John finished dictating his final notes into his digital recorder, then stretched. His schedule had been jam-packed. On top of the patients with the usual sniffles, aches, and pains had come the whimpering sods seeking a hangover cure. It was always like this the day after New Year's. John winced as he dropped a chart into his outbox. Well, all except for that last lad who had drunkenly tied a sparkler to his willy to impress his girlfriend. That was a new one.
His email pinged. A message came through granting him access to JAMA, The Journal of the American Medical Association. After Sherlock had explained that Vivian had only pretended to read the Christmas cracker joke, John had started searching through various medical journals to see if any of her symptoms matched up with a specific reading disability. So far, nothing had, but hopefully this latest one would provide some answers. Noting the late hour and in need of a hot cuppa, he decided to continue his research from home. John grabbed his coat and left his office.
As he rounded the corner, he noticed a red light was on for one of the exam room doors. It indicated whether a patient was waiting to be seen, but that didn't make sense now. The front staff had clocked out an hour ago. Someone must have left it on by accident. He opened the door to flip the switch and froze.
"Took you long enough," Sherlock said, fiddling with something on his lap. It appeared to be a contraption made out of tongue depressors and adhesive bandages.
Vivian, who was seated in the other visitor chair, had one as well. She gave him a cheery wave, then eyed Sherlock. "Ready?"
"Now!"
A flash of movement. Two cotton balls soared across the room toward an open canister on the far counter. One ball landed inside, while the other bounced off the edge and tumbled to the floor to join its scattered fellows.
"Ha! A perfect parabola," Sherlock crowed.
Vivian lifted her nose in the air. "The draft from the open door threw mine off."
"What draft? You just failed to build yours right."
"I'm the one who showed you how to do it."
"And I improved on your crude design."
"I'll show you crude." Vivian aimed a kick at Sherlock's foot.
John had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his face straight. He cleared his throat, and they both looked over at him. "Did you seriously make cotton ball catapults out of my tongue depressors?"
"It wasn't my idea," Sherlock said, as if he hadn't just been an enthusiastic participant.
Vivian's smile turned sheepish. "Sorry, I got bored since I couldn't read the magazines."
Laughter bubbled up in John's chest, but he called on his military training to hold it off. Keeping his expression stoic, he approached Vivian and held out a palm. "Let's see it then."
Smile faltering, she handed it to him. "You're not mad, are you? I'll clean up the mess."
John gave the contraption a thorough inspection. Forcing a frown, he offered it back. She took it, eyes round like a school child expecting a scolding. He finally nodded. "That's not bad, but if you add an extra tongue depressor to the base, it'll launch higher."
Vivian stared at him for a second, then threw her head back and laughed. Unable to help himself, John joined her. Sherlock rolled his eyes at them.
"And how would you know that?" she asked John.
"Doctors get bored too," he said with a grin. "We have an annual competition at the office. I won first place last year."
Sherlock held up his device. "Mine has an extra tongue depressor on the base and beneath the launch arm." He smirked at Vivian. "I told you it would work better that way."
Vivian threw a cotton ball at Sherlock, and it ricocheted off his cheek to join a sizable pile near his feet. Sherlock shook his head in disapproval.
Judging by the cotton ball clinging to Vivian's grey jumper and the large number surrounding her own chair, Sherlock was hardly innocent. Amusement swept through John. Sherlock and Vivian had come a long way since brawling in the mud at Brackenwood.
Vivian bent down and began to gather up the scattered cotton balls.
The chaos of the scene made John pause. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about an explosion of feathers at our flat, would you? Mrs. Hudson was complaining to me about a mess she had to clean up after Christmas."
"Feathers?" Vivian's eyebrows shot up. "Did Sherlock let loose a chicken or something?"
"It apparently looked like a poultry war zone, and one of our pillows is missing." John folded his arms. "Sherlock said he magically woke up to the room like that."
"Did you really?" Vivian asked Sherlock, curiosity in her gaze.
