trashchildren | For Joan

Ted is drifting off too, but he isn't quite gone by the time Sherlock reenters, so he opens his eyes when he hears him. He gives Sherlock a soft smile, then closes his eyes again, letting himself drift off too.

Sherlock smiles back, just as softly. He trusts Ted, enough to be vulnerable, enough to share Watson with him, enough to allow himself to be fond of the man.

He watches over them both, protective of these people he's come to care for as well as of their relationship, for the next two hours, before the nurse comes in with discharge papers. She stops at the door and looks to Sherlock. Sherlock nods and leans toward the two of them.

"Watson...Ted..."

Ted blinks awake, looking blearily first at Sherlock, then at the nurse. Ah, alright.

He kisses the top of Joan's head, and gives her shoulders a very gentle shake. "Wake up, sweetie," he says softly.

Joan opens her eyes slowly, looking up at Ted, then toward the door. "Oh," she says, seeing the nurse. She sits up, still leaning back against the bed. She gives the nurse a smile. "Hi."

"Miss Watson. I have your discharge instructions here, so we can get you out of here and home as soon as possible. Let me start with that IV, though."

She comes in, puts the papers aside and grabs a pair of gloves, pulling them on. Joan holds out her arm, and the nurse carefully removes the IV, taping gauze tightly to the spot where it used to be and instructing
Joan to apply pressure. Then she removes the remaining electrodes from Joan's chest and has her remove the cannula that was giving her extra oxygen.

Ted gets to his feet to be out of the nurse's way as she does her work.

Oof, he feels kind of terrible though, slightly sticky from sweat and feeling achy. Maybe he's coming down with something. That should win an award for worst possible timing if that's the case though.

"All right, love," the nurse says. "Do you have a change of clothes?"

"Yes," Sherlock says. "Beard was considerate enough to pick up some things at 221B when he went to get the phones."

Joan smiles at that. "Of course he did."

"Good. Have you been out of bed much yet?"

Joan shakes her head. The nurse hums.

"You're going to want someone with you whenever you get out of bed. To get dressed, to go to the bathroom, everything. Be extremely careful not to overestimate your strength. Err on the side of caution. All right?"

She nods, glancing at Ted with a smile, knowing he'll be there to help her. Her smile fades a little when she notices that he's not looking too good.

Ted does return the smile though, absolutely intending to be there to help, whether he has a cold or not. He'll power through. (Well, unless that's like a risk thing, since she probably shouldn't get sick while she's recovering. Especially if her lungs were having problems.)

He grabs the stuff Beard brought, putting it up on the bed and starts pulling out clothes. Beard's even been considerate to pick out comfortable clothes that are easy to put on. Definitely better than the dress she came in with.

Joan wouldn't be surprised if Ted's coming down with something. His immune system is probably suppressed by injury and stress, and he's been in a hospital. She makes a mental note to have him take his temperature when they get home.

"You give us a call," the nurse continues, "if you have any alarming symptoms. Severe headache, dizziness, fainting, seizures, anything like that. Or anything else that concerns you. And follow up with your doctor next week."

"I will," Joan says. "Thank you."

The nurse has her sign a form, then wishes her luck and leaves.

Joan turns to Ted, concerned. "Hey," she says. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Ted answers reassuringly, giving her a smile. "Think I'm just a bit tired from all the hubbub, you know?" He won't deny that he feels a bit oogy, but it's probably not a big deal. Hopefully nothing a good sleep won't fix. Preferably in an actual bed, and one that isn't in a basement.

"You and me both." A good sleep in each other's arms in a comfortable bed and in a comfortable room would be absolutely heavenly, and doubtless good for them both.

"Okay," she says, carefully sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She should get dressed, but she doesn't want to disrobe in front of Sherlock if she can help it.

"Sherlock," she says, "could you get a wheelchair."

Sherlock nods, knowing she's also giving him a reason to be out of the room. He heads out and closes the door.

"Help me with this?" she asks Ted, gesturing to her hospital gown.

