The Mind Palace

Chapter Ten

I was completely exhausted by the time the whiteness of the previous room faded into a regular hall like the one we'd met Redbeard in. In fact, I was so worried about collapsing there and then due to my incredible state of drowsiness that I hardly realized the walls had changed at all.

Jack seemed oblivious to my sleepiness, but Sherlock, as he had come from the same planet and time zone, realized that I was in great need of rest (he was as well, as he later confided in me) and suggested we stop and rest.

Our alien companion rolled his eyes and sighed upon hearing this, but obliged just as well. "You two must be new with the Doctor. Sleep isn't exactly a priority with him."

Sherlock and I had both sat down, leaning against the cool glass of the wall. "We aren't with him now, though, are we?" Sherlock retorted as he slid down fully onto the ground, lying flat on the linoleum. I moved away from the wall and instead leaned against Sherlock, using his rather bony and sort of uncomfortable thin chest as a pillow.

Jack rolled his eyes again. "Alright, you two lovebirds can cuddle here, I'm going to keep looking for the Doctor."

I lifted my head slightly. "Wait, don't do that. Isn't it already decided that splitting up is a terrible idea? It didn't exactly work well the last time."

"I won't go far, don't worry. Just get your rest, John- you too, Sherlock. You guys obviously need it."

I set my head back down onto Sherlock and watched Jack strut away for a moment or two. He hadn't even disappeared from view by the time I was asleep.

--

"John," Sherlock whispered. He was very close, his breath just reaching my ear as he spoke softly. "It's time to get up. Jack's found the Doctor, but he's hurt."

My eyes snapped open at the sound of the name, and the events we'd been through quickly returned to my mind. Had it really all been true? The answer soon occured to me, as my eyes grew used to the bright lights of the hall. I was leaning on Sherlock no longer, but instead was propped against the wall. The Doctor sat across from me, clutching his side.

I hurried to shake the sleep from my eyes, and rushed over to the Doctor. I tried to get him to lie flat on the ground, but he resisted, moaning slightly. "It's okay," I muttered, "I'm a doctor."

He let out a breathy laugh, but let me move him flat onto the floor. "So am I."

I gently moved his hands away from the wound. "Not a real one, my friend. You said it yourself."

It was immediately apparent that he had been attacked with a knife. The tweed jacket was ripped in a straight line, and his shirt and skin underneath were torn open in the same fashion. I quickly removed the jacket, which now had a terribly ugly bloodstain across the front, and folded it, placing it under the time lord's head as a pillow.

His shirt looked even worse than the jacket had. It was now more red than white, and wet to the touch. I was growing more and more worried as I unbuttoned it. Could I save him without the right equipment? There really wasn't much hope if he was as badly injured as he appeared to be. I could only hope that the cut wasn't too deep. If it had made contact with any organs, there wouldn't be any hope at all...

I took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. "I need something to clean up the blood; it's nearly impossible to see the wound through all of this."

I heard a rustling and realized that, being himself, Jack was probably taking his shirt off. I wasn't about to stop him, as uncomfortable a situation it could make for- but, of course, someone else had a better idea.

"No, Jack," I heard Sherlock say from behind me as I madly tried to wipe away the blood with the Doctor's shirt. Within moments, Sherlock had extended some fabric towards me. Not a shirt but... A sock?

There wasn't any time to dwell on the fact that the great, proper Sherlock Holmes was now half-barefoot behind me (as much as I would have liked to stop and giggle at the situation, there were bigger things at hand). I mopped up the blood as best I could and breathed a sigh of relief when I found that, no, this would not be fatal.

I pressed the sock against the wound, which didn't seem to want to stop bleeding. "You're going to be fine," I told the Doctor, but he hardly seemed to hear, a grimace carved into his face like stone.

"Anything I can do to help, Doctor Watson?" Jack seemed only mildly worried for his friend now that I had predicted his survival, and his tone was almost flirtatious.

I pressed harder against the gash. "Keep your clothes on, for one."

I heard Sherlock snicker from behind me, and began to relax. "Of course, if either of you have some sort of bandage or disinfectant on you, that would be incredibly helpful."

"Where's Rory when you need him?" The Doctor let out a slow, sad laugh.

I turned to look at the others, to see if they had made any sense of the seemingly random statement. They looked as confused as I felt. An awkward silence filled the room for a few moments.

Sherlock broke it before it could be too unbearable. "No medical supplies here."

"Nor here," Jack said quickly.

I racked my brain for some sort of solution to the problem. Socks probably weren't the best idea, unless we wanted to end up with an infection on our hands. I was growing frustrated, and a bit nervous again. "Neither of you have anything that could be used to stop bleeding?"

Sherlock coughed. "I mean, I..."

I whipped my head back around, hope flying through my chest like a recently-freed bird. "Yes?!"

"I don't know if they'll work, but," he pulled a box of nicotine patches from his coat pocket and tossed them to me, "I do have these."

Nicotine patches? On a heavily bleeding wound? I sighed. My medical sciences proffesor would kill me. On the other hand, anything was better than nothing, right?

I began pulling the patches out of their wrappers and sticking them onto the wounds. I had to use six patches to cover the entire length of the wound, but they were affective. The bleeding cleared up much sooner than I had anticipated, and I was able to stand up away from the Doctor and hand the box back to Sherlock.

"How do you feel?" Jack asked his friend quietly.

The Doctor smiled on the floor, his eyes shut. "I've never thought so clearly in my life."

Sherlock gave a small half-smile. "This is a six-patch problem, then?"

The time lord laughed. "Yes. A six-patch problem."