John moaned, blood on his lips, breath hitching.
"Looks like he's punctured a lung. Ribs are shifting, possible flail injury, but only minor. Looks like a few fingers are broken, contusion to the head," said Christian, checking over John's prone form. The trauma team flooded the stairwell, bringing a gurney with them.
"I want x-ray done on his chest, check wrists and fingers as well, throw in a MRI for good luck and check for any brain injury," ordered Christian. The nurses on the team lifted John onto the gurney, then pushed him out into the main trauma area, leaving Alice and Lestrade behind.
"Come on, I'll take you back up to Sherlock's room."
"You know Sherlock, sometimes I think you refuse to eat because you know it annoys me," muttered John, slamming the plate of food on the table.
"Sorry, what was that?" Asked Sherlock, absorbed in the article he was reading.
"Forget it," mumbled John. He turned to put the kettle on, then found Sherlock's arms wrapped around him, his chin resting on his shoulder.
"I've made you angry," whispered Sherlock. John exhaled, then turned to face Sherlock, taking his slender hands in his rough, worn ones.
"I'm not angry at you, I promise. I'm just frustrated; you need to eat, or you'll get sick. You need the energy to solve crimes," said John, giving Sherlock's hand a quick squeeze. Sherlock glanced down, remorse in his stance.
"I'm sorry John." John stroked back a wayward lock of hair, caressing Sherlock's cheek.
"Just… just try and eat a little bit. Doesn't have to be a full meal, just enough to keep you going," pleaded John.
"I'll try John. But first, I need you to do something for me," responded Sherlock, hope glittering in his eyes.
"What?" Sherlock leaned close to John's head, whispering in his ear.
"Wake up."
They moved John back up to Sherlock's room four hours later, Greg and Molly trailing behind.
"What's their status?" Asked Molly, clinging to Greg.
"Sherlock is currently sedated after suffering through thirty minutes of near continuous seizures. We would have sedated him sooner, but he's resistant to two of the typical sedatives we use. John, for one reason or another, is refusing to wake up. We've now got Sherlock's medical team taking on John's care as well," said Christian, reading off their notes.
"What about the fall down the stairs?" Asked Greg.
"There is no evidence of bleeding on the brain, two ribs have been confirmed as broken as well as four fingers and his patella was dislocated," said Christian.
"What do we do now?" Asked Molly quietly.
"I want to talk to Mycroft. Once I've spoken to him, then we'll work out the best course of action," answered Christian.
"Thanks for that. We might head out now, give you a chance to prepare for your meeting with Mycroft." Greg and Molly left, and Christian took a seat between the two beds. Carter came in, carrying a strong coffee.
"You look exhausted," said Carter, handing him the steaming mug.
"I'm starting to feel it," admitted Christian, taking a swig.
"Anything I can do for you?" Asked Carter.
"I need you to pull together the medical team for a meeting, and call Mycroft. This is one meeting that is not going to end well, and I need everyone on deck," said Christian, rubbing his brow.
"Okay, I'll pull together the meeting. Alice and I can handle whatever these two throw at us, and you need to rest. Room three has just been discharged, and it won't be filled until tomorrow. Try and get an hour of sleep, recharge before taking on Mycroft and his attitude," suggested Carter. Christian inhaled before handing Christian the files.
"An hour. No more."
Mark, Hannah and Tim sat at the table in the family room, shuffling through notes while they waited for Christian and Mycroft to arrive.
"Any change in John's status?" Asked Hannah, shuffling through Sherlock's papers.
"According to all the tests we've done, he's fine," responded Mark.
"He just refuses to wake up and speak," retorted Tim.
"Well, I'm here, Mycroft is here, let's get this meeting done," said Christian, sailing in. Mycroft trailed behind him, impeccably dressed, the only thing different being the concern in his eyes.
"Hello Mycroft," said Mark, closing the files.
"Dr Wainwright," acknowledged Mycroft.
"Start with Sherlock. Hannah?" Indicated Christian.
