Ted Lasso (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theodorelasso) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trashchildren2021-06-24 07:33 pm
theodorelasso) wrote in trashchildren2021-06-24 07:33 pm
"Call Beard, he'd probably show up with a cot, or one of those inflatable ones," he quips. He's only half joking. Beard definitely would, if they asked. Though asking the hospital staff is probably easier. (And less likely to piss off the staff if there's suddenly a bed in here.)
"As sure as I am that he would meet that expectation," Sherlock says, "asking the nursing staff is likely preferable."
He stands and heads for the door. "Stay with her. I'll be back."
He stands and heads for the door. "Stay with her. I'll be back."
Ted hums in agreement. After Sherlock leaves the room, he sits there for a moment, then gets up and carefully limps over to the chair by the bed, sitting down there instead. He takes Joan's hand, as gently as he can to try to avoid waking her, stroking it with his thumb. He just wants her to feel comforted in her sleep. It hurts his heart to see her in this state.
Joan stirs a little as he takes her hand, and opens her eyes sleepily, still mostly asleep. She sees him there and a slow smile spreads on her face.
"Hi," she whispers.
"Hi," she whispers.
"Hey," he whispers back, smiling warmly. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," he says quietly, and lifts her hand to give it a kiss. "Go back to sleep, we're gonna be here when you wake up," he promises.
She smiles again with a hum, closing her eyes and shifting in bed to get comfortable.
"Love you," she whispers, her body relaxing back into sleep.
"Love you," she whispers, her body relaxing back into sleep.
"Love you too," he answers quietly, continuing to stroke her hand. He wishes he could climb in with her and just hold her, make her feel safe and happy. But her smile gives him some comfort at least, knowing he's doing what he can. He just sits there, watching her drift off, her chest slowly rise and fall. He wonders if he'll ever manage to repay her for saving his life, twice now, but he definitely intends to try.
When Sherlock returns he's followed by a nurse pushing a reclining chair.
"Here you go," she says as she rolls it in. "This is going to be so much more comfortable than those awful chairs."
"Here you go," she says as she rolls it in. "This is going to be so much more comfortable than those awful chairs."
Ted smiles gratefully at the nurse. "Thank you, I appreciate you," he says, still speaking quietly to avoid waking Joan.
He nods towards Joan. "She woke up for a bit, but she seemed to be doing okay," he says, speaking both to Sherlock and the nurse.
He nods towards Joan. "She woke up for a bit, but she seemed to be doing okay," he says, speaking both to Sherlock and the nurse.
"I'm sure she's all right," the nurse says. "The monitors send data to the nursing station, so we know if any of her stats change." She nods toward Ted. "If you want to get up I can set up the chair next to the bed."
"Oh, yes, thank you," Ted agrees, getting to his feet. Or foot, rather, as he makes sure to put most of his weight on just the one.
"Thank you," he says as she replaces his chair, then pauses to read her nametag. "Caroline. Appreciate it."
"Thank you," he says as she replaces his chair, then pauses to read her nametag. "Caroline. Appreciate it."
Caroline is as quiet as possible with positioning the chair. Sherlock gets the idea that she's probably maneuvered around sleeping patients many times before.
"Of course, love, anything I can do. If you need anything else just press the button."
The nurse nods to both of them and leaves the room. Sherlock sits down on the couch.
"Did she say anything?" he asks Ted, wanting to get any sense of Watson's wellbeing he can.
"Of course, love, anything I can do. If you need anything else just press the button."
The nurse nods to both of them and leaves the room. Sherlock sits down on the couch.
"Did she say anything?" he asks Ted, wanting to get any sense of Watson's wellbeing he can.
"Just 'hi', then 'love you' after I told her to go back to sleep. Don't think she woke up fully, really. But she was smiling," he explains. Feels strange to recap these things in detail, but he gets why Sherlock wants to know.
He sits back down, and - oh yes, this is definitely much better. He could sleep here, easy. Well, mostly easy because of just how exhausted he is.
He sits back down, and - oh yes, this is definitely much better. He could sleep here, easy. Well, mostly easy because of just how exhausted he is.
Sherlock nods. It isn't much but at least she wasn't confused or frightened when she woke up. It gives hope that her mental faculties are undamaged by her ordeal.
"The chair reclines almost flat," Sherlock points out. "If you would like to go to sleep I can watch over her."
He will likely fall asleep as well eventually, but he can easily remain awake for a while yet.