"Yes. When I came out of my room, there were feathers everywhere." A shrug. "It's a mystery, but one unworthy of my time."
"I'm not buying that. I know you did something to it. You just won't fess up," John said.
"Please. I've blatantly destroyed a number of objects in our flat. Why would I lie about a pillow?"
John pursed his lips. He hadn't considered that.
"Maybe it was a wild animal," Vivian said, mouth quirking.
Sherlock shot her an inscrutable look. "Yes, I expect it was a feral cat seeking shelter from the storm on Christmas."
She sniffed. "It was probably chased inside by a rabid dog. Poor little moggy."
John threw up an incredulous hand. "And what? It took umbrage with our pillow and tore it to shreds? How could it have gotten into our third-story flat with all the doors and windows closed?"
"Animals can be quite clever," Sherlock said.
Vivian nodded in agreement. "One time my gran came home from holiday and found a raccoon in her bed with an open bag of crisps. She almost had a heart attack."
John's arm fell to his side. Maybe Sherlock was innocent after all. He felt rather guilty now. "I suppose that's possible. Sorry for not believing you."
"No matter. I've shot the wall and melted a hole in the kitchen floor. It was a logical progression of thought."
John felt a bit better at that. "True." He waited until Vivian finished binning the gathered mess. "Right. So, what are you two doing here?"
"She needs her ears checked," Sherlock said.
"Why?"
Vivian gave a put upon sigh. "I had a hearing episode at the New Year's Eve party during the fireworks show. It was...uncomfortable."
"Of all the times for a stiff upper lip, this isn't one of them," Sherlock said, voice sharp.
"Fine, it was completely awful, and I thought my head was going to explode. Happy now?"
"Ecstatic."
John held up a hand. "Wait, how do you know it was that bad?"
"I was there." Sherlock selected a magazine from the rack on the wall and paged through it.
John's eyebrows rose. He'd asked about the party yesterday evening, but Sherlock had only said it hadn't been a complete waste of time, and that yes, he'd seen Vivian. He hadn't mentioned anything else, certainly nothing about a hearing episode. Perhaps he'd been waiting for Vivian to share it with John herself.
"Can you tell me more about what happened?" John asked.
"It started when the fireworks went off. Every blast built on top of the other inside my head. It hurt so bad, I almost collapsed." Her gaze fell to her hands. "Sherlock helped me through it, but I'd rather not repeat the excruciating event, if possible."
"How did you help her?"
"I took her to the loo, turned on all the taps for the white noise, fashioned earplugs out of tissue, and helped her shield her mind by using a previously memorized sound from her Mind Palace."
John blinked. That last bit was definitely outside his area of expertise. "Right. Well, I'll need to check your ears first. A hearing test might also be needed, depending on what I find. Sound alright?"
Vivian nodded.
"Good." John patted the exam table. "Up you pop."
Vivian reluctantly moved onto the table. When he picked up the otoscope and moved it toward her ear, her whole body stiffened. He paused. The exam wasn't going to go well if she expected him to cause her pain. John set the otoscope down and reached for her shoulder. "It's okay. I'll-"
She flinched at the contact, and John jerked his hand back. "Are you alright?"
"Yes. It's nothing." She waved away his concern. "Just a sore shoulder from my kickboxing class."
"That must have been one hell of a class," John said, frowning. He'd barely put any pressure on it at all.
Sherlock peered over the top of his magazine at her. "Indeed. And when was this class, exactly?"
"Yesterday evening at six."
"On New Year's Day? How unusual."
"It's an unusual class."
"Clearly." Sherlock's expression was unreadable.
"Right. I'm going to need you to take off your jumper now," John said to Vivian.
"What? Why? I'm only here for you to check my ears."
"Not anymore you're not. I'll be checking your shoulder too."
Her mouth fell open.
