Chapter 2
It was 10:00 a.m. by the time Sherlock and Lestrade arrived at the hospital to check on John's progress. Lestrade had texted the consulting detective the previous evening with the suggestion that Sherlock present himself at NSY first thing in the morning. Lestrade would take his statement and then the two of them could go visit John. The policeman's thinking was that, based on the injuries the doctor had sustained, if he was to be released that day he'd probably need all the help he could get to make it home in one piece.
It wasn't that Lestrade didn't have any faith in Sherlock's abilities. Rather, it was the younger man's attention span (or lack thereof) that worried Greg. It certainly wouldn't have surprised him to discover that once Sherlock had returned to 221B he forgot all about his injured partner and instead became engrossed in another of his frankly disgusting experiments. Amazingly, that was not the case: Sherlock showed up at his offices bright and early carrying a small bag that contained some fresh clothing for their injured friend.
Once again, Lestrade parked illegally near the entrance to the A&E and the two men marched in the doors, Sherlock with the bag slung over one shoulder. Rather than stop with Greg at the nurse's desk to find out if John had been moved and if it was all right for him to have visitors, Sherlock instead made his way directly to the lifts. Once the doors to the lift opened, Sherlock stepped inside, punched 4 and waited impatiently for the doors to close once again. He ignored Greg, who by this time was hurrying along the corridor calling for him to wait.
A bing heralded the carriage's arrival on the fourth floor, and as soon as the doors were open Sherlock was out of the lift and down the hall, intent on making it to John's room as quickly as possible. A short rap on the door and Sherlock stepped into the room, only to find it was empty. Where was John?
A pair of green-grey-blue eyes scanned the room, taking in all the data they could. "Ah," said Sherlock aloud, as he placed the bag he was carrying on the floor by the window. Just then, Lestrade appeared in the doorway and say, "You know, you could have waited. I was trying to tell you that John…"
"has been taken down to x-ray, presumably for another scan of his ankle," concluded Sherlock.
"How in the hell did you figure that out?" asked Lestrade in amazement.
"It was rather simple, Gustav. First off, John will be returning to this room because his belongings are still on the bedside table, and his chart is still affixed to the end of the bed. Doctor Samja mentioned yesterday that they had 'stabilized' John's ankle, but it was obvious that it had not yet been placed in a cast. They would have had to wait for some of the swelling to abate before placing a cast on the afflicted limb, and an x-ray would allow them to determine whether a cast would actually be necessary. And … John left me a note on the table."
At Sherlock's final pronouncement, Lestrade burst into laughter. "Yeah, that sounds like something John would do … wouldn't want anyone to worry! I checked at the floor desk and John should be back in about fifteen minutes. I'm going to get some coffee … real coffee, not that hospital crap. You want?"
"Milk, no sugar," responded Sherlock as he sat down in one of the chairs, crossed his legs and settled his coat around him.
"Since when do you take no sugar?" asked Lestrade. Sherlock was infamous around the Yard for how sweet he took his coffee.
"Not for me, for John. I'm sure he's desperate for caffeine by know."
Lestrade smiled at the consulting detective, said, "All right; back in a mo'," and disappeared out of the room.
As Sherlock settled himself in for a bit of a wait, he glanced around the room. It wasn't too bad a room, as hospital rooms go. At least it wasn't painted that institutional beige that purported to be soothing but rather seemed, at least to Sherlock, vomit-inducing. He reached over and slipped John's chart from the holder affixed to the end of the bed and began reading. He had only given it a cursory once-over the previous afternoon and if John was going to be released that day, Sherlock needed to know exactly what sort of care his friend would require on his return to the flat.
Sherlock had already cleared away some of the clutter in the sitting room the previous night and had even gone so far as to change the sheets on his bed and arrange John's pillows there as well. The plan was to install John in Sherlock's room on his return home. There was no way Sherlock was going to allow the injured man to make the trip up to his room on the top floor with a cast on his leg. Besides, the bathroom on the main floor was equipped with both shower and tub, while the small powder room adjacent to John's room held only a toilet and sink.
Sherlock had only been waiting about ten minutes when he heard the sound of voices nearing. One of them was John's. Listening intently, Sherlock could tell from the sound of John's voice that the man was still in quite a bit of pain, and he obviously had not slept well. But, he did sound rather cheerful, so the results of the x-ray must have been better than expected.
