was eyeing him intensely.

"Thank you," he sipped the liquid carefully, not wanting to get sick.

Sherlock stood up again and vanished once more.

He was so full of surprises, it still amazed the doctor on a regular basis. This was one of the best things about Sherlock…

When his friend returned he had a fleece blanket under his arm and two pillows under the other.

"What are you doing?"

"I am not in shape to help you up or to keep you from falling if you get dizzy, so we'll stay here for some more time. You are cold."

"So we are camping in the bathroom?"

"I will make some tea," Sherlock put the stuff down beside him and vanished again.

John could hear him filling the kettle.

Sherlock was right. He was shaky and his blood pressure was probably pretty low if how he felt was any indication. He fetched a pillow and placed it in his back, then dragged the folded blanket into his lab and hugged it.

Now, he felt exhausted and somehow wounded. He tried to sort out his emotions and the news and… He knew he was staring at the wall but he didn't care.

Several minutes later Sherlock came back in with two steaming mugs.

Slowly, he sat down next to John so they were shoulder to shoulder, handing over one mug. John took it gratefully.

"I'm sorry… I am still so angry with her."

"I heard somewhere that this is what friends are for," Sherlock informed in his no-nonsense way.

"Got that from a book, too?"

"Obviously."

John chuckled, "I'm really glad you're here with me. Thank you."

Sherlock stared at the wall, John guessed he still didn't know what do to with a compliment other than store the information away.

"You're welcome."

John raised his eyebrows and then chuckled once more.

They talked that night, on the floor. It was emotionally straining but it was healing, for both sides. Although Sherlock might negate that he needed emotional healing at all if he would have been asked later.

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A/N:

I'd love to get a review.