"The chair reclines almost flat," Sherlock points out. "If you would like to go to sleep I can watch over her."
He will likely fall asleep as well eventually, but he can easily remain awake for a while yet.
"Yeah," Ted agrees, nodding. It's getting late, and he's had an ordeal today, to say the least. He finally lets go of Joan's hand, and gets to his feet, going to grab his crutch and the bag Beard brought. "I'm going to go find a bathroom and change," he says. He definitely does not think this suit will be conducive to sleep.
Sherlock nods. He himself is still wearing his waiter uniform, but while Ted is out of the room he sheds the vest and the button-down shirt, leaving his undershirt, and takes off his shoes. When Ted returns Sherlock is sitting quietly, watching Joan. There's a remarkable amount of tension in how he's holding himself. Ted has only ever seen Sherlock completely buttoned up, his shirts buttoned to the top button, with a jacket or a vest. Tshirts are what he wore when he was in the throes of his addiction and then at the beginning of his recovery. It's not a pleasant reminder, especially with the stress of Watson being laid low.
It takes Ted a bit to change - the cast does not make things easy. And while he's not quite as sore, his ribs aren't fully healed either, so changing shirts and such does take a little bit of work. He returns after a bit though, now in sweatpants and a soft sweater on top of his barbecue t-shirt, and with freshly brushed teeth.
He also makes sure to take some painkillers while he's not in the room with Sherlock. (He doesn't know the specifics of his addiction, but he knows it wasn't alcohol, so that narrows it down a little.)
Ted does a slight double-take when he sees Sherlock in a t-shirt though. Mostly because he wasn't expecting the tattoos. He doesn't comment on them though, instead just goes to sit down.
He also makes sure to take some painkillers while he's not in the room with Sherlock. (He doesn't know the specifics of his addiction, but he knows it wasn't alcohol, so that narrows it down a little.)
Ted does a slight double-take when he sees Sherlock in a t-shirt though. Mostly because he wasn't expecting the tattoos. He doesn't comment on them though, instead just goes to sit down.
Sherlock catches that doubletake out of the corner of his eye and glances over, his eyes returning to Watson.
"Is it the tshirt or my tats?" he asks. He is gruff as usual, but not especially angry.
"Is it the tshirt or my tats?" he asks. He is gruff as usual, but not especially angry.
"The tattoos. They're cool though, just didn't know you had any," he answers. He'd love to hear about them, but it might be a conversation better suited for when they're both less tired and stressed.
"I have quite a few," he says, eyes still on Watson. "I'd be happy to show them to you some other time."
He's so focused on Watson and holding himself so rigidly, it's like he's fighting to not fall apart.
He's so focused on Watson and holding himself so rigidly, it's like he's fighting to not fall apart.
"I'd like that," Ted answers with a soft smile. He sits there watching Sherlock for a moment, so tightly-wound. Sherlock isn't particularly loose at the best of times, but this seems like... much more than that.
"You okay?" he prompts gently.
"You okay?" he prompts gently.
Sherlock is silent for a moment.
"I've always imagined that I would die first," he says finally, his voice quiet yet rough, still looking at Watson. "Whether meeting my end at the hands of a suspect, or merely being in the wrong place at the wrong time...or succumbing at long last to my addiction. In my will I leave everything I own to Watson. She is my constant. My North Star, about which the entire sky rotates. Seeing her like this...forces me to imagine what it would be like if for all these years I was wrong, and it is she who will leave this life first. I do not wish to imagine a world without her and yet I am compelled to."
"I've always imagined that I would die first," he says finally, his voice quiet yet rough, still looking at Watson. "Whether meeting my end at the hands of a suspect, or merely being in the wrong place at the wrong time...or succumbing at long last to my addiction. In my will I leave everything I own to Watson. She is my constant. My North Star, about which the entire sky rotates. Seeing her like this...forces me to imagine what it would be like if for all these years I was wrong, and it is she who will leave this life first. I do not wish to imagine a world without her and yet I am compelled to."
Ted listens quietly, and his heart aches for Sherlock. It also brings such a depth to their relationship that Ted hadn't fully appreciated yet. Not only spoken so honestly, but also so poetically. As much as Ted loves Joan, and it's an awful lot, he thinks Sherlock might love her more. And it hurts to see him in pain like this.