"Sherlock!" said John cheerfully as he was wheeled into the room. He was lying on a small, narrow transport bed with the head raised. He was covered to the waist with a depressingly-green blanket and the blue hospital gown did nothing to hide the bloom of bruising that was beginning to appear on the man's arms and torso. "It's good to see you."
"And you, John," responded Sherlock as he watched the nurse and the orderly transfer John to the regular bed. "How are you feeling?"
John grinned at his friend and said, "Well, despite not getting any sleep and feeling like I've been run over by a lorry, not bad. The x-ray they just took showed that my ankle is fractured, but not as badly as first believed. I won't need a cast; instead I'll be fitted for a boot. Now, I'm just waiting for Doctor Samja to stop by and let me know when I can get out of here."
John was just finishing up when Lestrade appeared in the doorway, carrying a cardboard tray holding three steaming cups. "John, looking good mate!" he said as he placed the tray down on the table and grasped John's right hand. "Well, okay, maybe not 'good' but a lot better than what you looked like yesterday," he continued as he wriggled one of the cups out of the tray and handed it John. "Milk, no sugar," he said with a grin as he handed another cup to Sherlock.
"Ta mate, you're a lifesaver," said John fervently has he took a sip. "Heaven," he moaned as he breathed in the aroma of the dark roast.
Sherlock, meanwhile, was holding his cup in his hand and said to Lestrade, "I didn't ask for coffee."
"I know; that's why I got you a hot chocolate," responded the D.I. as he took a sip of his own coffee.
Sherlock looked rather disgruntled at Lestrade's presumption, but once he took a sip, he had to give the other man credit. This was a real hot chocolate, made with full-fat milk; not one of those watery, came-from-a-packet jobs.
The three men chatted while waiting for Doctor Samja to make his appearance. Rather Lestrade and John chatted; Sherlock merely roamed the room checking the various drawers to see if there was anything worth liberating.
Lestrade was just finishing up telling John about what happened at the scene after he was taken away by ambulance when a knock sounded on the door and Doctor Samja stepped into the room. He was carrying John's x-rays and a clipboard that held papers and forms at least an inch thick.
"Good morning, John," said Doctor Samja as he set everything down on the table beside the bed and proceeded to slip the x-rays onto the lightbox affixed to the wall. Turning back to John, he gave him a raised eyebrow as if to say, "Do you wish these gentlemen to stay while we discuss your prognosis?"
John smiled at Doctor Samja and said, "I don't remember if I mentioned it yesterday, but this is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade of New Scotland Yard, and that lanky creature over there pawing through the drawers is my friend, Sherlock Holmes. They are more than welcome to stay. In fact, I'm pretty sure that Sherlock would refuse to leave in any case."
Doctor Samja nodded to the two men. "Gentlemen," he said. "Now, John, let's take a look at what's going on." Pointing to the x-ray he continued, "As you can see, there is definitely a fracture of the tibia, but it is not as bad as we first thought. On reviewing the x-rays, I can confirm that a cast will not be necessary; instead, we will fit you with a boot. BUT, that doesn't mean you can go walking around as you please – not that your knee injury will allow that at the moment. Still, it is good news. As for your knee, you've got a torn ACL and you'll have to wear an ACL brace for the length of your recovery. We'll also equip you with a forearm crutch for stability.
Now, regarding your shoulder and arm. I am giving give you a prescription for codeine to help control the pain from the shoulder realignment and I expect you to take it. At least the break is a clean one and you shouldn't have any issues as it repairs itself.
Finally, this morning's x-rays show you've cracked three ribs, not two as previously thought. As you know, there is not much we can do for them other than strapping them to provide some support."
While Doctor Samja was setting out the list of John's injuries, both Lestrade and Sherlock were paying close attention to what was being said – Lestrade because he couldn't believe his friend had suffered so much, yet still seemed quite cheerful and Sherlock because he needed to assimilate all the data in order that he be able to provide John with the proper aftercare.
Being a doctor himself, nothing that Doctor Samja told him came as a great surprise. John was just amazed he had come through the accident as well as he did.
When Doctor Samja finished speaking, John said, "So … does this mean I'm free to go home?"
