ways_infirmary | (no subject)

There's a light but insistent tapping of the tip of Mycroft's umbrella against the floor as he leads a badly damaged Sherlock Holmes into the infirmary.

Well, perhaps lead isn't the correct verb. There's more support happening than anything by this point.

"Sherlock, you great thorn in my side. Would you stop bleeding on me?"

And they're right back to normal, it would seem.

"You namby pamby politician," he grins, weakly. "Send me a sodding bill for your dry cleaning. Hello, Doctor. Seems I have need of your services."

He's rather glad John isn't here to see this. He'd hear no end of it.

"What happened?" Guppy asks, washing his hands, pulling some gloves on and coming over.

Better not be Gene bloody Hunt again. That man seems to have provided him with 90% of his most recent patients.

"One DCI Hunt happened," Mycroft says, helping Sherlock to a place where he can safely sit before frowning on the stains on his new jacket. "But I'm sure you could have worked that one out on your own."

Edited 2011-05-20 22:28 (UTC)

"To be fair, we did kind of start it, didn't we?"

He smirks at his brother, wincing as he settles.

"You never know when to quit."

Pot. Meet kettle.

"Tsk, the law enforcement contingent in here seem to be responsible for most of the fights..." Guppy says. "I'll have to look for him later, can't imagine you let him off without any retaliation. Were you knocked out?"

He visually checks Sherlock over, then picks up some sterile gauze.

"Hold this on the bleeding."

Sherlock swipes the gauze over his mouth and nose, more smearing the blood around than doing any proper staunching of the flow. It's starting to swell, and ache even more than it did before. As a result, his voice is a bit thick.

"He took a shot to the chin, but most of the damage is on his knuckles. He got the jump on me with a head butt, and then he hauled me over the bar. I'll have to remember that one."

The bottle, well. That's a matter for another time.

"Head forward, we don't want you swallowing more blood than we can help." Guppy says. "Is he in the cells then?"

He runs the scanner over Sherlock carefully, checking for fractures.

Sherlock leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His nose is fractured, he's sure of that much. Possibly a few ribs.

"Not necessary, Guppy. We shook hands. It's settled."

"If he's wise, he went home," Mycroft says easily.

He wants to take off his jacket, but doesn't dare show Guppy how the fight ended so quickly.

"Really? Normally his fights end when someone is too mashed up to fight back." Guppy comments.

"You have a broken nose and two rib fractures. The rib fractures are high enough that I could fuse them for you if you want. The nose fracture isn't displaced, but it might become when it swells, so you should get it checked again in three weeks to make sure it's healing alligned correctly."

Later, when his head isn't throbbing, he'll inquire about the advanced technology Guppy is obviously using.

"Anything for the pain?"

He doesn't get any more specific than that. He's sure Mycroft will render an opinion on the matter any moment now.

There are certain matters that Mycroft will not hesitate to put out into the open.

This is one of them.

"In the interest of full disclosure, my brother has a history of addiction," he says.

Because Sherlock sure as hell wouldn't have.

"Including morphine."

"Yes, I can give you pain relief." Guppy says. "I can give you a dose of a strong non-opiate painkiller now, and something less strong for later - if you let me fuse the ribs, that will greatly reduce the pain there. Are you allergic to anything or taking any current medication, and have you had alcohol tonight?"

"Fine," he glares at Mycroft. "Take all the fun out of it, why don't you? Not allergic, nicotine patches, and yes, Scotch."

He can't help but notice how much Guppy sounds like Fry when he's in assessment mode.

"I assume this all goes on my tab?" Another barb directed at his brother.

"Dear brother, I have already witnessed enough of your destruction for today," Mycroft says. "I do not wish to witness any more."

He checks his pocket watch at the mention of Sherlock's tab. He'd expected to foot the bill anyway.

"Health care here is free, same as in the UK." Guppy says. "Just make sure you check with one of us if you need more pain relief, you can't access it without prescription."

He gets a hypospray and presses it onto Sherlock's arm. He should feel pain relief but not particularly euphoric quite quickly.

"Any other medical history I should know about? Serious illnesses or injuries in the past, long term medical conditions, operations..."

Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at Mycroft.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Had my tonsils out when I was seven. Anything else, dear brother?"

It's been several months since either of them have tried to poison the other, and even longer since a successful attempt was made, so Mycroft just shakes his head.

"I've said all that concerns me," he says.

"Okay. Let's have a look at your face, see how the bleeding is?" Guppy says, getting some fresh gauze and looking to see if there are stitches needed anywhere.

His lips are swollen, and the hollows of his eyes are both starting to darken as the trauma from the broken nose propagates under the surface. The missing tooth makes his usually flawless smile a bit awkward.

He runs his teeth over the gap and winces, a hand touching his jaw from reflex.

"Think maybe that tooth will show up in the lost and found?"

"Mycroft, can you go and get the tooth please?" Guppy says. "I can reimplant it if we're quick, otherwise you'll have to see a dentist."

Lost teeth aren't uncommon in Accident and Emergency, where he used to work, but he's not done one for a while.

Mycroft does not look pleased. He positively glowers at Guppy before snapping his fingers. Predictably enough (to himself, and possibly Sherlock), Work Experience waitrat makes himself present quite quickly.

"My brother lost a tooth behind the bar," he tells the rat. "Return it to us."

