John dozed in the bedside chair beside his best friend, a still and very much injured Sherlock Holmes. Nurses came and went thru the night, checking Sherlock's vital signs and administering medications.
When John nodded awake, it was morning. He didn't have to work at the clinic so he decided to stay put and keep watch over Sherlock just in case there were any changes in his condition. Now that Sherlock was stabilized, he needed to contact Mycroft. He texted him from his phone.
Sherlock has been found. He's been injured.
I am out of country right now. How injured?
Stable for now, pneumonia and hemothorax. On a vent.
I will be there as soon as I can. Take care of my brother.
As much as John thought Mycroft a complete ass, he did care for Sherlock. A radiology technician and a nurse entered the room with equipment for an x-ray of Sherlock's chest. John excused himself to fetch some coffee from the lounge.
Returning to the room, he noticed that the nurses had turned Sherlock to his right side, fluffy pillows propping up his back and hip. Now that Sherlock faced John he could clearly see his pale face. It seemed that Sherlock had no color at all in contrast with his dark hair. John pulled his chair closer to the bed and sat down. Sighing, he looked at the medications hanging from the IV pole. The larger bags were fluids that kept him hydrated and supported his system. Others were medications, antibiotics for infection, pain and sedation, and electrolytes. His urine had been emptied from the bedside bag. He gently pulled back the blankets to take a peek at Sherlock's abdomen.
Lifting his gown, John saw that his belly was still swollen but was not as protuberant as it had been when he first saw him tied to the frame. His testicles looked bruised and slightly swollen. The surgeon had inserted a drainage catheter into his scrotum attached to a bulb-like drain that was collecting clear watery fluid. Looking at the monitors, Sherlock's blood pressure was a bit on the low side, probably from the medications. His heart rate was steady and the rhythm strip looked normal.
"Looks like you might just make it thru again, Sherlock." John felt his friend's forehead. It was warm, like a fever that is just beginning.
A nurse appeared at the door and quietly knocked.
"Is now a good time? I need to adjust some of his vent settings. Want to wean him off as soon as we can."
"Good." John nodded in agreement. He watched her work as she checked Sherlock's monitors and spoke softly to him before she adjusted the settings. She smiled at John when she noticed him watching her talk to Sherlock. "He's going to be just fine."
"I know." he replied.
She smiled again, "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to him." she indicated Sherlock with a tip of her head toward his still body. She placed her stethoscope into her ears and proceeded to listen to Sherlock's lungs and belly. She looked to John when she finished.
"The vent is set on an assisted cycle. It will let him breathe when he can and breathe for him when he can't. We're going to lighten his sedation and see how he does."
She checked the breathing tube in Sherlock's mouth. "Mr. Holmes, I'm going to brush your teeth for you. It will feel a bit weird." She gently cleaned his mouth with dental swabs, suctioning out the moisture from his mouth. "I hate to not brush my teeth in the morning, don't you?", she then wiped his face with a moist cloth. "There, a bit more handsome."
"Thank you." John was taken by her compassion.
"You're welcome. Give us a ring out if you, or Mr. Holmes needs anything."
"Sure. Thanks again."
After she left, he leaned over to Sherlock. "Looks like you have an admirer already, you bloody sod. In a coma no less. You are amazing!"
Sagging back in the chair, he waited on Sherlock to respond to the new changes in his treatment. He hoped that it wouldn't be too traumatic for the poor detective.