Sherlock Holmes [BBC] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
on_your_nerves) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trans_92012-04-06 11:23 pm
on_your_nerves) wrote in trans_92012-04-06 11:23 pm
Entry tags:
The Inevitable [closed to Kerrigan]
Good God, he needed a cigarette. Between the world being destroyed and all his friends besides John possibly dying along with it (or the entire thing being a total lie), John punching him and storming off, the talking ponies, the random superhero bringing up his cocaine addiction, and arguing with a space elf over (ugh!) politics and clandestine rebellions...actually, forget one cigarette. He needed a whole carton. Strike that, maybe a truck full.
Reaching into his many coat pockets on an instinctual search for cigarettes he knew weren't there, he found that a pack actually was there. And so was his lighter.
Maybe there was a God. Maybe there was a merciful God, or at the very least, maybe the ship really was as benevolent and merciful as she tried to make herself out to be and decided to smile upon him by snatching up a box of cigarettes with his belongings.
...Probably not, but this at least still was a fine bit of serendipity. Sherlock would take it.
Leaning into the doorway of a building in what he didn't realize was another blind spot in the city, he lit up his first post-end-of-the-universe cigarette and took a long drag from it. To be honest, it wasn't really enough, and like it always did when he least wanted it to, old cravings crawled up in the back of his skull and demanded something stronger.
"Not now."
No, not now, though the way he closed his eyes as he leaned against the door of the building and let out a lungful of smoke, would have made it clear to anyone looking that he was a fair bit more overwhelmed than he could even admit to himself.
It seemed that for now, however, he could be content with causing himself harm with only one cigarette at a time.
Reaching into his many coat pockets on an instinctual search for cigarettes he knew weren't there, he found that a pack actually was there. And so was his lighter.
Maybe there was a God. Maybe there was a merciful God, or at the very least, maybe the ship really was as benevolent and merciful as she tried to make herself out to be and decided to smile upon him by snatching up a box of cigarettes with his belongings.
...Probably not, but this at least still was a fine bit of serendipity. Sherlock would take it.
Leaning into the doorway of a building in what he didn't realize was another blind spot in the city, he lit up his first post-end-of-the-universe cigarette and took a long drag from it. To be honest, it wasn't really enough, and like it always did when he least wanted it to, old cravings crawled up in the back of his skull and demanded something stronger.
"Not now."
No, not now, though the way he closed his eyes as he leaned against the door of the building and let out a lungful of smoke, would have made it clear to anyone looking that he was a fair bit more overwhelmed than he could even admit to himself.
It seemed that for now, however, he could be content with causing himself harm with only one cigarette at a time.
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"Someone he knows, I'd assume. Let's worry about getting him to medbay once water-girl here does her thing - so that this is the only thing we have to tell this John about."
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"It's Kaya, thank you. I'll be a few more minutes. This will make sure he isn't in too much pain, and med bay will finish him up."
Really, how rude.
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If he'd still been properly awake and conscious, he would have complimented Kaya on knowing not to just yank the knife out right away. Quite a few people didn't know that made the bleeding worse with stab victims. Her healing around it and trying to stabilize him first so it could be extracted safely was the right thing to do, and it was indeed helping. His breathing was evening out, his pulse was picking up again, and his color was getting better, no longer a waxy, unhealthy gray. The bleeding was slowing down to a trickle.
Eventually, he was stable enough that he could probably be moved to Medbay.
He was still out of it, still in shock, but now that he wasn't wavering in and out of consciousness, he was with it enough to look over at Kerrigan, then to Shoutarou and say in a quiet, weak, absolutely furious voice:
"Get her away from me."
Why yes, he was slightly resentful that he was laying there on the ground with his shirt open, with multiple stab wounds. (Ten? Twelve? He couldn't even tell.) In time, he might consider the absolute insanity Kerrigan's torture had caused her, but for now he was just slightly on this side of hacked off.
Mostly about the coat. Ruined.
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The healing was almost done anyway. "What caused this to happen?"
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I'm still the Queen of Blades.
I don't know.
I'm a monster.
I don't know.
He had it coming.I don't know.
"I lost control."
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He didn't know how to explain it, so he simply closed his eyes.
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Kerrigan's answer, Sherlock's answer - just a handful of words, but they could mean so much.
"...that much is obvious," he says to Kerrigan as he stands up. He's trying to remain civil - after all, there's a man with a dozen stab wounds laying on the ground, and the person who did it just admitted to losing control. He doesn't want to be an aggressor, but information must be gotten.
"Just what did you lose control of? The man's got a knife sticking out of his chest, and is going on about his mind."
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She did look troubled here. "What would make you lose control like that? You could have killed him!"
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"He questioned what evidence we had against the Daligig. I... showed him telepathically." This was not something she wanted to talk about, not with an audience but she had little choice. "What they did to me. It was too much for him. He insulted me and I stabbed him repeatedly." Her voice was low and quiet. What emotions she felt she kept well below the surface.
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"...I see. Well. We can go over the details of all that later." Shoutarou turns back toward Kaya and Sherlock. "How should we carry him so that we won't undo all you just did?"
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Of course, it wasn't for her to decide was it? Getting Sherlock to the med bay, however, was her priority.
She went her pocket and pulled out what looked to be a folded up piece of tin at first glance. As it unfolded one could see it was actually a flat panel that hovered off the ground.
"Help me put him on?"
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She stepped forward. She didn't care that Sherlock had expressly stated for her not to come near him. She was more concerned with keeping him alive.
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Especially if said people were pretty ladies.So he makes no move to stop her, and goes to assist, taking a spot at Sherlock's shoulders."On three?"
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"All right then. One. Two. THREE!"
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It seemed they could now just trundle him off to Medbay, except that all of a sudden, eyes still closed, he held out his hand and made a grabby motion.
"Coat."
He might not be able to find it again if he came back to look for it later. At the very least they could put it on the stretcher with him. It was most likely ruined but he if he survived, he wanted to at least try to salvage it.
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