trashchildren | For Joan

Sherlock gives Ted a nod in return. There's relief in his expression but also anger at the man who was responsible for poisoning his partner. He knows Watson had taken the chemical bullet for Ted, and he can understand that. He might have done the same were Watson the target. It was still Rupert Mannion who sent the poison in the first place. He would be plotting his revenge if he wasn't aware of a simple fact: Rupert had hurt Joan while trying to hurt Ted, both people who were under Moriarty's protection. The future does not look good for the man.

Joan follows Ted's gaze and sees their friends standing there, shocked and distressed. They have no idea what just happened, she realizes.

"We need...to tell them," Joan says, looking at Ted. They need to know at least the basics. They owe them that now that Rupert has been arrested.

Ted nods. "After we get up to the hospital," he says quietly. There's no urgency right now, no one needs to know anything. Heck, they might not even know the two things were connected. Though if they caught the bit about poison, then yeah it's probably a safe bet.

Ted is certainly not in any emotional state to explain it now though. Especially to Rebecca.

Besides, she might want to try to salvage the rest of this gala, or at least try to smooth things over as it ends early.

Joan nods weakly and closes her eyes, taking a shuddering breath. She's so tired.

"Let's get her on a stretcher," the medic who was talking to Joan said to his compatriots, who went off to get one. He looks up at Ted. "We'll need space to get her on the stretcher, but you can come with us in the ambulance."

The other medics return with a stretcher that they lower so they don't have to lift Joan too far.

"Alright, hear that Joan? I'll be right here the whole time, okay?" he says, kissing Joan's hand again, before laying it down gently and getting to his feet.

Beard practically teleports to his side, helping him up. Ted grabs his shoulder reassuringly, and gives him a look promising he'll explain everything.

He takes a quick moment to wipe the drying tears from his face, Beard handing him his crutch. The medics carefully lift Joan up, and Ted promises everyone he'll talk to them later, before following after the stretcher towards the ambulance.

The ambulance outside is flanked by two police cars, and officers have set up a barrier to push back a sea of reporters that has gathered, drawn by the ruckus. Rupert Mannion is in one of those patrol cars, having been caught in a veritable flood of flashes and yelled questions.

The reporters surge anew as the stretcher is brought out bearing Joan, who in the last hour has become known as "the gaffer's girlfriend." The police are yelling at them to back up, trying to subdue them as Joan is loaded into the ambulance. Then Ted emerges and all hell breaks lose.

"Mr. Lasso!" come the cries. "Coach Lasso! Any comment? What happened tonight? Will you be at the match on Saturday? Coach Lasso! Coach Lasso!"

Ted has nothing in his mind except making sure Joan is alright, so when he steps outside and lights start flashing, people yelling at him, he's completely overwhelmed. He stops in his tracks, blinking in confusion.

And then Beard steps out in front of him. Ted jumps a little as Beard's loud yell of "HEY!" overpowers even the crowd's clamoring. "Show some respect!" he continues, still yelling, which seems to shock the reporters into silence at least for the moment, long enough for Beard to usher Ted into the ambulance after Joan.

The doors are closed, and Ted gets to sit down next to Joan, holding her hand. "There we are. You alright?"

Joan opens her eyes as Ted takes her hand and turns her head toward him to give him a weak smile. "I'm okay," she says, barely audible against the rumble of the motor and the hiss of oxygen. The medic has unzipped the back of Joan's gown and tugged her bodice down to expose her chest, to which he's busily sticking electrodes. A heartbeat pops up on the monitor, and it's noticeably slower than normal.

"All right, let's get out of here," he says, banging on the window to signal the driver to go. The sirens start blaring and the ambulance lurches into motion.

Ted smiles, still fairly emotional, but more surely now. He reaches over and just strokes Joan's hair, just wanting to be a comforting presence.

"You know, Henry would be so jealous I've gotten to ride in an ambulance twice lately," he says, smiling. "If we manage to hitch a ride with fire truck, he'll be turning green."

He doesn't expect Joan to be able to answer much, but he's happy to sit here and just provide some silliness and normality. All the other stuff they can figure out later.

Joan leans into the touch, closing her eyes with a sigh. She's so tired...

"Miss Watson," the medic says, looking at the slow heartbeat. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

Joan's eyes flutter open, but drift closed again.

"She needs an epi," the medic says, opening a cabinet and taking out a syringe.

Ted's grip tightens a little around Joan's hand as her eyes drift closed again the EMT starts doing something. He has to bite his tongue to not ask what that means. He knows they have more important things to do, and he doesn't want to distract them from taking care of Joan. Even if there's still that little bit of panic bubbling right under the surface.

There is one very pressing question he can't stop himself from asking though. "She's doing to be okay, right?"

"We're doing everything we can," the medic says.

He pulls up Joan's skirt to bare her thigh, then pinches the outer skin and muscle and pushes the needle in. He slowly depresses the plunger, then removes the needle, discards it in a sharps box, and rubs the injection site while looking at the monitor.

Joan wakes up with a gasp, blinking, eyes wide.

Well dang it, that's not really what a man wants to hear! He wants to hear confident reassurances right now.

Ted jumps a bit as Joan wakes up so dramatically, and it's really scary to watch, but he immediately goes back into being the reassuring one.

"Hey, you're alright, you're okay," he says, as gently as he can while still being heard over the ambulance, stroking her hair and squeezing her hand.

Her eyes dart anxiously from Ted to the medic. "What's going on?"