Patients usually fell into one of three categories. First were the worriers. They came in every week complaining of some new malady and browsed WebMD on a daily basis. The second group belonged to the dutiful. These patients came in for their annual physical, kept up on their shots, and made preventative care appointments as necessary. The third and most difficult group were the stoics. They were often dragged in by someone else, were horrified by the invasion of their privacy, and stubbornly downplayed any discomfort they had. To the stoic, a severed limb was but a scratch. It appeared John had found their spokeswoman. "Go on. And don't even think about arguing with me."
Sherlock snickered at Vivian's affronted expression and flipped a page of the magazine.
"Do you have any other injuries?" John asked, as she reached for the hem of her soft grey jumper.
"I'm fine, John, really." Sighing, she finished taking it off, revealing a short-sleeved top underneath. John had her stretch her arm out toward Sherlock and slowly rotate her shoulder. Before he could ask her how it felt, Sherlock slammed his magazine down on the second visitor chair and stood. He stalked across the room to the sink. The tap came on and off, then Sherlock appeared beside him. Something dark and angry seethed behind his eyes. He shoved a damp paper towel at Vivian. "Wipe it off. All of it."
She bristled at the icy command. "No. You're making a big deal out of nothing."
"How about we let John decide that?"
"Let me decide what?" John asked, bewildered. Of course they ignored him.
"It'll hurt more if I do it," Sherlock warned, taking a step closer.
Her eyes flashed. "Yes. It certainly will."
The tense moment stretched taut as they glared at one another, neither one willing to back down. Right as John was about to demand an explanation, Vivian snatched the towel from Sherlock. Scowling, she gingerly wiped at her left forearm. Within seconds the towel turned flesh-colored. It took a moment before John realized it was from make-up. His stomach turned at what was revealed. Two dark parallel bruises stretched across her arm. Ruptured blood vessels lined the outside of the scarlet contusions. Vivian switched to her other arm, gently washing the inside of it. Another bruise appeared, this one set at an angle. Horror and nausea twisted at John's insides. Both were classic tramline bruises. The cause: blunt force trauma. The distinct marking only resulted when a person was beaten with a cylindrical object, like an iron pipe or the sharp edge of a cricket bat.
White hot fury blazed through John. Someone had hurt Vivian, had struck her repeatedly. His heart gave a painful thud and concern quickly followed. She'd tried to hide it from them. Had lied about it.
Jaw tense, Sherlock took the used towel back from Vivian. "Is that all of them?"
"Yes," she said curtly. "My shoulder is the only other injury, and I didn't cover that one up."
Even with her fair skin marred by violence, she still managed to look defiant. Only a handful of John's patients over the years had been victims of abuse. The ache in his heart grew. He'd never thought he'd have this conversation with someone he knew, someone he cared for.
"Sherlock," John said, quietly. "Would you mind leaving the room? I need to speak to Vivian alone."
Sherlock stiffened, and his gaze snapped to John's. Tension radiated from Sherlock the way heated air shimmered off hot pavement. John silently beseeched him to cooperate. Releasing a breath, Sherlock finally gave a terse nod and turned to leave, but Vivian leaned forward and caught his elbow. "Wait. That's not necessary. Will you two please quit jumping to conclusions and let me explain?"
Sherlock swung back around, eyebrows high on his forehead. "Oh, I'm all ears, Miss Walker."
John poked Sherlock in the chest. "Quit looming over her and go sit down."
Sherlock threw him an irritated glance and backed up a step, but refused to sit. "The truth, Vivian."
She shook her head. "You don't understand. I asked for this." She waved a hand at her bruises.
John's mouth fell open. "You what?"
Even Sherlock looked gobsmacked.
John eyed the disturbing marks, then slowly shook his head. "No. Sorry. I've seen a lot in my day, but that doesn't look the least bit recreational."
It was Vivian's turn to gape. "What? No, it's not a fetish. I don't enjoy it."
"While that's a relief, you're not explaining yourself very well," Sherlock said.
