Too Close to Holmes - 9/?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9 - First Aid
It took less than five minutes for a loud banging to echo through the garage, and a voice from the other side of the metal door to call out “Police! Open up!”
Lestrade. John thought with relief, placing Sherlock's long black coat into the crook of his left arm and rushing forward to open the door.
Lestrade stepped quickly into the garage as soon as the door was raised high enough for him to duck under. He was closely followed by Anderson and Donovan, while several officers outside started cordoning off the area with blue and white police tape.
“What happened?” Lestrade asked, his eyes falling on Sherlock and Mycroft's huddled forms.
“Where's the ambulance?” John asked, ignoring the question.
“Still a few minutes away.” Lestrade answered. “What happened?”
“John.” Sherlock interrupted before John had a chance to answer. John turned around, stepping forward in concern. Sherlock was pulling awkwardly away from his brother, the little colour that had remained in his face rapidly draining away. “John... I'm bleeding.”
“Your back?” John asked, crouching down in front of his flatmate, being careful not to touch him.
“Probably, but that's not what I'm talking about.” Sherlock replied. John's heart sank as he watched Sherlock desperately avoiding eye contact and he quickly realised what his friend was talking about.
“Oh god.” He muttered under his breath. “Ok, Sherlock, we need to check how bad the bleeding is. Now, you're completely free to say no, but I'd like to take a look and, if I have to, I'll need to use padding to minimise the bleed. Okay?”
Sherlock stared intently into John's face, before nodding silently. “What do I do?”
“Right.” John said, feeling the doctor in him take over. “Donovan, go and see if you have a first aid kit in the police car. Sherlock, I need you to lie on your front while Mycroft comes and sits up by your head, okay?”
Sherlock nodded, slowly easing himself onto his front and lying flat while Mycroft quietly moved.
“I need to take this off you, Sherlock.” John said, indicating Mycroft's jacket. At Sherlock's nod, John slowly peeled the jacket away, wincing as the fabric caught on the wounds on his friend's back.
John cringed as his eyes fell on the blood between Sherlock's legs. His inner thighs and buttocks were glistening red with blood, and, as John looked, he could see more trickling out.
“Oh my god.” Donovan crouched down beside John and froze. “Has he been raped?”
“Yes.” John replied, grabbing the first aid kit out of her hands. “I need your help.”
“What do you need?” Donovan asked.
John passed her a sachet of saline solution, grabbing one for himself and tearing the corner off.
“Pour that onto a dressing and try to clean up his back.” He said, grabbing a dressing from the kit and soaking it in saline. “Mycroft, you just keep talking to him.”
John carefully cleaned the blood from between Sherlock's legs, listening carefully for any protests. Mycroft was talking quietly to his brother, gently stroking his hair while he whispered about memories from their shared childhood: their mother's yorkshire puddings and the time Sherlock had broken his leg falling from a tree after climbing up to examine a birds' nest.
“What now?” Donovan asked, throwing the empty saline packet into the first aid kit.
“Take the gauze and lay it in strips across the wounds.” John told her as he tossed away the bloody dressing and grabbed another from the kit. “We haven't got anything big enough to bandage it properly, but do the best you can and then apply gentle pressure. There's a couple of deeper lines there that will probably need stitches, but mostly it should heal by itself.”
Donovan nodded, looking away as John pressed a large rolled up wodge of gauze to the area between Sherlock's buttocks. Sherlock visibly tensed, and the whispered conversation between the two brothers ground to an abrupt halt. John froze, pulling back and holding a hand up to Sally, telling her to stop.
“Sherlock?” John said. “It's okay. I'm just trying to stop the bleeding. Do you want us to stop?”
“No.” Sherlock muttered. “I know what you're doing. It's just...”
“I know.” John assured him. “Don't worry. It's a perfectly natural response.”
“John.” Sherlock commented, peering back over his shoulder. “I assure you, there isn't a single part of this that you can call normal. Just carry on.”
John sighed, closing his eyes sadly, before nodding for Sally to continue.
The sound of sirens filled the area, and John stood up as two paramedics rushed over to Sherlock.
“What've we got?” The first paramedic asked, dropping down where John had previously been.
“Thirty year old male.” John replied. “Anal rape, with considerable bleeding indicating internal lacerations. Large cuts to the back, below the shoulder blades - I think stitches will be needed in some areas. Also superficial lacerations around the wrists from metal handcuffs, and signs of emotional shock.”
“Right.” The paramedic said with a tense nod. “What about that guy over there.”
John looked in the direction indicated, and saw Victor Trevor slowly regaining consciousness at Lestrade's feet.
“That's the man who did this.” John said coldly. “Shot in the hand and whacked over the head with an umbrella. Call for a separate ambulance for him and just focus on Sherlock.”
The paramedics both nodded, one walking away to talk into her radio, and John took a deep breath, standing back with Donovan and Lestrade and watching them work.