Ted nods, stepping over to undo her hospital gown, then handing her clothes and helping her on with them. He has plenty of experience dressing people, being a dad and all. He also has experience seeing Joan naked, so he's uniquely qualified for this.

"Hey, do you have any like, dietary restrictions or anything while you're recovering?"

Joan feels absolutely comfortable with Ted helping her get dressed, which is significant for someone as independent and stubbornly self-sufficient as Joan. There's a lot of love and care and trust between them. She lets him hook up her bra, since she can't quite seem to get her hands to reach behind her, and probably wouldn't have the fine motor skills anyway.

"I don't think so," she says. "Although I don't think I'm going to be up for anything more complicated than broth for a while."

"Higgins wanted to bring over a casserole for us, supposed to be amazing," he says, smiling as he he helps her on with a jacket. "I can tell him to hold it off a little while though, make sure we can actually take proper advantage of it."

"Oh, that's so sweet," she says, touched. It's exactly the sort of thing Higgins would do, too...he's a sweet, wholesome man with a sweet, wholesome family. It makes her sad to think of Rupert using him to do terrible things. "It would probably be good to hold off for at least a couple days, yeah. But tell him I really appreciate it and can't wait to give it a try."

Sherlock comes in with a wheelchair just as Joan is letting Ted put on her shoes. Simple flats, which she supposes she'll be wearing instead of heels for a while. He parks the wheelchair, then comes over tp stand on the opposite side of Joan from Ted.

"Ready?" he asks, taking her hand and her elbow and looking at Ted to do the same.

Ted nods, hopping over to Joan's other side and taking her hand and elbow to help her into the wheelchair. His leg and ribs might be still be messed up, but at least he's still got his regular amount of upper body strength, as long as he plants his feet well.

Joan is also incredibly small and light, so even though she's weak enough that she can only barely help them get her into the wheelchair, it's not too hard for Sherlock and Ted to get the job done.

Sherlock grabs the bags so that Ted can use both of his crutches, and pushes the wheelchair, making sure to go slowly so Ted can easily keep up.

Ted has gotten a fair amount of practice at walking with the crutches by now, so he can go pretty fast if he wants. That if, if he wasn't tired and achy. By the time they get to the cab, he feels all sweaty again. After they help Joan in, and he gets in and sit down himself, he's actually got chills for a moment, but he tries to ignore it for now. He can worry about when they get settled in.

Joan notices those chills, and so does Sherlock, sitting on the other side of Ted. They exchange a glance.

"Hey," Joan says. "Are you okay? Do you feel sick?"

She raises a hand to feel his forehead.

"No, I'm fine," he answers automatically. "I mean.. Just a little bit," he admits, finally. He does feel achy, more than he usually does with his injuries.

When she feels his forehead he does have a very slight fever. Not a lot, but just enough to be noticeable.

She lowers her hand, trembling a little. "You're a little warm," she says, frowning faintly in concern. She looks at Sherlock. "Do we have acetaminophen at home?"

"We should," Sherlock answers.

"We'll give you some of that. It should help with the fever. Any other symptoms?"

"Just the regular fever yuckiness," he answers with a shrug. Sweats, chills, achy body, lil bit queasy. "It's not that bad."

He also feels anxious, but he doesn't mention that cause, you know, he's got plenty to feel anxious about.

"I'm sorry, that sucks," she says softly. "Are you still taking meds for your injuries?"

She wants to make sure acetaminophen isn't going to react with anything he's taking. It would also be good to know if his meds should be keeping a fever down, since that would mean this is a breakthrough fever and things could be worse than they appear.

Ted nods. "Yeah, gonna be on them for a least a few weeks," he answers. Given his injures were pretty significant, it takes longer for than to heal than if he'd just broken the one leg. And it's only been two weeks so far.

She nods. That makes sense.

"What are you taking?"

"Uh," Ted answers, then starts rooting in his bag. He's keenly aware he's talking about this next to Sherlock, and doesn't want to make things hard on him. So instead of saying it out loud, he just shows her the bottle of Vicodin.

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