It's hard to know what to say. There's nothing you can really say to truly make it better. Any platitude seems insufficient. And saying something mundane or inappropriate would almost be a disservice to what Sherlock just shared. It's hard being the one left behind, and he knows they both know this. But he doesn't have any truths to speak about it that would help.
He sits there in silence for several long moments, heart hurting for Sherlock, and for Joan, and his own part in this.
"You know," he says quietly, finally speaking up. "When Joan went back to New York, she was blaming herself for what happened to me. Thinking it was because of her." He assumes Sherlock has at the very least an inkling of this, though he doesn't know if the two of them discussed it.
"And now that it's reversed, it's... hard to not think the same way," he admits quietly. He swallows a bit, looking down at his hands. "I know all of this isn't my fault, but.. I don't know. I know I'm kind of an intruder on the life the two of you have together. And I know if it weren't for me, Joan wouldn't be here right now."
He pauses, then shakes his head a little. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm getting at," he says, voice tight. He just wanted to repay Sherlock by opening up a bit himself. Maybe even validate whatever bitterness Sherlock might feel towards him. But now it feels like he's making it about him instead.
It's hard to know what to say. There's nothing you can really say to truly make it better. Any platitude seems insufficient. And saying something mundane or inappropriate would almost be a disservice to what Sherlock just shared. It's hard being the one left behind, and he knows they both know this. But he doesn't have any truths to speak about it that would help.
He sits there in silence for several long moments, heart hurting for Sherlock, and for Joan, and his own part in this.
"You know," he says quietly, finally speaking up. "When Joan went back to New York, she was blaming herself for what happened to me. Thinking it was because of her." He assumes Sherlock has at the very least an inkling of this, though he doesn't know if the two of them discussed it.
"And now that it's reversed, it's... hard to not think the same way," he admits quietly. He swallows a bit, looking down at his hands. "I know all of this isn't my fault, but.. I don't know. I know I'm kind of an intruder on the life the two of you have together. And I know if it weren't for me, Joan wouldn't be here right now."
He pauses, then shakes his head a little. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm getting at," he says, voice tight. He just wanted to repay Sherlock by opening up a bit himself. Maybe even validate whatever bitterness Sherlock might feel towards him. But now it feels like he's making it about him instead.
"She loves you," Sherlock says, with an emphasis that implies it is the most important fact possible. "If she were to be the potential recipient of poisoned fare, I would have done exactly what she did. Her love is a gift. One that it took me a long time to recognize and longer to acknowledge. And your love for her is a gift. I can assure you that she is aware of and grateful for that gift. Our partnership is vitally important to us both, but her happiness is paramount to me. And you...you make her happy. She has never been keen to stay in London, and yet now she can't imagine leaving."
He sighs softly as he looks at her. He does love her, with all of his being, and knows that she loves him, too.
"It is unfortunately true that Watson will shoulder blame that does not truly belong to her, and sometimes that weighs her down, keeps her from moving forward. She is better than when I met her, however. When we met...I was dying. And she was drowning. We saved each other. Made each other better. But I am aware that there is much that I cannot give her, that you can give her."
He finally looks at Ted.
"You are not an intruder," he tells him softly. "You aren't even merely an invited guest any longer. You are family."
He sighs softly as he looks at her. He does love her, with all of his being, and knows that she loves him, too.
"It is unfortunately true that Watson will shoulder blame that does not truly belong to her, and sometimes that weighs her down, keeps her from moving forward. She is better than when I met her, however. When we met...I was dying. And she was drowning. We saved each other. Made each other better. But I am aware that there is much that I cannot give her, that you can give her."
He finally looks at Ted.
"You are not an intruder," he tells him softly. "You aren't even merely an invited guest any longer. You are family."
The longer Sherlock talks, the closer Ted gets to crying. His words are both incredibly insightful, and incredibly kind. It makes Ted feel unbelievably lucky and grateful to have Sherlock in his life. And so glad that they two of them have each other, not just because of the good it's done them, but also because otherwise there's a high probability Ted wouldn't know either of them.
When Sherlock finally looks at him, and says those words, his heart feels so full. And he knows that he'll easily come to love Sherlock too.
"Thank you," he answers softly, voice filled with emotion. "That means a lot. More than I could put words to."
When Sherlock finally looks at him, and says those words, his heart feels so full. And he knows that he'll easily come to love Sherlock too.
"Thank you," he answers softly, voice filled with emotion. "That means a lot. More than I could put words to."
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