She threw her hands up in the air. "I'm not used to explaining myself to anyone!"
"Yes, well, welcome to having friends," John snapped.
That seemed to stun her, and she blinked at him. "Oh."
My God. Vivian was nearly as bad as Sherlock at this. What had she thought? That they were interrogating her for their own sick entertainment? Releasing an exasperated sigh, John sat down on the nearby swivel chair and folded his hands. "Right. Why don't we start over?"
"Yes, I-" She sputtered for moment, then shook her head. "Look, my job isn't the safest."
Last John had checked, Vivian was still an organizational psychologist who consulted with companies on how to improve their efficiency. It didn't sound terribly dangerous to him.
"While an effort is made to ensure everything is kept confidential, there have been a few times when my work was compromised." Her gaze went distant. "There's nothing quite like an angry executive who finds out some woman has recommended his dismissal. Their reaction can be unpredictable."
Was she saying some ex-employee out for vengeance had done this to her? John was still confused. Sherlock only watched her, his face impassive.
"In order to keep myself safe, I took up private, specialized defense lessons a few years back."
"Very specialized," Sherlock said. "You've been taught kick-boxing and gymnastics, and now you're learning street-fighting, judging by your arms."
"Yes, real life fighting with everyday objects." She pointed to the inside of her arm. "This is from a rolled up magazine and the other one is from an umbrella."
The pieces were beginning to come together now. This explained how she'd managed to hold her own against Sherlock during their brawl, and her fast reaction time when she'd hit Renee, but Vivian's preventative measures still seemed rather excessive to him unless-
"Someone hurt you before. That's why you're doing this, isn't it?" John blurted out.
A shadow passed across Vivian's face. It was answer enough, but she nodded.
"Is that how you got your head injury?" John asked.
Almost reflexively, her hand rose up to touch the back of her head. Her expression shuttered. "No, that was something else." She dropped her hand and offered him a crooked smile. "So. Now that you know why I'm all banged up, can we get back to my ears now?"
Right. It appeared their little sharing time was over. Good Lord. John had thought Sherlock was private, but Vivian was a vault. "Of course. Once I finish examining your shoulder and treating your bruises."
She held out her arms. "Examine away, Doctor Watson."
It took him but a few minutes to determine that her shoulder had only been bruised on top, probably from the umbrella, the range of motion normal. John opened a cabinet and took out two instant cold packs. Using a bandage, he secured them to each arm. "This will help with the swelling."
John picked up the otoscope. This time she didn't tense up. "I know your ears are sensitive, so I'll be careful. If I hurt you, let me know, and I'll stop, alright?"
She nodded.
He eased the tool into her right ear and turned the light on. The ear canal looked perfectly normal, no signs of inflammation, swelling, or scar tissue. The same was true for her left one. "I don't see any visible signs of damage. That means the affected area is either deep within your inner ear or-" He hesitated.
"Or what?" Vivian asked.
"Or the damage is a result of your brain injury and neurological in nature. Consequently, that would make it more difficult to treat." Of course, that could also make it impossible to treat, but there was little use in mentioning that at the moment. They needed more information.
"Why don't we head over to the room where the audiometer is so I can test your hearing?" John said.
He led Sherlock and Vivian back down the corridor, then through a door on the left. Inside the large room was a small, black sound booth with a window in its side.
"You're in luck. Our old machine recently died, but Sarah knows an ear, nose, and throat specialist. He recently upgraded his machine and donated one of his older models to our office." John tapped the device that sat on a cart in front of the sound booth. He picked up a sleek pair of headphones and opened the door to the booth, gesturing for Vivian to enter.
"I'm glad I'm not claustrophobic," she said as she took a seat. "Why is the glass window opaque on my side?"
"It's to remove any outside variables that may influence the test results. Now, you're going to a hear a tone in either ear. Raise the corresponding hand when you do. If it hurts, we can stop. There's a speaker in the wall so we can hear you, but you won't be able to hear us. Any questions?"
