The actual spell doesn't take long, and it seems to take a lifetime. When it is done, John collapses in a heap on the floor. Carefully, Sherlock lifted John into his arms and carried him to their bed, tucking him in tightly.
He yelled down to Greg to start the watch and that he was relieved of duty, then went back to the bedroom and looked over John. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, but there was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.
Oh so gently, Sherlock wiped the sweat from his brow and settled into his watch. He had his computer to give him something to do, but more often than not, he found that he couldn't concentrate, he was too worried about John.
The hours passed so slowly, but he never slept, never ate, never left John's side except to use the loo a few times, and even then he kept the door open and was in there as little time as he could be.
He paced, he sat, he worried, he pondered, he planned for the worst, plotting escape routes and backup plans and backup plans to those backup plans
But nothing ever came to fruition. It was 49 hours, 36 minutes, and 10 seconds after he collapsed that John came to and groggily sat up in bed.
"John." Sherlock's voice was harsh from lack of use and his parched dry throat. "You need food, and water. I knew you would be awake soon, so I took the liberty of ordering your favorite Indian food. And I have some water here on the counter. Take a few sips but not too much at first."
Even though Sherlock was parched and his throat dry, he held up the glass and gently put it to John's lips, not even thinking of himself, only ever of John.
no subject
He yelled down to Greg to start the watch and that he was relieved of duty, then went back to the bedroom and looked over John. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, but there was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.
Oh so gently, Sherlock wiped the sweat from his brow and settled into his watch. He had his computer to give him something to do, but more often than not, he found that he couldn't concentrate, he was too worried about John.
The hours passed so slowly, but he never slept, never ate, never left John's side except to use the loo a few times, and even then he kept the door open and was in there as little time as he could be.
He paced, he sat, he worried, he pondered, he planned for the worst, plotting escape routes and backup plans and backup plans to those backup plans
But nothing ever came to fruition. It was 49 hours, 36 minutes, and 10 seconds after he collapsed that John came to and groggily sat up in bed.
"John." Sherlock's voice was harsh from lack of use and his parched dry throat. "You need food, and water. I knew you would be awake soon, so I took the liberty of ordering your favorite Indian food. And I have some water here on the counter. Take a few sips but not too much at first."
Even though Sherlock was parched and his throat dry, he held up the glass and gently put it to John's lips, not even thinking of himself, only ever of John.