Ch. 11 More Machines
John was happy to see Sherlock's eyes open and responding with his weak grasp but it broke his heart to see more machines hooked up to him. Mycroft had stayed thru his brother's dialysis treatment before weariness took him over and he had to phone his driver to pick him up. John had never witnessed this Mycroft before, caring and soft. Maybe it had something to do with the former crap jobs he had his brother do for him, a kind of apology.
The dialysis nurse skillfully unhooked the tubing from the new lines in Sherlock's right groin. This was going to be difficult to explain to Sherlock when he was able to understand the severity of his treatments for his injuries.
He thought Sherlock looked worse, skin more pale and his uneven, shaky breathing echoed thru the tubing. Sherlock was still holding onto John's hands, his long fingers intertwined with shorter, rougher hands. If that was the only thing John could do for Sherlock right now, by hell he would sit there all day cradling his hands. Sometimes he would gently rub Sherlock's wrists where the restraints fit.
Lab personnel came and went, taking vials of blood from the central line in Sherlock's neck. Chrystal was back on shift for the day, changing out medications and fluids and setting up a nutrient feeding to Sherlock's nasogastric tube. Another machine to add to the melee that was keeping Sherlock alive. John watched as the pink solution fed its way into Sherlock.
"Dr. Watson, I'm going to have to unhook you two now. I need to dress Mr. Holmes' wounds and reposition him."
John blushed slightly and nodded as he unwound his hands from his friend and touched his brow gently. "He feels feverish."
Chrystal nodded, "He is. 101.3 It's from the shock to his body and all the tubes that aren't normal to have. I got an eye on it." She smiled.
"I..Is there anything I can do to help you? With him, I mean."
"If you want to help me by holding him over to you I can redress the wounds on his back."
John nodded. He was happy to help and it gave him something to do other than sit and watch his best friend sleep. "Come on, Sherlock. I've got you." He gathered him up and log rolled him toward him while Chrystal rearranged the tubes and wires around him.
Sherlock's back was healing over nicely, the wounds were not as deep as they had been when he came back from his 2 year European wanderings. Sherlock was wriggling beneath John's steady hands and he noticed that he was awake again. "Easy, mate. Just fixing your back. Be still. Shhh. That's right."
Then the coughing began.
"Just keep him rolled over to you, John. Must have loosened some mucous. Sorry, Sherlock time to suction again."
She rounded the bed to be beside John. Sherlock was still coughing, congestion and thick secretions coming up the breathing tube. His hands were clutching the sheet so tightly that his knuckles were white. She hooked up the suction tubing and moved it down the tube pulling the fluids while withdrawing the suction. Sherlock turned red and gagged as the secretions were suctioned away. "I know, Sherlock. I know you hate it. I do too." One more time then Chrystal cleaned his mouth with swabs while John coached Sherlock to breathe.
As they repositioned Sherlock on his back, he began to tremble. John noticed it first.
"Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes slowly opened and looked to John.
"Why are you shaking? Are you in pain?"
A slight nod.
"Are you cold?"
Another nod.
"You have a fever. You're going to feel cold."
Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them scanning the machines around him. John noticed his discomfort and redirected him.
"Sherlock, look at me. It won't be long. A few more days and they will take some of those tubes out. You're too weak to protect your airway right now." Sherlock reached a hand up toward John. John took hold of it. "I know you're scared but everything is good. You need rest to heal. Chrystal went to get you something for pain. Your lungs are still congested but they aren't bleeding anymore."
John stroked Sherlock's curly hair and Chrystal returned with pain medication. Sherlock's eyes never left John's as she slowly pushed the medication into the port on the back of his hand.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. If I could take your pain I would."
A small grin of his lips and slight nod.
That would be a small price to pay for all that Sherlock had done for him.