A/N: I got a follower. ;w; For this absolutely horrible story. Thank you. Anyhow, I quickly finished the editing for this chapter so here! Two chapters! How about that? Maybe I can stretch for three?
This chapter will introduce our favorite detective~! Of course. I couldn't go too far without mentioning him. He is the only consulting detective in the world. With that said, not much to mention in this chapter since this is, again, another informational chapter, but enjoy it anyways! Read/follow/fav/review. I'm happy with either.
Good luck understanding this soon-to-be-complex series.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. *sigh*
Chapter 2: Muted
Before I enter the room, I slip on latex gloves and a mask. I hate the damn things, but it was all worth it to help a patient.
"What's the causes?" I muttered, cursing myself for my lack of vocabulary at the moment. Perhaps it was the conversation I had with Sarah. I didn't think it affected me at all. Not nearly this much.
Whatever the case may be, I hope the young man got what I meant to say. Maybe I should go home and sleep after this procedure. This wasn't acceptable. I should always be at my top health when it concerns to the life and death of a person under my hands. I don't want a patient to lose a drop of blood because I could have prevented it by eating more.
That's not how a doctor acts and that is not how I act.
The young man beside me looked at me briefly before looking straight ahead. When he spoke his voice was crystal clear and to the point.
"Bullet wound in the lower abdominal area, several cuts varying in deep to shallow along his chest and arms, and he seems to have a cracked bone in the ulna along his right arm. Multiple bruises across the cranium and abdominal areas as well." This kid deserves a raise for all the information he told me without messing up or changing expressions. It made me happy to know he was going to be my aide throughout this ordeal which was no doubt a little domestic in an alley.
Isn't that why most people came to the hospital now? It wasn't for the flu or even a broken arm from falling out of a tree. Now, it was drug smuggling or rape in a dark alley somewhere in the grime zones of the city.
But that doesn't pertain to me. I am a doctor and I have no right to judge a patient no matter what background caused their injuries. The soldier in me would beg to differ, however.
Opening the door, I half expected to see a man unconscious and breathing slowly. It was the usual procedure for the patients who come through this branch. They were to be placed on medication for the pain and in the best position possible for the doctor performing the surgery and for the patient leaving their lives in the doctor's hands.
That is what I expected.
Instead I am met with curious and slightly annoyed eyes. A frown pulled the corner of the man's lips down though I couldn't decipher if it was of thought of frustration. Walking closer, I kept eye contact with the supposedly injured man. I couldn't see the color (when I say color I meant the shade of black or gray) correctly with the amount of lighting this room permitted, but he appeared to be fully awake judging by his pupils and alert stance.
I've been in the military long enough to see that.
My first guess was that my aide might have forgotten to turn the gas on for him to fall asleep, but the young man shook his head at me quickly. He seemed to have read my mind ahead of me.
"I tried to administer the procedures, but he wants to remain awake. He said something along the lines of not trusting his life with doctors who don't know what their doing." He grimaces at the phrase and I could tell the young man didn't like this patient at all. Nonetheless, since he was in the health profession, he would have to remain with tact and act unaffected to these remarks. So far he was doing a good job.
I nodded and continued to make my way to the gurney. Those eyes followed me and I tried not to look at them now that I knew the reason for his surprising alertness. It was a little odd having somebody watching me stitch and take out a bullet, but it wouldn't be the first time. I was an army doctor. This was nothing compared to what I have seen there.
I tapped a few buttons on the side of the technological gurney and it changed to a wider angle that gave me a better view of the wound. Well, wounds I mean.
Those watching eyes never faltered.
"Scalpel," I ordered and the young man placed the instrument in my hands as he cleaned up the wounds for me to stitch later. He was always moving, always getting something done which is what I would be doing if I was in his shoes.
But that wasn't the point. No, right now I needed to continue the examination and not concentrate to much on watching the aide for any mess ups. I could do that later; after I got out the most offending injury. The bullet.
Considering the slash marks, it appeared the patient had a dispute with perhaps a male addict antsy until his next hit. The anxious man cornered the patient and then slashed at him when he wouldn't offer his money no doubt. After getting up from the slashes that were probably meant to make him stay down, the offender panicked and shot him.
'Then he ran like all the others' I added bitterly. The man's eyes slitted and I instantly remembered I was being watched. It was like being evaluated all over again.
Concentrate. Keep your biases to yourself.
Lack of blood on his person. The bullet has clogged the blood flow, which was luck on his part. If he fell any other way, he might have died from the blood loss. He was fortunate it didn't hit his lungs or stomach. That would be even nastier than a simple misfire. In fact, he probably wouldn't even be alive now let alone glaring at me.