She shook her head, and he placed the headphones over her ears and adjusted them until they fit properly. Then he took a step back and shut the heavy door. It shushed closed.
Sherlock eyed the audiometer. "When I was seven, one of my tutors pestered my mother into getting my hearing tested."
John turned the machine on and snorted. "Something tells me it was a case of selective hearing."
"Yes. He was an idiot."
John fiddled with the settings of the machine, then checked on Vivian. She was staring at her hands, expression calm. Good. Now was the time to start.
"We'll begin with 20 hertz," John said and pushed the button. Both he and Sherlock watched Vivian, but she didn't move. When he increased the tone to 22 hertz, she raised her right hand.
"Is that normal?" Sherlock asked.
"Considering she's had trauma to her brain, yes. 20 hertz is the lowest frequency the human ear can hear, so the difference isn't that much." He began to raise the frequency in short increments, slowly approaching the upper range of human hearing. When he reached 20 kilohertz, Vivian's hand continued to raise in accordance with the tones.
John frowned down at the readout on the machine.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked.
"It's strange she can hear this high. The upper frequencies begin to shrink around age eight. Usually only young children are capable of hearing within this range, not your average thirty-three year old woman."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "Average?"
John gave a wry chuckle. "Right, I should know better. She's anything but." He stopped the current tone and waited until Vivian visibly relaxed again.
"It might prove more expedient to go to a higher frequency and then come back down," Sherlock said.
"No, it wouldn't. Under ideal conditions, the upper limit of human hearing is 28 kilohertz. She won't be able to hear anything beyond that."
"Then it won't matter." Sherlock reached out and turned the dial up to 30 kilohertz. Before John could react, he pressed the button for her right ear.
Vivian's head shot up, and her hand jerked upward, clearly startled by the sound.
John stared. That wasn't possible.
Sherlock increased the setting again, this time to 50 kilohertz, more than double the normal hearing range. He pushed the button, this time for her left ear.
"Ow!" Vivian tore off the headphones. "How can anyone stand this?"
John stood there for a moment, completely dumbfounded, then walked over to the door and opened it. "You really heard all that?"
"'Course I did. I'm not deaf." Vivian grimaced and stepped out of the booth, rubbing her ear. Her expression turned wary. "Why are you both looking at me like I'm an interesting bug?"
John realized he was still gawping at her and cleared his throat. "Sorry, your results were rather surprising. According to the machine, you can hear what cats or dogs can hear."
She chuckled. "Very funny. What did it say, really?"
"John's serious," Sherlock said, looking over the printed report.
"What?" Vivian exclaimed. "How is that possible?"
"It's not." John frowned. "The audiometer has to be malfunctioning. We haven't used it much, but I thought Doctor Sharpe came in and calibrated it after delivery. I suppose it could have gotten damaged during transit."
Sherlock set the paper down. "There's nothing wrong with the machine. I can prove it to you."
"Oh really?" John asked, folding his arms.
"Yes. All it would take is one simple test." Sherlock raised an expectant brow at Vivian. "Well?"
"Is it short?"
"Very."
"Fine. One more. But I'm going home afterward."
Sherlock's eyes gleamed. "Excellent. Go to the corner and face the wall."
Vivian did as he'd asked.
Sherlock reached for his coat pocket, then stopped. The careless arrogance in his face shifted, changing to a frown. Striding forward, he grabbed a chair beside the audiometer and brought it over to her. "You'll want to sit down."
"I will?" Her questioning gaze searched his.
"You should sit down," Sherlock amended. He hesitated, then appeared to come to a decision of some kind. "I don't think telling you this will skew the results, but this next test will hurt, likely more than the last one."
A nod. "Right. Well, what else is new?" She gave him a small smile and patted his chest. "Thanks for the warning."
