trashchildren | For Joan

Ted leans over and gives her a quick goodnight kiss. "Sleep well," he says quietly.

He looks over at Sherlock. "Wake me if you need a nap or something?" It feels strange to be going to sleep with Sherlock watching over them, but it's not too different from how they were in the hospital.

"You too," she murmurs. "I love you."

She's not showing it, but she's a little scared. What if the medication doesn't work? What if she has another seizure? What if it's worse? Sherlock is looking out for her, but if something goes really wrong...

There's nothing she can do about it at this point, though, but trust Sherlock, trust Ted, trust Dr. Bergen, trust the medication. Trust everything is going to be okay.

Sherlock nods as he sits, settling in to watch Joan with the sort of singular focus he excels at.

Ted is definitely also scared, and he's not quite as good at hiding it as Joan is, though he's trying for her sake. He gives her hand a little reassuring squeeze, that's for his own benefit as well. At least he gets to sleep right here next to her.

He's also definitely not going to be able to fall asleep until she has, and then has been asleep for at least as long as it took her to get a seizure earlier. There's no way he can properly relax.

He glances over at Sherlock and his laser-focus. He wouldn't want to be watched like that, but it's a comfort nonetheless, even if it's also slightly unnerving.

Her anxieties aside, it doesn't take Joan too terribly long to fall asleep, feeling comforted by Ted's breathing and warmth, as well as Sherlock's vigilance. As her breathing slows, Sherlock leans forth slightly, his attention sharpening further as he watches for a seizure to set in at the same point it had twice before.

The minutes tick by slowly.

Nothing happens.

At half an hour Sherlock lets out a relieved sigh and relaxes.

Ted tries to sleep, closing his eyes and trying to rest, but he just finds himself just listening to Joan's breathing, feeling for any movement. There isn't any, thankfully, beyond her breathing

He hears Sherlock's sigh though, and lifts his head a bit to look at him, at his now more relaxed posture. That is actually reassuring. He smiles a bit, then lays his head down again and makes a slightly more concerted effort to sleep.

Sleep does come soon after that, but it's still uneasy. Joan shifts at one point, and it almost jerks Ted awake, where for a moment he just lies there to make sure she's not shaking, making sure she's still breathing, before he eventually falls back asleep. He doesn't dream anything coherent, just vague feelings of anxiety and worry.

He wakes up a few hours later, still in the middle of the night, but not quite the time she has to take her meds. He can't go back to sleep after that, his mind cooking, and then suddenly there's a knot in his chest, his face twisting a little.

He realizes his fingers have turned numb, and he carefully but quickly sits up, going to grab his crutch. "Bathroom," he mumbles at Sherlock, back turned towards him as he gets up and heads there.

Sherlock sees Ted wake up, and frowns as he notices some things about the man's demeanor, his respiration, his expression, the tension in his body. He sees how quickly Ted makes for the bathroom, and wonders if the man is sick, if the chicken and rice didn't agree with him. He returns to watching Watson, but every so often he glances at the door, concerned.

Ted closes the bathroom door behind him then stops and leans his forehead against it, his breath turning quick and shallow. He feels desperately afraid, a looming dread threatening to swallow him.

He knows what this is, but it doesn't make it any easier.

The 'what if's are all that's filling his brain right now, and he turns his back against the door and slides down to the floor, sitting down and curling his legs up, covering his face with his tensing hands.

He tries to hear Joan's voice in his head, her instructions on things to focus on. Rebecca's reassurances, telling him to breathe. It's a lot harder to do those things, to envision himself on a field, to try to draw deeper breaths, without those voices in his ears.

It takes a lot longer for him to calm down without that support. He does, eventually, manage to steady his breathing, to try to relax his muscles. He almost feels worse after than during, a bone-deep exhaustion. His ribs feel sore from the rapid breathing.

Eventually he gets to his feet, flushing the toilet for cover, and splashing some water in his face. He looks at himself in the mirror, and he looks about ten years older.

Sherlock's probably getting more worried the longer he stays here though, so he grabs his crutch again and heads back to bed to try to sleep. He's glad for the low light in the room.

"Sorry 'bout that... Stomach upset," he excuses himself quietly, his voice sounding worn, but hopefully not much more worn than someone waking up in the middle of the night with stomach problems would sound like.

Sherlock looks up as Ted enters the room and gives him a small nod at the explanation. It makes sense, and Sherlock wouldn't doubt it save for two things: one, Ted isn't a great liar, and two, he's seen the man break down before. It's likely futile to confront the man about it now, but he resolves to mention it to Joan in the morning.

Ted might admit to it if cornered, but he wouldn't be up for having much of a conversation about it right now. He has a feeling Sherlock is onto him, but he's grateful he doesn't question it either way.

He lies back down and tries to get comfortable, but his discomfort seems to run through his entire being now, not something that can be fixed with a few pillows and some opioids. (Well, maybe a lot of opioids, but that's not really an option.)

He gently takes Joan's hand, holding onto her for comfort. At least he might actually fall asleep now, just by virtue of exhaustion.

Joan stirs as he takes her hand, opening her eyes. She smiles at him...but her smile fades into concern when she sees his face. Did something happen? Did she seize again?