Narrowing my eyes, I used my fingers to pull the skin around the bullet wound gently, fully aware of the gaze following my hands. Surprisingly, the man didn't even flinch from the pain he should have felt.
"I gave him a shot of morphine to keep the pain to a minimal since he wouldn't use the anesthetic," The young man added immediately when I glanced at him questioningly. I nodded to show my approval and continued my way into locating the bullet.
It wasn't hard to find. It wasn't even difficult to dislodge from it's location. Nine millimeter. Typical gun. A grim smile crosses my features as I ordered the kid next to me for the forceps. He handed them to me quickly and I pulled out the bullet, dropping it in a tray beside the other tools. While the assistant went to cleaning the bloodied tools, I quickly reduced the bleeding of the wound with a few expert sutures before removing my own reddened hands.
I held my palm out and the aide gave me the tools used for stitching the wound effectively. Sutures would last until the wound heals, but I would have to stitch it otherwise the exterior wound will be able to contract infection. I didn't blame this man for wanting to remain awake. I don't know many people who could actually stitch an actual suture together. The ones that could can easily be placed on one hand.
The needle went in quickly with the suturing keeping the lips of the injury together. I stitched it so it is firmly interlocked but not uncomfortably so. I should know this I have been on that end multiple times and it is awful and irritating. I'm not going to do that to this man who still hasn't moved his gaze from my hands.
Snipping the thread, I backed away for a moment before tackling the next issue. There were the deep cuts along the chest, upper abdominal to be exact, and the arms. They just needed to be stitched up and maybe attached with gauze. The cracked bone would need some plaster perhaps.
The bleeding. I should stop that first. The bone didn't break through the skin, nor is it even broken. He is in no danger for the moment because of the arm.
Cleaning up the few blood drops that protruded from the wound, I stopped my hands when I was finally met with the flinch I was waiting for. Looking at the man, he had his eyes narrowed in pain and I could tell he was taking deep breaths and letting them out choppily. The morphine had burned off. If he wasn't placed on another dose, he might cause some sort of shock to occur on top of the blood leaving through the cuts quicker than before.
I nodded to the aide and he grabbed a syringe. A second later, the syringe was placed on the tray.
"He doesn't want anymore. He says he's fine. Feeling no pain was weird." The aide seemed a little perplexed over that comment but I just found it different.
I laughed at that and shook my head before fixing my composure.
Alright then. I guess I'll continue what I was doing then. I can't deny the patient what he prefers.
Cleaning the wounds without another interruption, they were quickly stitched and covered in gauze leaving the cracked bone probably the easiest out of all of this.
Using the plaster, I took his right arm into my hand and gingerly applied pressure to the upper and lower ulna. He flinched after the smallest amount on the upper. Nodding, I used the plaster and effectively solved the injury. It was a simple sprain. It would probably be mended within the next week.
Backing away from the patient, I slipped off my gloves and grabbed a few dry towels.
"Go tell the infirmary ward that he will be there soon." I motioned for the door and the aide was out within the next second. I proceeded to organize the tools and clean them while waiting for the verdict. Since I was the doctor for his injuries, I would have to be the one to present them to him.
Using the dry towels, I picked up each tool and carried them to the small sink. I was careful not to leave any traces of bodily fluids on the sink or the handle. Who knows what this man may have.
Slowly, the midnight black substance on the metal was washed off leaving it in it's metal shine. I have been told that blood is actually this color called crimson, but I don't know what that looks like. Don't know why I was given the name because now I want to see it. I want to give the color a name.
Too much hopes. I really should stop this nonsense.
It was similar to the feeling of putting a small coin in a jar for hopes of being rich in the future. Improbable.
I felt something pull the long sleeve under my scrubs and I peered up to see the man looking at me with... interest?
"Yes?" I asked with the usual doctor voice. The man rolled his eyes like he wanted me to drop it. He also looked pointedly at the mask covering his mouth for the oxygen.
Right, he couldn't really speak to me with the oxygen mask over his face, now could he?
I judged morals with curiosity and sighed before pulling down the mask.
"I don't think you are supposed to do that after a situation such as this," he mused and I was taken back by how baritone his voice was. It was like melted chocolate, but definitely not in the way that was appealing. Oh no. Definitely not.
Putting the last of my tools aside, I shook my head, "No. But I would assume you are out of the woods. In a few minutes, my aide will return and you will be taken to the infirmary ward."
"I know, I know," he sighed before looking at me with annoyance, "I was here when you said it the first time. I'm injured, captain, not deaf."
I stiffened at the use of my military rank. How did he?