NEXT
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9 - First Aid
It took less than five minutes for a loud banging to echo through the garage, and a voice from the other side of the metal door to call out “Police! Open up!”
Lestrade. John thought with relief, placing Sherlock's long black coat into the crook of his left arm and rushing forward to open the door.
Lestrade stepped quickly into the garage as soon as the door was raised high enough for him to duck under. He was closely followed by Anderson and Donovan, while several officers outside started cordoning off the area with blue and white police tape.
“What happened?” Lestrade asked, his eyes falling on Sherlock and Mycroft's huddled forms.
“Where's the ambulance?” John asked, ignoring the question.
“Still a few minutes away.” Lestrade answered. “What happened?”
“John.” Sherlock interrupted before John had a chance to answer. John turned around, stepping forward in concern. Sherlock was pulling awkwardly away from his brother, the little colour that had remained in his face rapidly draining away. “John... I'm bleeding.”
“Your back?” John asked, crouching down in front of his flatmate, being careful not to touch him.
“Probably, but that's not what I'm talking about.” Sherlock replied. John's heart sank as he watched Sherlock desperately avoiding eye contact and he quickly realised what his friend was talking about.
“Oh god.” He muttered under his breath. “Ok, Sherlock, we need to check how bad the bleeding is. Now, you're completely free to say no, but I'd like to take a look and, if I have to, I'll need to use padding to minimise the bleed. Okay?”
Sherlock stared intently into John's face, before nodding silently. “What do I do?”
“Right.” John said, feeling the doctor in him take over. “Donovan, go and see if you have a first aid kit in the police car. Sherlock, I need you to lie on your front while Mycroft comes and sits up by your head, okay?”
Sherlock nodded, slowly easing himself onto his front and lying flat while Mycroft quietly moved.
“I need to take this off you, Sherlock.” John said, indicating Mycroft's jacket. At Sherlock's nod, John slowly peeled the jacket away, wincing as the fabric caught on the wounds on his friend's back.
John cringed as his eyes fell on the blood between Sherlock's legs. His inner thighs and buttocks were glistening red with blood, and, as John looked, he could see more trickling out.
“Oh my god.” Donovan crouched down beside John and froze. “Has he been raped?”
“Yes.” John replied, grabbing the first aid kit out of her hands. “I need your help.”
“What do you need?” Donovan asked.
John passed her a sachet of saline solution, grabbing one for himself and tearing the corner off.
“Pour that onto a dressing and try to clean up his back.” He said, grabbing a dressing from the kit and soaking it in saline. “Mycroft, you just keep talking to him.”
John carefully cleaned the blood from between Sherlock's legs, listening carefully for any protests. Mycroft was talking quietly to his brother, gently stroking his hair while he whispered about memories from their shared childhood: their mother's yorkshire puddings and the time Sherlock had broken his leg falling from a tree after climbing up to examine a birds' nest.
“What now?” Donovan asked, throwing the empty saline packet into the first aid kit.
“Take the gauze and lay it in strips across the wounds.” John told her as he tossed away the bloody dressing and grabbed another from the kit. “We haven't got anything big enough to bandage it properly, but do the best you can and then apply gentle pressure. There's a couple of deeper lines there that will probably need stitches, but mostly it should heal by itself.”
Donovan nodded, looking away as John pressed a large rolled up wodge of gauze to the area between Sherlock's buttocks. Sherlock visibly tensed, and the whispered conversation between the two brothers ground to an abrupt halt. John froze, pulling back and holding a hand up to Sally, telling her to stop.
“Sherlock?” John said. “It's okay. I'm just trying to stop the bleeding. Do you want us to stop?”
“No.” Sherlock muttered. “I know what you're doing. It's just...”
“I know.” John assured him. “Don't worry. It's a perfectly natural response.”
“John.” Sherlock commented, peering back over his shoulder. “I assure you, there isn't a single part of this that you can call normal. Just carry on.”
John sighed, closing his eyes sadly, before nodding for Sally to continue.
The sound of sirens filled the area, and John stood up as two paramedics rushed over to Sherlock.
“What've we got?” The first paramedic asked, dropping down where John had previously been.
“Thirty year old male.” John replied. “Anal rape, with considerable bleeding indicating internal lacerations. Large cuts to the back, below the shoulder blades - I think stitches will be needed in some areas. Also superficial lacerations around the wrists from metal handcuffs, and signs of emotional shock.”
“Right.” The paramedic said with a tense nod. “What about that guy over there.”
John looked in the direction indicated, and saw Victor Trevor slowly regaining consciousness at Lestrade's feet.
“That's the man who did this.” John said coldly. “Shot in the hand and whacked over the head with an umbrella. Call for a separate ambulance for him and just focus on Sherlock.”
The paramedics both nodded, one walking away to talk into her radio, and John took a deep breath, standing back with Donovan and Lestrade and watching them work.
NEXT