Doctor Samja looked at John and laughed, "Anxious to get of here, are you? Actually, John, once orthopedics stops by and fits you for the boot and knee brace, you can be discharged. You've had no medical issues as a result of the minor concussion, so there really is no need to keep you. However, I can't release you unless you have someone who can stay with you for the next few days."
Lestrade opened his mouth to offer John his spare room when Sherlock spoke up, "Of course he'll be coming home. I'm his flat mate and I'll ensure that John follows your every instruction, Doctor."
"That's good. Just a couple of other things, then. John, I expect you to take the painkillers as prescribed. I'm only giving you a ten-day prescription at any rate. I want to see you back here at the end of the period for another evaluation. No walking on that foot or knee; in fact, you should keep them elevated as much as possible to help reduce the residual swelling. Breathing is going to be painful, but remember that you must try to take deep breaths as often as possible or you run the risk of a chest infection."
"I think that's it. If you have any questions, call me. If something doesn't feel right, call me. If your pain becomes unmanageable, call me. You've got my number. I've got to continue on my rounds, but I'll make sure the required paperwork is waiting for you at the desk. Otherwise, unless you need something, I'll see you in ten days. The nurse will let you know the date and time for your follow up."
"Thank you, Doctor," said John as he put out his right hand.
Shaking his colleague's hand, Doctor Samja said, "It was my pleasure, John." Turning to Sherlock, he said, "Make sure he doesn't overdo it; I've heard stories about him!"
With a final nod to Lestrade, Doctor Samja left the room.
"Wow … well, that's quite the list of injuries, John," said Lestrade as he stepped closer to the bed. "Are you sure you'll be okay at home? At least my place has a lift."
"Don't be tedious, Lestrade," drawled Sherlock as he reached to pick up the bag he had brought with him. "Of course John will be fine at home. Once we've got him up the stairs, there's no reason for him to have to do any additional stair-climbing." Placing the bag gently on the bed beside John's knee, Sherlock said, "I brought you some pyjamas and a jumper. I made sure the bottoms were wide enough to fit over a cast, so the boot and the brace shouldn't cause any problems."
Pulling the bag towards him, John peered into it and said, "Real clothes! Excellent! I've had enough of this ridiculous gown."
"Shall I leave you to get dressed?" asked Sherlock.
"Yeah, I should be able to manage it on my own."
"Look, John," said Lestrade, "I've got to get back to the office, but give me a call when you're ready to head home. I'll come and pick you up, and between the three of us I'm sure we can get you up the stairs and into the flat easily enough."
"You don't have to come back, Greg," said John, "I'm sure we can figure something out."
"John, just call me," said Greg sternly. "I'm happy to help in any way I can."
"Okay, thanks. I'll see you later, then," said John.
"Definitely," responded Greg. "Sherlock, walk me to the lift," he added as he left the room.
Sherlock gave John a quick look and John nodded and said, "I'm just going to get dressed. If I run into trouble, I'll wait for you to get back."
Sherlock followed Greg to the lifts and as they were waiting, Greg said, "Sherlock, are you sure you're ready for this? John is seriously injured, and he'll be depending on you for support. You can't just walk away, or forget about him. My offer to have him stay with me still stands."
"Lestrade," said Sherlock in an insulted tone, "I am perfectly capable of caring for John for the next little while. Besides, he's a grown man and is not afraid to state out loud for all the world to hear if he needs something."
"All right," said Greg as the lift doors opened. He stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor, "But just remember my offer."
"Good-bye, Lestrade!"
Sherlock slowly made his way back down the hallway to John's room, giving the other man time to dress himself, but as he neared the doorway, he heard John's low moan of pain. Sherlock stepped in to the room to see that John had somehow managed to get his pants and pyjama bottoms on, but he was stymied by the t-shirt. Between the pain in his ribs and the strapping around his shoulder, he was unable to get the shirt over his head. Sherlock stared at his bruised and battered friend. John's shoulder was strapped, his arm was in a cast that covered him from mid-upper-arm to fingertips, his ribs were wrapped and what could be seen of his torso was covered in dark blue-purple bruises. "Ohhh," he whispered.
Hearing the quiet exhalation, John sent his friend a grimace that held a hint of a smile and said, "Do you think you could…"
"Of course, John," overrode Sherlock as he took the t-shirt from John's grasp and bunched it up to slip it over his head. "Can you put your arm through the sleeve with the cast or should we just leave it?"