"How did you..."
He waved his hand, dismissing it entirely, "Another time. I'm sure brother dearest is more than likely making arrangements so I am in my own private room. He always does like getting in my business when it is obvious he is unwanted." He continued muttering things about his brother but I couldn't hear anything besides "Fatcroft" or "Meddler".
A smile appeared as I laughed a little at the annoyed man who clearly had a brother with a severe brother complex.
The mutters ceased as the man looked at me with confusion.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing," I shook my head, "I just find it amusing how you must be in your late twenties and your brother is still doting on you like a mother hen."
For once, that scowl on the man's face tilted into a smile. I seemed to have amused him. That's good. Scowling didn't fit well with him. Nor did any of the insults he seemed to be accustomed to giving, but that was another topic altogether.
"I assure you, it is as pathetic as it sounds," the man sighed. "But he still finds the need to control my life despite the fact he is clearly unneeded and unwanted. I doubt he will ever get the hint."
I grinned and thought of Harry before kicking the thought out. No, I really don't want to be thinking of her. That was not the same thing as this.
"You will meet him soon no doubt."
I looked up, "Hm? Who?"
He rolled his eyes, "My brother. He will come in and attempt to intimidate you with his brolly and judgmental expression. Just ignore it. It's all for show. Actually, can you do me a favor and perhaps not give in to him entirely? Seeing him flustered would be the best thing." He chuckled lowly and I found myself observing his laughing face. It was depleted of any lines his face had when he frowned or looked annoyed.
"Will do, although I don't see why he would come to me. I'm just one doctor in this place." I shrugged.
"Confidentiality."
"I already do that. It's part of being in the health care," I reminded but the man shook his head, his dark hair bobbing at the movement.
"No. He will want this absolutely silent. He abuses his power really. He's probably in the process of hiding the entire scene so nobody will know," he muttered. He had that look of annoyance on his face. It was humorous really. His brother was trying to help him, or protect himself, and he just wanted to be left alone to his own devices. God, it reminded me of Harry and I. Too much.
Before she found her mate and saw color, well, as much as a Pastel could see.
Again, I need to refrain from thinking of her. There's nothing I can do to strengthen their bond.
Instead, perhaps I should be preparing myself for this apparently stoic man.
"Why would your brother hide the scene?" I asked curiously.
At this question, the man beside me looked away for a moment. "None of your concern."
Oh really? I glanced at him briefly and then considered the thoughts I fancied earlier. Drug abuser... event gone wrong... oh this fit all too well. "Don't tell me."
He glared at me.
"You? Really? You don't seem the type to get into that lot of garbage."
"Oh sod off, will you?" he groaned. "You're like Mycroft. It was recreational."
"And that recreational garbage happened to land you in this hospital. Congratulations on all the scars on you and a bullet. Seriously, it's not good for you to do that, but if you are aiming to be placed into a grave you are doing a wonderful job," I rolled my eyes and his expression only looked more agitated. God this man was easy to tease or easy to offend. Both maybe.
"So how did it go? Were you there to get a kick and then leave but tried to worm your way out of paying?" I leaned against the wall as he sighed.
"For your information, no. It was not for those reasons. That's all I'm saying for right now." The gaze that was previously fixed on me looked away. Everything changed from interest and peace to a little tense and confusion. The patient never changed from his pose, staring at everything else but myself.
I wanted to laugh. He was acting like a child. A little child who had the tables of persuasion pushed to face him. Since things weren't going his way, he was going to avoid me. Fine. Two can play that game. I happen to be the best when Harry and I would have a dispute. I can definitely make him budge a little.
Before I could initiate a conversation, the aide returned and walked over to me. His face was pale. I think the pouting man on the gurney might have been right.
"Um... we are to not take him to the infirmary ward. They want him in room 221." A private room. Score two.
"And let me guess, the man who probably told you this is probably in my office right now wanting to talk to me?" I rose my brow for emphasis, a grin threatening to form. This was interesting. Today was interesting. I wanted to see how far it would go.
The young man hesitated, shocked it seemed, before nodding and I sighed. Wonderful.
Patting his head, I walked over to the man on the gurney and patted his hand, "See you later I suppose. Try not to irritate the nurses, mate. They are not nearly as patient as I am."
On the way out, I ignored the little tug in my head pointing me to go back to where I came. I ignored the small, minuscule spark that happened the second I touched that man's hand. I ignored all this because surely life wasn't getting easier for my sake. Surely my mate isn't around.
Besides, I don't know anyone who would be the perfect match for me.
Not that I care.
I don't really want a soul mate. Not now. Not ever.