"Mr Holmes!"
The nurse's words came through teeth gritted out of pure frustration with the man.
"If you do not let us administer this, Mr Holmes," she continued, aiding the doctor to hold Sherlock's arm still to place the new cannula in his hand, "you WILL be here for the long haul. And I am sure that neither of us want that, do we?"
Jess knew she didn't. Mr Sherlock Holmes had been surely the most impossible and aggravating patient she had ever had to deal with in the 8 years she had worked at Sunnyville.
Sherlock's relaxed his arm for a brief moment, just long enough to place the needle, before he abruptly and bitterly yanked it away from their grasp.
"I assure you," he spat, his voice filled with hatred and venom, "that I have no intention of staying any longer than is absolutely necessary."
Right, Jess thought, wondering how many times she had heard that line or similar in recent years.
"If that is so, Mr Holmes," she sat alongside him, her voice noticeably calmer than it had been, "you really must allow us to help you."
Jess studied the young man closely, watching his downturned face and noting a sadness in his whole demeanour that she had really not been aware of before. She suddenly realised that she felt sorry for the man. He was alone. He'd had no visitors in the whole time he had been at Sunnyville, and he had an older brother, clearly with some considerable power, who had been pulling strings left, right and centre from the time Sherlock had entered the facility.
"Mr Holmes," she began, fractionally drawing his attention away from his sulk, "did I tell you how right you were about my husband... and Alyson on reception?"