"Leave it for now," said John as he tried not to cry out. Sherlock was being extremely gentle, but at that moment, any movement was destined to cause discomfort. Despite Sherlock's care, by the time he was dressed John was panting due to both the pain and the exertion.
"Can I get you anything?" ask Sherlock as he worried his lower lip. He wasn't used to seeing John like this; usually the ex-Army doctor was the one doling out sympathy and assistance.
"No, Sherlock, I'm fine for the moment." Then, gesturing to his clothed body, he added, "Thanks for bringing me some clothes; I feel like a human being again now that I'm properly dressed."
Sherlock grinned at his friend and said, "It's like I told you yesterday. While I'm sure the nurses would have no problem with you prancing around in a backless gown, the rest of us really don't need that visual!"
"Oi!" said John with a laugh that quickly turned into a groan as he pulled his right arm across his chest. "Ouch … don't make me laugh."
It was a long three hours until John was finally released from hospital. By the time orthopedics had measured, fitted and then tested the boot and fitted John for a knee brace, his patience had been tested as well. Sherlock's patience was long gone; he had taken to wandering around the floors deducing people, to the embarrassment and anger of most he came across.
Finally, though, the paperwork was done, John's prescriptions had been filled and were now safely stored in his bag, and Sherlock was holding several pieces of paper outlining the "dos and don'ts" that John was supposed to follow for the next ten days. John was seated in a wheelchair with his bag and the forearm crutch carefully positioned so as not to fall and Sherlock had texted Lestrade to come and get them.
Sherlock wheeled John out of the building into the warm afternoon sunshine and over to a small sitting area where they could wait for Lestrade to arrive. John took a deep breath of clean air, even though the action caused him to grimace in pain.
Looking over at his friend, who was watching him intently, John cleared his throat and said, "Sherlock, I'm really sorry about all this."
"What do you mean?" asked the curly-haired detective.
"Well, my accident. I know it's going to cause you all sorts of inconvenience. I'm going to be pretty useless for the next little while."
"John, stop talking. First off, the accident was not your fault. If anyone is to blame, it would be me. I'm the one who dragged you along on this case in the first place. Secondly, you are not, nor will you ever be, an inconvenience. I am willing to provide you with whatever assistance you may require over the next weeks. And even if you cannot come on cases with me, you can still contribute to our partnership by performing whatever on-line research that may be required. After all, you can't be any slower typing with only one hand than you are with two!"
"Hey!" said John with a chuckle. "All right, well … thanks, Sherlock. For everything. I really appreciate it."
"Well, that's what friends do, isn't it?" asked Sherlock tentatively. "Look out for each other?"
"Yeah," said John fondly, "that's exactly what we do."
Not five minutes later, Lestrade pulled up, turned off the motor and jumped out. "John," he said, "I bet you're glad to have been sprung. All right, I've pushed the front seat back as far is it can go so you should be able to get in without too much difficulty. Sherlock, you'll have to sit in the back. You get John settled and I'll put all this stuff in the boot." As Lestrade took John's bag and crutch, Sherlock wheeled John over to the car and opened the front passenger door.
"So, how do you want to do this?" asked Sherlock as he looked from the car seat to his injured friend.
"I think if you remove this arm rest and then wheel the chair right over beside the car, I should be able to manoeuver over with a little bit of assistance."
It took a few moments, but finally John was seated in the front seat of the car, tears in the corners of his eyes from the pain of moving, and Sherlock was leaned over attaching the seat belt loosely over John's chest.
Lestrade slide in behind the wheel, took one look at John's pale and sweaty face and asked, "All right?"
"Couldn't be better," said John. "Let's just go home."
Once Sherlock was in and safely buckled, Lestrade started the car and slowly headed out of the parking lot and towards Baker Street. Being mid-afternoon, the traffic was light and Lestrade was able, for the most part, to avoid any potholes or sudden stops. However, by the time he pulled up in front of 221B, John was breathing shallowly and continuously swallowing.
"John?" asked Lestrade.
"For God's sake, John, don't be sick," said Sherlock as he slide out of the car and opened the front passenger door. "Lean back, relax and just breathe. You're fine."
John did as he was told, and after about a minute his colour returned to normal and his breathing evened out. "Definitely time for another painkiller," he said.
"Of course, but first we've got to get you out of the car and up to the flat. Just give me a minute," said Sherlock. He had stepped up to the front door and was searching for his keys when the door flew open and Mrs. Hudson appeared in front of him.