"Your heartrate was dropping, so I administered a shot of epinephrine," the medic says, still massaging her outer thigh so the medication is fully absorbed.

Joan looks to Ted, and there's fear in her eyes. How much of it is caused by the situation and how much by the sudden rush of adrenaline is unclear.

It breaks Ted's heart to see her scared. Ted is too, incredibly so, but he can't let it show right now. She shouldn't have to go through any of this, and he needs to do whatever he can to mitigate the awfulness.

"Hey, sweetie, it's okay," he says, leaning in close so he can look her in the eyes and make sure she focuses on him, trying to sound as steady and reassuring as possible. "They're taking real good care of you. I know it's scary right now, but I'm here, and the medics are here, and none of us are gonna let anything happen to you, okay? You hear me?"

Joan is usually the steady, stoic one, even when she's in danger, but the adrenaline is sizzling along her nerves and causing her to gasp for air as her heart pounds.

Then Ted is there, right above her face, looking her in the eyes, capturing her entire attention. She's surrounded by the wail of the sirens, the rumble of the engine and the wheels on the road, the hiss of oxygen and the (now rapid) beep of the heart monitor. But it all fades away as she allows him to draw her in and hold her, physically and emotionally.

"I hear you," she says. She tightens her grip on his hand, keeping her eyes locked on his.

Ted smiles, as warmly and reassuringly as he can. He places a quick kiss on the front of her oxygen mask, almost playfully.

"We're almost at the hospital, but in the meantime, you just focus on me, alright?" he continues, just keeping her attention, keeping her mind occupied and reassured. "All that stuff you're feeling right now, it just means your body and the medicine is doing its job, right? Means you're gonna be okay."

Of course, Ted doesn't know that. But he has to believe it, and more importantly, he needs to make sure Joan believes it.

"Then when we get to the hospital, they're gonna check you over, make sure you're doing okay, and then you and I are gonna take like, the longest nap together, all cuddled up, does that sound good?" he asks, smiling, looking at her with so much love and care.

Joan can't help but smile a little as he kisses the oxygen mask. What he's saying about the medication and her body's response to it isn't entirely right, but it's not exactly wrong, either...just really optimistic. Which is very Ted. She's seen all the "Believe" signs in his apartment, but he doesn't need a sign to make her believe, to the core of her being, that he's right. That she's going to be okay.

"That sounds amazing," she says, feeling so very loved and cared for.

The ambulance rolls to a stop in the hospital bay, and the medic opens the door, the medics from the front coming around to help get Joan out. She squeezes his hand tightly, then lets go as they take her out of the ambulance and whisk her into the hospital, leaving him behind.

"I love you," he says quickly, because he knows they're about to whisk her away, probably eventually behind some doors that Ted can't follow through.

He grabs his crutch and hobbles along after as best he can, but sure enough, soon he's faced with a door he's not allowed through and pointed to a waiting room.

No one else is here yet, and he doesn't have his phone, which is still with Sherlock. He assumes they'll find him eventually. So he talks to the hospital people, lets them know who he is and who he's waiting for news on. That he just needs to know Joan is okay.

The waiting room is fairly sparse, so he sits down somewhere away from anyone else there, and he undoes his tie and takes off his suit jacket.

He sits there, and he covers his face with his hands for a bit, then sits back, and after several minutes of waiting, he can no longer keep himself from crying.

When Sherlock enters the waiting room and sees Ted crying, his stomach sinks. He makes his way to the man and sits in the chair next to him, staring forward.

"Is she dead?" he asks without looking at the man, the roughness of his voice a hint of how fragile his composure is.

Ted barely notices when Sherlock sits down next to him, and looks up a bit startled when he asks him that.

"What?" he asks, like he's getting news, but then she realises Sherlock is asking, not saying. "God, no, she better not be."

He runs a hand across his face and clears his throat a bit. "They gave her a, uh, an 'epi' in the ambulance," he says, since he assumes Sherlock will know what that means. "She was awake and talking, when they took her away."

"Epinephrine," Sherlock says grimly, still staring forward. "They must have been concerned she was on the verge of cardiac arrest."

He looks down at his clasped hands.

"How long since you've had news of her?"

Ted gently throws up his hands in a gesture of 'no clue'. "Since I got here," he answers. Which he doesn't think is that long ago, but honestly he has zero concept of time right now. The ambulance ride simultaneously felt like three minutes and also three hours.

Sherlock is able to do the math, and it's longer than he would like. He's wondering why they haven't at least told Ted how she's doing.

"It's not your fault," he says. "In case you think it was."

Ted smiles gratefully, even if it's a pretty weak and watery smile. "I know, thank you," he answers softly.

There is part of him that thinks, what if they had just left, what if they'd just let the cops do their job. But then they might not have arrested Rupert at all, and he might have done something else, for all he knows, and maybe they wouldn't have been able to get it in time. He can't afford to think like that.

He looks over at Sherlock, with his tight expression, his clasped hands. "Hey. It's not yours either," he says gently.

Because Sherlock was there specifically to prevent something like this, so Ted wouldn't be surprised if he was, if not directly blaming himself, at least thinking about what if he'd been smarter, if he'd been faster, more observant. And there's no use in thinking like that either.

Sherlock nods. He has indeed been thinking along those "if only" lines. If only he'd identified the killer more quickly. If only he'd realize the poison would be added after the dish left the monitored kitchen. If only they had prepared more, had antidotes to possible poisons on hand. If only...

A doctor in green scrubs and a white coat enters the waiting room and approaches them.

"Is one of you Ted Lasso?" she asks.

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