trashchildren | For Joan

Sherlock scoffs, turning back to Watson, but it's more amused than anything. He hadn't thought he was good with children, but he was now godfather to his protege Kitty's son Archie, and he's had to re-evaluate his position.

"Well," he says, changing the subject. "If we are to remain for the night, we should decide upon sleeping arrangements."

"Right," Ted agrees, smile widening for a moment at the scoff and the subject change.

He looks around, at the few available chairs, the one (somewhat cramped) couch, and the hospital bed. He'd gladly sleep next to Joan, but he doesn't want to risk while she's still so sick.

"Thoughts?" he asks, after a moment, unsure himself.

Sherlock suspects Joan would appreciate having Ted sleep beside her, but would also think it too risky for right now.

"You should be closest to her, in case she needs you." Her needing him is a broad category, from her needing a glass of water to her suffering a sudden and catastrophic incident.

Ted gestures at the couch he's sitting on questioningly. He's definitely not going to be able to sleep well in those chairs, at least. Not in his current state. "Where are you gonna sleep?"

Sherlock surveys their options sourly.

"Perhaps we can request a bed, or at least a reclining chair."

"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."

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.

"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 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."

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.

"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."

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.

"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.

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.

"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.

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.

"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.

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