He hands the rat a £10 for its troubles. What the creatures do with his money, he's not sure, but it has earned him the most amazing loyalty.

"Grand. Now it's going to taste of Rat."

He shakes his head and winces again. The pain is now down to a dull roar, and he'd really just like to have a lie down right about now.

"Please." Guppy corrects Mycroft, automatically, not even looking up to see the glare. Sorry, hazard of having a doctor with two children under three.

"It's okay, the rats in here wash their hands and I'll clean it before putting it back in."

He eyes Sherlock. "If you start to feel dizzy or faint, let me know so we can get you flatter. You can have a proper lie down once we stop the bleeding."

Mycroft just glares at Guppy some more.

The British Government does not take well to being told what to do. By anybody.

"Thank you, Guppy."

He gives the doctor his best boyish smile. It's fairly convincing. He's been practising it on his flatmate.

"My brother means well. Don't you, Mycroft?"

"I'm sure he does." Guppy says, mildly, though he starts slightly when he catches the look.

"You'll stick like that if the wind changes." he says to Mycroft, then turns his attention back to Sherlock.

"Right. Looks like the bleeding is starting to slow down, so I think you're safe to lie back a bit, but keep your head on its side so that any blood drains forwards, okay?

Then we can have a go with these ribs. Now I can use future technology to fuse them if you want, which will heal them most of the way - you'll be sore for about a week but you shouldn't have much trouble with them. Or we can leave them and let nature take its course. They're not displaced or anything."

"Fuse away, doctor. And ignore him. He's really giddy as a school girl under all that. He got to wave a gun at someone."

Oops? Was that information confidential? Drat.

"Clearly, he was hit rather hard on the head," Mycroft says, with his pleasant smile back in place. "I think he misunderstood what he saw."

"Well keep your gun to yourself in here, this is a zero tolerance zone." Guppy says.

He'd rather not like to have to stun Mycroft. For one thing, he suspects he'd lose.

He gets the bone fuser out and sets the correct distance.

"All right, keep nice and still for me - keep your breathing slow and controlled so I can move with you. This will be a bit uncomfortable but it shouldn't hurt, so let me know if it does."

"Yes, mother."

It's unclear whether this is directed at Guppy or Mycroft, not that it matters.

He does as instructed, and the only indication that there's any pain at all is the tightness around his eyes.

Guppy does each rib for about a minute, then rescans them.

"Okay, those are fused up, you'll have to be gentle on them for the next week or two as they heal all the way, but they shouldn't hurt too much. How do they feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a lorry."

They may have entered the whinging stage of the programme. Possibly because he's clearly getting bored of the whole thing.

"So no judo between now and when?"

"I should think not," says Mycroft. "Although, I'm sure there's a cold case or two you could take a look at with your extra time."

He's learned how to deal with Sherlock's boredom. As well as it can be dealt with, anyway.

"Maybe I don't want to look at your cold cases, Mycroft. Did that thought ever occur to you? Maybe I just want to catch up on Britain's Got Talent and practise violin."

Brood, in other words.

"Those are both fine. Just don't do anything that puts undue pressure on them for the time being." Guppy says. "Whether it's martial arts, skydiving or annoying Gene Hunt. If you break them again when they're half healed, it's harder for me to fuse them again."

He puts the scanner away and gets the tooth from Work Experience Waitrat. He cleans it thoroughly.

"Okay, I'm afraid this bit is going to hurt." he says, "But not for too long."

Once Sherlock is ready, he reinserts the tooth.

"I was thinking more along the lines of asking that Inspector you're always running around with," Mycroft says once Sherlock is able to listen again.

"But very well. Do you have it here, or should I have it delivered?"

Sherlock can't answer, as Guppy has his hands in his mouth.

He waves a hand that Mycroft might interpret as meaning he needs it delivered.

There is a moment when he goes still as the tooth is reinserted. The pain makes him go white as a sheet.

"All done." Guppy says gently, putting the head of Sherlock's bed back a bit now that the bleeding has stopped. He cleans up Sherlock's face.

"You can stay here and rest as long as you want or need. Do you have a room here?"

Well, that's something that Mycroft never wants to bear witness to ever again. It feels like a bit of a failure on his part that this whole mess happened at all.

"I'll see to it that your things are delivered," he says to Sherlock as he rises to his feet.

"Wait. Don't go."

Oh sitting up that quickly was a bad idea. Sherlock fades back to the bed, glaring up at the fluorescent lights of the infirmary like they're the sole cause of his now splitting headache.

"Thank you, Doctor. Just, give me a moment. I'll go with you." His tone is a bit quieter than usual, as if talking itself was painful.

Mycroft waits by the door for Sherlock to get his head together. He hasn't heard this tone come from his brother in a very long time, and it's rather alarming to hear it now.

"Of course," he says.

He watches for any indicator that Sherlock might want a bit of help back onto his feet, but doesn't offer in order to spare his pride.

Edited 2011-05-23 04:33 (UTC)

Guppy gets Sherlock a glass of water.

"Take your time." he says, firmly. "Just because we patched you up doesn't change the fact that you've just sustained a significant beating. Considering it was Gene you were fighting, you've done better than most."

He tidies up the equipment and enters the paperwork. 'Fight with Gene Hunt' has been such a frequent cause of admission that it now has its own code.