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 The Things I Deal With.

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The Improbable One
helping Molly in the lab
helping Molly in the lab
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Posts : 56
Join date : 2011-01-04
Age : 22
Location : America

PostSubject: The Things I Deal With.   Wed Jan 05, 2011 3:28 am

John's point of view, enjoy.
John

The troubled dreams of war and death fill my head, sending images of blood and pain. Screams and shouts. I see myself get shot again, feel the pain racing through me, and cry out, hoping that someone will find me. Too much blood. Everywhere. It's not going to work. Never works. I grip the sheets and wake with a start. I sink back into my bed's sweat drenched sheets, feeling relieved that it was just a dream, I wouldn't have to deal with that stuff anymore, no more death of friends, no more pain and suffering. I am safe in 221B Baker Street, and my friend is down stairs, probably awake. My breath comes in gallons, and I'm having trouble breathing, I can feel my heart beat pounding through my chest, but slowly I gain my breath and my normal heart rate back. I take a deep breath before stretching out again, reaching with my feet for the other end of the bed. Something stops them right before I can feel the cool reassuring wood. My eyes fly open and I sit up. Sherlock is sitting at the end of my bed, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs.

"BLOODY HELL!" I shout at the top of my lungs. Sherlock doesn't even look at me. "What the Hell are you doing on my bed Holmes! That's not even right!" He blinks slowly and turns to look at me.

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull away again. You wouldn't happen to know where it is would you?" He sounds so melancholy and lost, I can't help but smile a little.

"Sherlock. Get out." He sighs loudly before unfolding himself. He doesn't move after that, and is just sitting there, looking at me. "What time is it?"

"Two thirty. I need someone to talk to. I have this amazing discovery that Yorik would love to hear about. Are you sure that you don't know where he is?" Without another word I give him a shove with my feet and he topples off the bed, landing with a thump on the floor. "I'll take that as a no then."

"TWO THIRTY IN THE MORNING!" I roar, feeling like maybe it was a bit much to shout at him, but that it was also totally necessary. Fifth time this week.

"Yes John. Two thirty in the morning." He paused, still on the floor before an exclamation of surprise and happiness springs from his lips. "YORIK!" Triumphantly he straightens up with his skull in his hands and a huge grin on his face, "Found you. At last. When did Mrs. Hudson put you up here? That nasty old lady." he cooed. I roll my eyes and flop back onto my bed,

"Now will you leave me alone?" Sherlock nods and quietly closes the door behind him. I sigh, relieved, get the pest out and then you get some sleep. I snuggle up into my sheets, pulling them tight around me, making a sort of cocoon. Closing my eyes, I try to lull myself to sleep, thinking of sheep jumping over a fence. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six...Seven...Eight...Nine. That's as far as I get before a loud bang and a shout stirs me. Sherlock. I through my covers off my bed and race down stairs, what the Hell has he done now? Throwing open the door I find him on the floor next to the couch. He looks up at me a moment before grinning,

"I missed the couch." I rub my eyes before looking at him again,

"What does that even mean?"

"Missed the couch, hit the table. Cracked a couple ribs I think." He takes a deep breath that ends with a shout of pain, "Yup. Definitely cracked ribs." Solemnly I shake my head,

"What am I going to do with you?"

"Make me better?" I sigh,

"It's two in the morning, there really is nothing I can do. You don't even have a First Aid kit." He nods,

"Take my card, pop down to the pharmacy and get the stuff you need. Despite what you may think, this really does hurt. Quite a lot actually."

"Sherlock. It's two thirty in the morning."

"Your point?"

"No sane person is awake at this time." He ponders that for a minute,

"You're up, and the pharmacy, I know this for a fact, I used to go down there all the time, is open twenty four hours a day. That means they are open, right now." I sighed again, Sherlock is not going to guilt trip me into going. Yes he is. And it's working.

"How did you even manage to crack your ribs?" I ask, his smile fades a little,

"I tripped, missed the couch, landed on the coffee table, cracked my ribs. Obvious." I sigh once more before pulling my coat on. "Thanks John." I don't say anything before I tug my shoes on and go out the door.

Four in the Morning

I pull open the door quietly, hoping that Sherlock might be asleep so that I can get some sleep before having to tape up his ribs. No such luck. Before the door is even halfway open Sherlock pulls me in and closes the door.

"Make me better now." He demands. I shrug my off my coat and slip out of my shoes before putting the bag on the coffee table.

"Which ones are cracked?" I ask. How on Earth did he survive without a doctor? Really? How can one trip and fall, crack their ribs and not be able to tape them up themselves? He lifts up his shirt to show me the blue and purple bruises. I sigh before unwrapping the tape, "Take it off. After I'm done I'm going to bed. No questions, no more talking. I'm sleeping." He nods before pulling the shirt all the way over his head. "Sit," and he takes a seat on the couch, "This is going to hurt, but I don't want any noise out of you. You have no idea how pissed off I am right now."

"Yes I do." I don't say anything but start to wrap the tape around his chest, one above the cracked ribs, one under the cracked ribs. He draws in a sharp breath and I smile a little, pay back. Really. He shouldn't be so stupid. I snip the tape when I'm finished, and throw his shirt in his face.

"Thank you."

"You're going to want to take a deep breath every hour or so, it prevents pneumonia. It's going to hurt for a while, it takes about six weeks for cracked ribs to heal. Good night." I trudge slowly up the stairs and collapse into my bed. The things I put up with.
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