Hurt Comfort

Down.

John sat in his chair sorting out the supplies that Sarah had brought whilst sipping his tea. Mrs Hudson was muttering about mess and dust as she went along. Sarah had obviously taken into carful consideration how difficult Sherlock was to deal with, and helpfully included multiple sedatives, but no pain medication. Most importantly she had brought an oxygen concentrator, which brought great relief to John. He had worried about how much was left in the tank, especially after he had cranked up the flow when Sherlock had woken gasping for breath in the middle of the night. That was terrible.

It had reminded John of men that had been shot in the chest in Afghanistan, not in the heart, but in the lung, and away from the makeshift hospital, and how he could not save them. He could only watch as they suffocated on their own blood and how the crimson liquid filled their chest. He shuddered at the very thought. At one point last night, Sherlock had coughed up a little blood, nothing serious, likely due to the amounts of hacking that he had done through the past few nights. But seeing Sherlock with a tint of blood on his lips, and struggling for breath, had made him terrified all over again. He let out a shaky breathe and blinked away the pleading eyes of the soldiers dying at his feet.

So John was resassured when he hooked the tubing up to the concentrator, noting that the tank was full, and happily watched while Sherlock's stats remained in the 90's. He didn't even mind Sherlock eyeing him as he grinned like an idiot. He gradually lost his grin, as one question pondered his mind. "Um, Sherlock? D'you have to go to the bathroom? You have not been in a while... 'cause I can if you-"

Sherlock butted in and rolled his eyes. "I am quite capable of doing that myself, John."

His piercing glare lost a little something as he broke into a cough for a moment, and wasn't quite the same afterwards.

John sighed and nodded. "Right,"He said as he begun to unhook the wires and tubing. "Up you go then,"He grunted, lifting Sherlock up off the sofa from underneath his arm, ignoring his pitiful protests. "I'm just helping you get there. I'm very sure you can handle being in there on your own." John waited outside the door of the bathroom until he heard a flush, and water running, running and running, suspiciously for a long time.

"Sherlock," He called, knocking. No response.

The door had no functional lock, John had learned that the hard way. As he was in the shower, when Sherlock had burst in, insisting that he needed something from under the sink, and it was just to important to wait. Luckily there was a shower curtain. Until they had burnt in a 'experiment'

He called out once more, and hearing no response, turned the knob, but met resistance from the other side of the door. God, don't tell me he barricaded the door! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I knew I shouldn't have left him alone! He pushed harder and harder, until he realised what the resistance was, when he heard a thump and saw Sherlock fall through the crack of the door. Sherlock looked around blearily, his thick mass of curls sopping wet with tap water . John leant over, turning the tap off and leaning down next to him. "What the hell did you do?"

Sherlock simply closed his eyes and sighed. "I think I'm ill John."

John half smiled and muttered, "Yeah Sher, yeah." As he heaved him up, and practically carried him onto the sofa, once more.