trashchildren | For Joan

Ted takes a deep breath in through his nose, or at least as deep as he can manage.

He doesn't answer this time, focusing instead on drawing breaths, as long ones as he can manage.

He's been through this before, and with her grounding him, it's a little bit easier to remember that.

Sherlock can hear the two EMTs as they are coming down the hall, and he stands to intercept them.

"Mr. Lasso needs a moment," he tells them quietly. "He's recovering from a panic attack."

They look at each other, then agree to standby.

Joan can hear Ted taking breaths, can hear them getting longer, deeper.

"That's right," she encourages him quietly. "There you go. You've got this."

He just sits there, focusing on his breathing, focusing on her voice. At some point he stops imagining the pitch, and instead imagines her sitting next to him, holding him, whispering to him.

He takes a deep breath, and he opens his eyes again, and it's like the world opens a little bit too.

"Okay.." he says, his voice gruff but less strangled. "I'm okay.." He feels absolutely wrecked, but he's calming down.

"Good," she says, relieved by the shifting tone of his voice. She wants to know what happened, wants to let him talk through it, but she knows it's a bad time. It would be a bad time even if they weren't minimizing contact, still trying to stick with this story. It would make sense for Sherlock to turn to her even if they had broken up, because she would still love him, and still want to care for him. But they can't do much more.

"I love you," she whispers.

"You too," he whispers back.

He looks around to see where Sherlock went, and he's standing over by some EMTs who are looking pretty antsy to attend to him.

"Okay, I, uh, gotta go, they wanna make sure I'm okay," he explains. His voice sounds like he just woke up from a five year nap. "I'll hand you to Sherlock.." he adds, and nods at the medics to indicate that yes, he's safe to approach now.

"Okay," she says. "Take care, okay?"

The EMTs come over, followed by Sherlock. One of them crouches down to get to Ted's level.

"How are you feeling Mr. Lasso?"

"Kay," he answers Joan, then lets the hand with the phone drop, though he doesn't hang up.

"Awful," he answers the EMT, but he manages the tiniest of smiles. "But I think I'm okay."

His ribs still ache from being dragged onto the table, but that was probably the worst of it. He might have a bruise from the punch, to match the other side. But compared to the ache of coming down from a panic attack, his head doesn't really hurt. Not in the same way, anyway.

He looks at Sherlock and offers him the phone.

"I understand you recently broke your ribs," the EMT says. "Do you have any sharp pains in either of your upper sides?"

Sherlock takes the phone with a nod and steps away to talk to Watson.

"Did you learn anything?"

"Mr. Lasso was actually astoundingly successful," Sherlock tells her. "He was able to get a name and basic description of the man who triggered Mr. Chapman."

"Good."

"I can see why you like him, Watson," he remarks. "In addition to being a truly good man, he is also quite clever."

In New York, Joan smiles. "Yes he is." Then, more solemnly: "Let's solve this case so I can see him again, okay?"

"Doing my best, Watson."

Ted doesn't hear the conversation, too focused on answering the EMT's questions of where it hurts and where it doesn't. Based on the questions he's made to answer, it doesn't sound like he has internal bleeding at least. He'd rather not go back to the hospital again.

The EMT does basic neurological tests, and nods in satisfaction. "I recommend you put ice your face," he says. "But you should be fine to go home. Do you have anyone to take you?"

"I can accompany Mr. Lasso home," Sherlock says. He feels bad for putting Ted in danger and feels he owes it to Watson to at least make sure the man gets home all right.

Ted looks up at Sherlock in surprise, but then nods with gratitude.

At some point someone brought him his crutches, and he picks them up again, and lets the EMT help him to his feet. His body has that post-adrenaline ache and exhaustion. Like a deflated balloon. His shoulders are already hunched even before he uses them to support himself with the crutches.

Sherlock stays close to Ted as they walk, there to steady the man if he so requires. He's silent for the moment, wanting to leave a respectful space for Ted to speak if he desires. Sherlock is not usually the best listener, as he becomes impatient, his mind moving a mile a minute. But for Watson, and, by association, Ted, he will try.

