A Heart Made of Glass

Physician's Report

The next day was Sherlock's first doctor's appointment. Since he couldn't leave the flat, the doctor came to us.

It was the doctor from the hospital he'd been kept in, her mousy brown hair tied neatly back and sharp green eyes assessing.

"Dr. Watson," she said by way of greeting. I nodded back, letting her, and two other doctors in along with Mycroft. He gave a grim nod as I closed the door. The doctors headed up the stairs, but Mycroft motioned for me to stay behind. I hesitated on the stair, not wanting them to reach Sherlock before either of us did. The familiar faces.

God knows what it would feel like for fairly unfamiliar doctors, all tools and white clothing, to walk into the room with him unaccompanied.

"They have orders to not go in before we do, it's okay," Mycroft answered my unspoken questions, having thought through the same scenario himself.

I slowly stepped back down and leaned against the railing, waiting for him to speak again.

"My brother.... how has he been doing? How's he been, healing? "

Mycroft hadn't been able to actually talk to him much, bits in pieces but not much at one time.

"He's healing better than I would've thought. The burns and lacerations are mostly healed. I've gotten enough food and drink into him that he's no longer on the brink, the cane is only there for additional support now," I told him, attempting to disconnect myself from the emotions of it all.

"Has he been readjusting well?"

The emotions slammed back into my mind. I was never as good at that as either of them, and I could almost feel Sherlock pressed against me again, felt his breath blow across my neck.

I swallowed, remembering the screams, the crying, the shaking, the nightmares from every night.

"It's happening, slowly albeit. He was tortured for months, it shows. The nightmares haven't gotten any better, it'll take time for that to dispel. Months, years potentially."

Mycroft listened intently, voice shaking ever so slightly as he asked, "Do you think he'll make a full recovery?"

My brow furrowed, surprised. "I, I think so. Yeah, I think so. If he continues like this, yeah." I stumbled over my words, shocked by his question. He had to make a full recovery, he had to. I couldn't even entertain the idea of anything else.

Mycroft nodded, both satisfied and concerned. "Shall we?"

As promised, the doctors had waited near the top of the stairs, squishing to one side to let Mycroft and me through.

I opened the door slowly, Sherlock was exactly where I'd left him, curled up on the couch, asleep. I smiled reflexively, going to him quietly.

I perched beside him, gently placing a hand on his knee. He jerked awake, pulling away quickly in fear.

"It's just me, it's John."

He relaxed when he saw me, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Oh," he whispered hoarsely.

"It's okay. The doctors are here, are you ready to see them?"

Sherlock nodded, swallowing harshly. I found myself nodding with him, rubbing his calf before standing.

I got the doctors and Mycroft from the hallway, leading them over to Sherlock. Mycroft and I were instructed to leave the room, with Sherlock's permission. We headed into the kitchen, within view but where the doctors could talk privately with him.

We watched in silence as the doctors checked his vitals and various wounds.

"Thank you."

I turned my head to Mycroft, confused. Neither of the Holmes brothers liked to apologize or thank people, though things had been very different since Sherlock had come back.