"Sherlock's blood glucose levels have been a little unbalanced, and he experienced his first hypo whilst awake; he was aware of what was happening, but was unable to articulate to Carter what exactly was going on. We assessed and treated from there," said Hannah.
"All was going well until this afternoon, when Sherlock had a seizure that didn't appear to stop," added Mark.
"It's referred to as status epilepticus," interjected Christian.
"Sherlock seized for nearly thirty minutes before we were able to find a medication that would ease the symptoms. He's currently sedated; the stress of John going missing triggered a seizure much faster than anticipated," said Mark.
"The seizures have agitated the wound sites, but we're monitoring him," said Tim.
"Now John. He escaped from his bed earlier, and took a fall down the stairs. We've patched him up, but he has yet to regain consciousness. All the tests we've done indicate that he's fine, he's just refusing to wake up," reported Mark. Mycroft glanced at the four doctors, face pale.
"What have I done?"
"Sherlock! Slow down! For Christ sakes, I can't keep up with you when you're like this," grumbled John.
"It's the thrill of the chase John! Keep up," replied Sherlock.
"I'm hungry, and dirty, and we've barely had any sleep. How on earth are you still going?" Asked John. Sherlock whirled around, Belstaff rippling in the mild breeze, and pulled John close, sealing his lips around John's, kissing him briefly.
"Soon. Soon we will be finished, I promise. It's the daughter, always the daughter," said Sherlock, briefly touching his forehead to John's. John kissed back, looking into Sherlock's eyes.
"Only if you promise," responded John wearily.
"I promise John, but I need you to do one thing for me."
"What is it?"
"Wake up."
Sherlock pried open an eye, his head pounding, mouth dry. He rolled over to find Mycroft sitting next to his bed, looking creased in his suit.
"Go 'way," he whispered.
"How are you?" Mycroft asked.
"My head hurts. Where is John?" Asked Sherlock wearily.
"He's in the bed across from you," answered Mycroft. He stood up, pressing the call button, and remained standing over Sherlock.
"Is he okay?" Asked Sherlock.
"I'll let Christian explain," said Mycroft gently. Sherlock glanced angrily at his brother before throwing back the blankets. He struggled to an upright position, scabs on his back peeling a little as skin stretched taut. He gasped for air, the new vertical position making his head spin.
"God, Sherlock, what are you doing?" Asked Christian as he entered the room. He stood in front of Sherlock, catching him as plunged forward, pure oxygen making him dizzy.
"I need to see John," demanded Sherlock.
"You can see him, right over there," responded Christian, trying to make Sherlock lie down again.
"No, no, I need him," responded Sherlock, trying to make himself understood.
"Mycroft, help me out here," pleaded Christian. Mycroft crossed to the other side of the bed, blocking Sherlock's view of John.
"Please. Please," begged Sherlock.
He needed to feel John's pulse under his fingertips, his warm breath, to feel him living.
Mycroft glanced at Christian, and nodded once.
"Okay Sherlock, hold onto me, Mycroft and I will get you to John," said Christian quietly. He wrapped Sherlock's arm over his shoulder, Mycroft mimicking his every move. The pair of them lifted Sherlock's weak body across the room and into the chair next to John's bed. Sherlock stretched an arm out and snagged John's hand in his, wary of the splinted fingers.
"What… will he be okay?" Asked Sherlock, breath catching in his throat.
"He's not woken up yet; Mark is concerned," said Christian, closely monitoring Sherlock.
"Why?"
"All his tests show that he should be awake and speaking, yet he's still asleep," pointed out Mycroft.
"Sod off My," snapped Sherlock. He looked at John's peaceful face, concerned.
"John? Please, John, wake up," begged Sherlock. Christian glanced up at the monitors; no change.
"John, I need you. Please," pleaded Sherlock, panic starting to set in. He stood up, ignoring Mycroft and Christian, and leaned in close to John's ear.
"You're not a mistake."