Ted's not the best conversationalist at the moment either. Which is a shame, because he'd like to have a chance to chat properly with Sherlock. Still, he appreciates the concern, even if it takes him some moments to gather himself enough.

"Please tell me that at least helped," he says, voice still gruff and tired, glancing over at Sherlock.

"Time will tell," Sherlock answers. "However, you have given us an important piece of information that we could not have gotten otherwise. I must commend you."

"Must you? Well, you better do it then," Ted quips with a small smile, but then shakes his head, not wanting to make light of the compliment. Just a defense mechanism for how shitty he feels at the moment.

"Sorry, rough day," he says, as if that wasn't obvious. "I appreciate it."

Sherlock doesn't mind. He gets more sarcasm from Watson on a daily basis.

Once they've exited the station, Sherlock hails a cab. He opens the door for Ted and offers his arm to help the man inside.

Ted accepts the help, stepping inside and carefully going to sit down. It's always a little tricky walking around in these things when you're tall. And seat belts aren't the easiest things to deal with at the moment, giving the state of his ribs.

Once Sherlock has sat down and told the cab driver where to go, Ted lets out a long, tired sigh.

"That sucked," he comments. He doesn't usually let himself be negative for very long, but he feels like in this case, he's earned it at least a little bit.

"I am sorry for that," Sherlock says, lacing his fingers together, a nervous pose that emphasizes the awkwardness he feels. "Comforting people is more Watson's thing than mine, but do know I dearly wish that had not happened."

Ted looks over at Sherlock and smiles softly. "I know. Thanks," he answers. It's more of a comfort for Ted than it would be for most people. "And it's not your fault. But I meant... sort of the entire thing."

Talking to Turner had been stressful and unpleasant. Saddening. He wanted to try to connect, maybe try to steer him a tiny bit in the right direction, and he's pretty sure he failed. Even if he sees the person Turner could be, hiding deep in there. Instead he just got disparaged and threatened and eventually attacked.

Sherlock nods, knowing that Ted is taking it hard that he was unable to get through to the younger man. He did warn him that he was unlikely to be swayed by kindness. He supposes Ted had to try. It's in his nature.

"In my darker moments," Sherlock says carefully, "I have believed that people do not change. That what we are, who we are, is fixed. I believed that of myself as well. It was Watson who showed me that change is truly possible. That the events of my past need not be the shackles of my future. But it took time. A great deal of time." He looks at Ted. "Mr. Chapman was never going to make some sudden change due to the kindness you showed him. But that doesn't mean it was useless or foolish of you to try."

Ted listens quietly, and he is... incredibly touched by the sentiment. It really means a lot to him, especially after such an unpleasant and traumatic experience, and it's evident on his face how grateful he is.

He also appreciates seeing and hearing about Sherlock and Joan's friendship, and how Joan helped him. He's so proud and fond of her for that, and happy for both of them.

"You're better at comforting than you think you are," Ted softly points out with a smile.

"One of many ways in which I have changed, I assure you," he responds, looking away. It's not entirely true...he's been able to be comforting to victims on occasion even before Watson. But this sort of comfort that is not in service to a case but rather in consideration of a person is something that has grown under the patience, care, and no-nonsense of his partner and best friend.

Ted smiles to himself and looks out the window. He does feel a little better. Well, emotionally anyway. Physically, he still feels pretty exhausted and achy.

"Well, I hope at least the lead goes somewhere, so we can both get her back," he says. They both miss her, and Joan probably isn't doing much better, away on her own, and unable to truly open up to the people she has supporting her over there. Ted at least has Beard, who understands the situation.

...Beard is definitely going to be upset with him for putting himself in harm's way like that.

"As do I," Sherlock replies softly. He misses her, and he worries about her, and now he worries about Ted, too. Bringing Watson home would be the best thing for all three of them.

When the cab arrives at Ted's street, Sherlock pays the cabbie, then helps Ted out of the cab and to his apartment.

"Alright, I got it from here," he says once they reach the outside of his apartment. He considers inviting Sherlock up for a cup of tea or something, but even on a normal day he wouldn't expect him to accept, and now he's got a new lead he's probably itching to follow up on.

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