donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2011-08-04 11:09 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2011-08-04 11:09 pm
Awaiting Word
Title: Awaiting Word
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock BBC, none, rated G
Word Count: 300
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
_medley_
Summary: Lestrade and Sherlock wait for word on John.
Author's Note: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
watsons_woes amnesty prompts wherein 10 fics are written for 10 prompts and all are part of the same story arc. This is the seventh story, for the prompt "Railway, white, snake, jump, sandwich. Use all five words in your fic."
"Hullo, Sherlock." Sherlock had been staring at the wall opposite him for one hour, seventeen minutes and eleven seconds when Lestrade appeared in front of him. "Sorry I couldn't get here earlier."
"The crime scene?"
Lestrade nodded, sighing as he collapsed into the chair next to Sherlock. "Not far from Marylebone railway station, just like you'd thought. Looks like he was attacked and then left there. In this weather and on a weekend? No one might have noticed him for days."
"Weapon?"
"A tree branch. No usable prints. Just some of John's blood."
"I suspected as much." Sherlock went back to staring at the wall.
They sat in silence for a few moments before Lestrade abruptly said, "You should eat something. Let me get you sandwich."
"No, thank you."
"Right then." Lestrade scrubbed his hand over his face. "Shouldn't the sister be here? Harriet?"
"Her level of inebriation prohibits it. Paperwork was drawn up so that I can make medical decisions." Mycroft was useful for some things after all, Sherlock had discovered.
"I suppose that's good. Thinking ahead like that."
"Yes."
A doctor entered the room. "Mr Holmes?"
Sherlock jumped to his feet. "How is he?"
"If you'll come with me." The doctor gestured for Lestrade and Sherlock to follow him. "I'll take you to see him. It's still touch and go, but he's quite the fighter," the doctor began, but Sherlock, now that he knew John was still alive, ignored everything said from then on. All that mattered was John.
However, the man on the bed was not John. Not the man Sherlock knew so well. He was so pale he was white, his face matching the bandages that swathed his head. Wires and tubing snaked up his arms and chest. Machines beeped and hissed.
"Oh," Sherlock gasped. "John."
The story continues in Perchance To Dream. The masterpost to this entire verse can be found here.
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock BBC, none, rated G
Word Count: 300
Beta:
_medley_Summary: Lestrade and Sherlock wait for word on John.
Author's Note: Written for the
watsons_woes amnesty prompts wherein 10 fics are written for 10 prompts and all are part of the same story arc. This is the seventh story, for the prompt "Railway, white, snake, jump, sandwich. Use all five words in your fic." "Hullo, Sherlock." Sherlock had been staring at the wall opposite him for one hour, seventeen minutes and eleven seconds when Lestrade appeared in front of him. "Sorry I couldn't get here earlier."
"The crime scene?"
Lestrade nodded, sighing as he collapsed into the chair next to Sherlock. "Not far from Marylebone railway station, just like you'd thought. Looks like he was attacked and then left there. In this weather and on a weekend? No one might have noticed him for days."
"Weapon?"
"A tree branch. No usable prints. Just some of John's blood."
"I suspected as much." Sherlock went back to staring at the wall.
They sat in silence for a few moments before Lestrade abruptly said, "You should eat something. Let me get you sandwich."
"No, thank you."
"Right then." Lestrade scrubbed his hand over his face. "Shouldn't the sister be here? Harriet?"
"Her level of inebriation prohibits it. Paperwork was drawn up so that I can make medical decisions." Mycroft was useful for some things after all, Sherlock had discovered.
"I suppose that's good. Thinking ahead like that."
"Yes."
A doctor entered the room. "Mr Holmes?"
Sherlock jumped to his feet. "How is he?"
"If you'll come with me." The doctor gestured for Lestrade and Sherlock to follow him. "I'll take you to see him. It's still touch and go, but he's quite the fighter," the doctor began, but Sherlock, now that he knew John was still alive, ignored everything said from then on. All that mattered was John.
However, the man on the bed was not John. Not the man Sherlock knew so well. He was so pale he was white, his face matching the bandages that swathed his head. Wires and tubing snaked up his arms and chest. Machines beeped and hissed.
"Oh," Sherlock gasped. "John."
The story continues in Perchance To Dream. The masterpost to this entire verse can be found here.