John blinked at the casual touch. While Sherlock had no problem invading other people's personal space as he saw fit, only Mrs. Hudson had managed to circumvent Sherlock's armored bubble to give him the rare affectionate hug or shoulder squeeze. No one else dared. Either Vivian hadn't gotten the memo about Sherlock's distaste for physical contact, or she had, and she'd burned it.
As Sherlock walked back over to him and Vivian settled into the chair, John realized Sherlock hadn't reacted negatively to the contact. In fact, he hadn't reacted at all, almost as if the touch were perfectly commonplace. Strange.
Once again, Sherlock reached for his pocket. This time, he pulled something out and held it up for John to see. It was small, silver, and cylindrical. The fluorescent lights glinted off it. When Sherlock moved it to his mouth, it finally clicked in John's brain.
It was a dog whistle.
Sherlock blew a sharp breath into it.
Vivian shrieked, and her hands slammed over her ears. Sherlock jerked the whistle away from his mouth, and she collapsed at the waist, head falling forward to rest against the wall.
John rushed to her side. "Are you alright?"
Her hands slowly slid away from her head, and she let out a groan. "Yeah. I just need a minute."
John dampened a towel and put it on the back of her neck, and she sighed. "Thanks."
After a long moment, a shaky breath escaped her mouth, and she sat up and twisted around to face them. Pain bracketed her mouth and eyes. "What in the bloody hell was that?"
Sherlock opened his palm and showed her. "It was a dog whistle."
She blinked down at it. "A dog whistle?"
"It produces ultrasonic sounds outside the range of normal human hearing," Sherlock said.
Why did Sherlock have a dog whistle on him in the first place? It wasn't as if they encountered threatening animals on a daily basis. John stared at him for a moment, then his breath caught. "You knew."
"I suspected."
"You suspected what?" Vivian asked.
"At Brackenwood, you responded negatively to the shrill sound of a saxophone on the radio. Then at the Victorian pool house, there was the ambulance siren and...additional indicators." His grip tightened around the whistle. "Your reaction to the fireworks firmly established a pattern of sensitivity to higher pitched sounds, but it was only when I recalled you mentioning a lack of buzzing during the power outage that I determined your hearing was outside the normal range. Realizing the hearing test results would be called into question, I brought along a dog whistle as additional proof."
"Oh," she said looking dazed. "So, I really can hear what cats and dogs can."
"Evidently," John said, feeling rather dazed himself. He pulled his notepad out of his pocket and scribbled on it. "I'm writing you a prescription for an anti-inflammatory. That should help with the headache you've no doubt acquired and your bruising. I'll need to look over your test results and make a few inquiries, but I'll contact you as soon as I find out something useful."
Vivian took the prescription from him. "Thank you, John."
"Of course. It's my pleasure."
She slowly rose to her feet. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to head home for tea and a hot bath."
"I'm sure John intends on much the same," Sherlock said.
"I just might," John retorted, unperturbed by the teasing. He was more than secure in his masculinity, and a bath sounded divine. "Don't forget to ice your bruises afterward," he told Vivian as they left the hearing room.
"Yes, Doctor Watson." She gave him a weary salute.
"That reminds me." John reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a lollipop. He handed it to her and smiled. "You were an excellent patient."
Sherlock halted, his hand on the exit door, and eyed John. "She littered the room with cotton balls, attempted to minimize the reason for her visit, and then lied about having any other injuries."
Vivian unwrapped the candy and nodded. "Even I know I was awful, John."
"You didn't see the other patients I had today," John said, shaking his head.
Sherlock held open the door. "They must have been truly terrible if they made Vivian look good."
"Oi. I look just fine, thanks very much," Vivian mumbled around her lollipop.
"Bruises aren't particularly attractive," Sherlock said.
"That's why I was wearing make-up."
John chuckled. "Let me tell you both about a lad with a sparkler..."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What did you think of this chapter? Were you surprised by Vivian's bruises and hearing test results? Please let me know if you see any mistakes. I really want to fix them!