After I posted this Sgam76 wrote the following message and a scene for the picutre:
'But, in gratitude for your lovely gift, I've gone ahead and written the little scene to go with it. Feel free to just copy and drop it into your post. We can consider it a collaboration ;) It's written from Sherlock's POV.'
He’d been quite rude. He was fairly sure of that; the nursing staff were giving him wary looks as they passed, though one, two-children-one-cat-money-problems-artist, was perhaps more pitying than wary. He couldn’t afford to worry about that; he had to make sure they took proper care of John.
It was difficult, increasingly so; something was affecting his concentration, and he found himself jerking back to attention after having mentally wandered off. It was intolerable. He considered asking, quite nicely, if one of the wary nurses would bring him a stimulant of some kind, but forgot when John made a brief, involuntary movement on his cot. Both Sherlock and the nearby nurse came to attention, Sherlock holding his breath, but the movement stopped. John’s eyes remaining closed.
The pitying nurse appeared in front of Sherlock—he was startled, as he had somehow missed her approach. She misread his mild alarm as fear, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He—she said something. Pointed. Said something again, while he stared at her, perplexed at his own lack of comprehension. Finally she reached out, gently, and took his hand, removing the rough wrapping and replacing it with a larger, clean towel. She wrapped it tightly and pushed his hand up to his chest.
She spoke again; something about his hand, something…He shook his head. It wasn’t important, and it could wait.
He came back to himself with a jerk; he’d lost time again, which would have been frightening if he’d had the capacity to be frightened—well, about anything other than John.
Dr. Arquette rolled into the room, followed by his brother. Sherlock forced his attention to the psychiatrist, watching as the man took a chart from the kind nurse and then glanced over at John. Sherlock fought, hard, to follow their interaction.
“He’s shown signs of rousing,” the nurse said. “Bleeding’s minimal; he’ll need a few stitches, but it’s strictly superficial. No damage to underlying structures.”
Dr. A nodded, and looked at Sherlock, who looked silently back. “And this one?” he said, and it took Sherlock a beat or two to realize he was the one referred to.
The nurse shook her head. “He won’t let us touch him,” she said. “Bleeding is intermittent but not stopping; he’s very shaky, but got agitated when we tried to force the issue. Dr. Stewart thought it best not to push it until you got here.”
Mycroft was suddenly behind Sherlock, who also realized, in a muddled way, that his brother was speaking. “Come now, brother,” he said, in what was intended to be a soothing fashion, “let’s let the staff see to your hand. You’ve lost a great deal of blood, and may have serious damage to be tended to. John is in no danger.”
Sherlock looked from his brother, to Dr. A, to John, and shook his head. He wanted to say something, but was struggling to identify what. He was also increasingly light-headed.
“Sherlock,” Dr. A said. “Look at me.”
That was harder than it should have been, but Sherlock managed.
“Please raise your hand for me,” the psychiatrist continued. “Bring it up higher than your heart.”
That…no. It meant something, Sherlock was sure, but… There was a huff behind him, and a long, pale hand reached over his shoulder and lifted his unresisting arm to his chest.
Sherlock managed, finally, to say the important thing. “John. See to John.” He felt a wave of relief at managing that. The hand reached over his shoulder once again, pushing his hand back up.
“He’ll be fine,” Dr. A said. “He’s in no danger. I’m actually more concerned right now—”
And behind him, John suddenly coughed, and moaned, and opened his eyes, while Sherlock jerked unsteadily to his feet.
I originally planned to post this for Inktober Day 15, but when I finally finished this yesterday, I was very frustrated about how dark the background was. Although the darkness was fine on its own, it didn't fit an exam room setting.
So I decided to smooth it out and make it lighter in Gimp. However, that meant that it didn't fit the rules for Inktober any longer because those are: use something not erasable, which I also understand to: don't give it a digital work over. But I thought it was more important to get this thing right for the setting.
Black watercolour (and a bit of red and brown for the blood), approx. A4, took me a bit more than six hours, plus the digital stuff. Painting the wheelchair was harder than expected. If I hadn't dis- and reassembled several wheelchairs years ago I would have been lost. It looks so simple, but it isn't.
DO NOT repost, edit or use my artwork in any other way without my written permission (or upload it to any other site) !