"Hey..." She squeezes his hand. "Everything okay?"

Ted smiles reassuringly back at her. "Yeah, just upset stomach," he whispers, since that masks the tiredness of his voice. "You're good," he adds, because no doubt that would be at the top of her worries.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she murmurs sympathetically. Stomach issues suck, and the medications he's taking can sometimes cause them. She squeezes his hand again to comfort him.

Sherlock watches the exchange, and can understand why Ted wouldn't tell Watson the truth. He wouldn't want to worry her. Sherlock can't blame him; god knows he's lied to Watson tons of times for similar reasons. He knows that it would be better if he told her the truth, but he can hardly interfere now.

Sherlock might start to realize that burning themselves out to take care of other people is not a behavior exclusive to Joan. The two of them match in that regard. Which is another reason Ted doesn't want to tell her, at least not now.

He might've admitted it if the situation was slightly different. But now just isn't a good time. Either it won't happen again, and it won't be a problem, or it happens again and he can maybe retroactively admit to it then.

"S'okay," he answers gently. It's the least of his problems, honestly. "Hey, at least it was me and not you," he adds with a smile. She's the one with a fragile stomach right now, and who definitely needs all the nutrition she can get.

"Hey, how long till her meds?" he asks Sherlock, lifting his head a little. He knows he was in the bathroom for a while, so it must be getting close.

Sherlock has definitely been picking up on that, yeah. He believes that under most circumstances they will be fine, taking care of and looking out for each other. But in times like this, when both of them are suffering, it might be hard. Perhaps it's a good thing they have him as an outside observer.

"Fifteen minutes," Sherlock says, rising. "I'll fetch the medication and some water."

It might take them both a little longer to realize they can lean on other people as well. Ted at least has had very vocal support and many offers of help, for things both large and small. Joan really only has Sherlock here. But thankfully, the people who took Ted into their hearts are opening them to Joan as well, something which makes him very grateful.

"You sleeping alright?" he asks Joan quietly. He hopes now that she hasn't had any seizures, it's at least a bit more restful. She's certainly seemed more restful.

Joan is very grateful for the little family Ted has brought together here that have opened their arms and hearts to her as well. One of the reasons staying in London had never been attractive to her was because all of her family and friends are in New York. She still misses them, of course, but now she has friends here, and Ted...Ted is family.

"Yeah, I am," she answers softly with a smile. "I actually feel good right now."

She reaches out to tenderly brush his hair back from his forehead again, fingers still trembling.

"Good," Ted answers, and there's obvious relief in his voice. He reaches up and puts his hand on Joan's, closing his eyes and turning his head a little to kiss her palm, and then just letting her hand rest on his cheek. At least he doesn't need to tell her everything to be able to draw comfort from her.

She smiles softly as he kisses her palm, and gently strokes his cheek with her thumb. She's glad to hear that relief in her voice. She knows he's worried about her, and she dearly wishes he didn't have to. God knows he's had enough trauma to work through.

"You okay?" she whispers. It's not directed toward any particular observation, just love and concern.

Ted gives a quiet hum at the question. "Tired," he answers softly. He doesn't even have the energy to think of some folksy way to express that, but he knows he doesn't necessarily to do that with her. He can be a little bit vulnerable.

It's fairly easy to assume he doesn't just mean that he needs sleep. There's a definite exhaustion that runs through all of him, from everything that's been happening. He's tired on every level.

She can tell it's not just a physical tiredness, and she doesn't blame him. All the extreme things that have happened, both good and bad, are enough individually to wear on someone. Have them all happen in the span of a couple weeks? Or a couple months, if you want to add in the two of them meeting and falling hard and fast for each other?

She shifts a little closer, and leans in to very softly kiss his lips.

"Rest with me," she whispers. She's talking about more than sleep, and more than just now.

Ted opens his eyes after she kisses him, and smiles softly, just giving a very slight nod in response. He knows she means more by that. And even if she didn't it would still be an immense comfort.

He can feel himself tearing up a little, just from the depths of his love for her, the gratitude for her being who she is, for taking care of him, for loving him. He closes his eyes again.

She sees those tears welling in his eyes, and her heart aches for him. She kisses him again, still soft and sweet and gentle, lingering, brushing her thumb against his cheekbone, wanting to soothe and comfort him.

Sherlock enters with the pill in one hand and a cup of water in the other, but hangs back, letting the two of them seek comfort in each other without interruption.

She's definitely succeeding in comforting him. He can't imagine going through this without her. He can't imagine what it would've been like to go through the loss of her, and he tries very hard not to let himself think of it. He feels like she saved her life in more ways than just physically.

He hears Sherlock enter though, and after a moment he pulls back a little, clearing his throat softly and sitting up a little in case she needs help getting up.

She opens her eyes as he pulls back and glances toward the door to see Sherlock standing there with her medicine. Ah.

She works at pushing herself up, reaching for Ted's hand for a little help.

Ted helps, putting a hand on her back as well to help push her out, without necessarily doing all the work for her. Just making it a little easier.

"How are you doing, Sherlock?" he asks softly. "Need sleep?" (Of course, Ted himself definitely still looks like he needs it too. Almost more-so now than when he originally went to bed.)

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