"I was watching for you," she said, as she looked over Sherlock's shoulder towards the car and John. "Oh, dear," she added, with tears in her eyes as she saw how battered John looked.
"Now, now, Mrs. Hudson. This is no time for tears. John will be fine; he is fine. But if you wouldn't mind making sure the door to the flat is open, Lestrade and I will get John up the stairs in no time."
Mrs. Hudson patted Sherlock's cheek and said, "You're a good man, Sherlock. The door is already open, and the kettle is on the boil. Once you're settled, I'll make some tea."
Sherlock nodded at his landlady and then returned to the car where Lestrade was crouched down, speaking with John. "No complaints, John. Let us do this."
"All right, Greg. You're right; I don't think I'll be able to handle the stairs right now."
Seeing Sherlock's shadow fall over him, Lestrade straightened up and said, "We'll have to carry John."
"My thoughts precisely," responded Sherlock as he signalled for Mrs. Hudson. "Mrs. Hudson, would you mind assisting us for a couple of moments."
With Mrs. Hudson helping to support John, the two men linked their arms to make a sort of chair for John to sit on. John wrapped his right arm around Lestrade's neck and gave a quick nod. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Lestrade and Sherlock straightened up and smoothly made their way through the front door and up the seventeen steps to the flat. Once there, they carefully transferred John to the sofa, where he leaned back with a heartfelt sigh of relief.
Lestrade hurried back down to his car to retrieve John's bag and crutch and by the time he'd returned to the flat, Mrs. Hudson was already handing out cups of tea to everyone.
"Ta, Mrs. H.," said John as she placed a half-filled mug in his right hand. Taking a sip, he smiled at his landlady over the rim of the mug and said, "This is the best medicine, ever."
"Oh," said Sherlock as he grabbed the bag Lestrade had placed by the door. He rummaged through to find John's medications and, after reading the instructions, popped off the lid and handed one of the tablets to John. "Here, take this."
John swallowed the pill with a tea chaser and looking at his friends, who were all looking at him with various stages of worry on their faces, said, "Thank you all. But don't look so worried. I'll be fine. I've been through worse, so some bruises and a broken arm are not going to keep me down."
"Of course not, John," said Greg as he drained the last of his tea. "I've got to get back to the office. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything … anything at all." The older man placed his mug on the tray sitting on the coffee table and walking over to John, clasped the smaller man's right shoulder and said, "I'm glad you're all right, John. I'm not embarrassed to say that you gave me a bit of a fright."
"I'm sorry, Greg," said John, "but once again, thank you for everything. I'll talk to you later, yeah?"
"Of course," said Greg as he headed towards the door. "And like I said, call me if you need anything." Just as Greg was through the door, Mrs. Hudson said, "I'll be heading back down now too. Detective, let me accompany you to the door."
It was quiet in the flat once Greg and Mrs. Hudson had said their goodbyes, and Sherlock took the opportunity to grab the afghan that was hanging off the back of John's chair and spread it over John's legs. "Why don't you try to get some rest," said Sherlock as he positioned a pillow under John's right foot.
John hadn't realized, but he'd been yawning for the last few minutes. Taking his cue from Sherlock, he said, "I think I will," and leaning back, he rested his head against the armrest of the sofa. He was soon asleep.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Sherlock, Greg and Mrs. Hudson were having a serious discussion at the bottom of the stairs.
"I mean it, Mrs. Hudson," said Greg. "I know Sherlock keeps saying that he's perfectly capable of caring for John, but I want you to call me if you think he's getting overwhelmed or there's a problem. John's a good friend and I think he deserves an easy recovery, don't you?"
"Of course, Detective. I'll keep an eye on both of them and I'll be sure to let you know if I think you need to step in, for John's sake."
"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. You're a wonder. Well, I'm off, but I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon to see how things are going up there." Then, with a kiss to Mrs. Hudson's cheek, Lestrade was out the door. Mrs. Hudson glanced up the stairwell and whispered, "Poor John," before she disappeared into her flat.
Upstairs, all was quiet as John slumbered on the sofa and Sherlock sat in his chair, carefully reading through the various information sheets the hospital had given them on John's departure. He was going to be sure that he gave John the best care possible. After all, it was the least he could do for his friend.