Chapter Text
Fight…
The memory of his fight to get back up the stairs jerked through his mind.
He needed to fight!
He had been in an operating theatre.
Fight…
…for John.
Protect John from Mary.
He needed to wake up now!
There were noises all around him. His eyes jerked open.
He was in a large room with several beds and people in OP-clothing.
Someone was next to the bed. In a long, blue paper robe, mouth-cover and a bonnet. He blinked… Where was he?
The haze that disrupted his environment cleared maddening slowly and the noise of busy and hurting people gained unnerving quality.
Post OP…
He had been awake briefly in the operating theatre before, he remembered.
People there had talked to him; they seemed agitated… and then put him under in a hurry.
The memory felt uneasy and had an aspect of… panic… utter disturbing panic.
It felt too real, too vulnerable.
Therefore, he must be in post OP now, it was all blurred… the memories, his sight, and his mind.
The palace mixed with reality… Then the pain was registered by his foggy brain… he hurt!
It hurt as much as it had shortly after he was hit…
Now, he needed not to fight the pain… let it pass… He knew that he needed to let it pass, but his brain was too dazed to start the mechanism again that enabled him to do so.
The figure next to him was watching him... he was in a regular bed already.
Okay, so surgery was definitely over.
He tried to swallow… his mouth was dry… it hurt.
He needed to find that mechanism he usually used to release endorphins into his bloodstream… He had learned how to do that years ago… why wasn't he able to do it now?
He knew how to start it, but it didn't work.
"Sherlock?" the blurry figure touched his hand and when he looked up it was John's eyes that looked down at him… it was John in the concealing outfit…?
That was good, he didn't want to be touched by anybody else… unfamiliar people had touched him enough in the theatre and it had been…
But there was something important…
Oh, it was burning with importance in the back of his mind.
What was it, what was it?
He felt a distant realisation that the bright importance was mingled with bright blue panic.
What was it?
It must be John, nothing else would trigger this level of importance… John was in danger.
Mary! He needed to tell John he was in danger.
He tried to speak, but nothing came out… His throat was sore and it was painful to even try to speak.
He wanted to grasp his friend's sleeve, but his hand was barely moving and he was clumsy. He realised he was trembling slightly.
"M'ry…" he managed a whisper - on the third try.
"Sherlock, it's okay, mate… You're fine… Wake up fully and we can give you something for the pain," John gently intoned.
"Ma'y…" Sherlock tried to sit up.
Pain jerked through him.
Oh, god! It hurt!
Loud noises erupted around him, multiple voices, calling, yelling, hands touching him.
It hurt, made him wish to lose consciousness again… but he needed to speak to John!
No sleeping for now!
The pain kept him from sinking back into the dark… he just needed a few breaths… before he'd be able to open his eyes again.
Something touched is forehead… there was talking over the noises in the room… John was talking.
"Sherlock…? Are you with me…? Don't move! You'll hurt yourself."
He realised John was holding him down, gently and with care.
Someone was fumbling with something on his arm.
When he finally managed to open his eyes again John removed one of his hands… a nurse was doing something with his IV port.
"Talk to me Sherlock… Tell me, how are you?"
"W'rs M'ry?" he tried again, "Sta'way."
"Sherlock? You want me to go away?"
He shook his head, at least this couldn't be misinterpreted. As long as his friend was with him he was not with Mary, which protected him.
John needed to stay with him. He wanted the nurse to leave him alone and John to stay away from Mary.
"How do you feel?"
"Shot…Wh'…. Wher's Mary?"
"Are you in pain?" the nurse asked him loudly.
Of course he was in pain, what a stupid question. Her loud voice added to the discomfort but he had not enough strength to inform her about that.
So he ignored her.
"John… Ma'y… Mary is… I… Magnuss'n…"
His mouth was… odd and it hurt more and more to speak.
"Sherlock? Don't try to move or talk, your throat is irritated from the tube. You had the bullet removed. It'll need time but you'll be alright… You'll endanger your life if you move, so calm down," John soothed. Sherlock could see the other man was really worried… he had dark circles under his eyes and seemed a bit unsteady on his feet.
"How do you feel?" the nurse repeated.
"Don't wait for his answer, he's with us, give him the painkiller," John told her. Despite his pale appearance, his voice was steady and professional.
"He has not yet responded."
"He has - in his way, let me do this," John held out his hand for the pump's remote, the nurse looked over at the other doctor in the room - who nodded - and she handed the device over.
Sherlock knew what was about to happen… he tried to reach for the remote, but pain shot through his chest, making him gasp for air.
"Sherlock, I'll give you something for the pain, relax, it'll be better in a minute."
"No," Sherlock managed to moan, lifting his arm again, "Don't…"
John looked down at him, obviously puzzled.
"You don't want painkillers?"
Sherlock shook his head.
"Sorry, Sherlock, but this is nuts. I know how it feels to get shot. I also know how much strain this level of pain puts a on your body, which interferes with healing. Not happening."
It was true, he felt sore and hurt all over, but he first needed to tell John in which immediate danger he was.
He once more shook his head, it agitated his chest and he hissed in pain.
"Why not…?"
John was always asking the right questions when it came to him feeling bad, for once he was glad for this; now that speech was difficult to manage.
"Mary…" he tried to hold out his hand to signal John he meant it. But either his hand didn't move or John ignored it.
"What is it…? You're in severe pain here and right now we need to concentrate on getting you through this."
Sherlock tried to sit up again, although he barely managed to move, but it was enough for the former army doctor, who leaned forward and pushed the button - twice.
John was sure Sherlock would kill himself if he'd try to get up now, he was also sure the morphine would knock him out, which was the only way to keep him from moving.
With horror, Sherlock felt the warm rush of the drug that was pumped into his body.
No!
How could they dose him with opioids when John was usually so sensible when it came to drugs? Doctors were odd with this. It was okay as long as they were the ones making the decision.
He felt a moan escape his mouth, a sound of frustration. He knew he'd be out soon.
A bit uncoordinated he tried once more to reach for John's hand.
Who was exchanging worried gazes and words with other people outside Sherlock's field of vision.
Why didn't he listen?
"Don't… tell… "
The pain receded… but he felt his body starting to float.
He needed to make John understand!
Finally, he managed to raise his head a few centimetres and get a hold on John's sleeve.
"It's all right, Sherlock… Relax…"
One of John's hands was on his shoulder, the other on top of his head… John sounded agitated.
"Geez, don't move!… Just relax!"
He tried to fight it.
Tell him!
"Shhh… Just sleep… It's all right."
He blinked, took a deep breath, but before he could say any more he felt his body surrender to the drug.
Briefly, he wondered how much he had been given.
Must have been quite a dose…
His eyes closed involuntarily and the last thing he knew was John's warm hand on his.