sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXVII

This is the new prompting post for the Sherlock Prompting Meme. Prompts from LJ can still be filled there with links here or filled here in the new overflow post.

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CONTACTING MODS
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MEME LINKS
Pinboard Archive - Delicious Archive - Guide to the Archive
Filled Prompts Posts: Parts 1-23 - Parts 24-36 - Parts 37+ - Spoiler Free
The Glorious FAQ - Page-A-Mod

Flat View of This Page - Newest Page in Flatview - Newest Page of the Meme

Links to previous prompting parts - Overflow Post

OTHER LINKS AND AFFILIATES

sherlock_rants: A place to rant about or discuss anything with few to no restrictions.

sherlock_rpf: This is a kinkmeme for RPF about the show.

sherlockcrit: A multi-fandom betaing/concrit community, with a focus on BBC Sherlock.

sherlockbbc: A community dedicated to the BBC adaptation of Sherlock Holmes.
Useful resources for Sherlock and LiveJournal.
Sherlock screencaps.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sherlock refuses to see any Doctor but John. This can make things slightly annoying whenever he's hospitalized

Yes!

[I don't even know. I haven't even filled before, help me]

It first started with when Sherlock, the mad git, had decided that the best way to pursue a criminal had been to race down a fire escape from the top of a four story building. The result was Sherlock tripping halfway down, slamming into the metal railing, and toppling over in a mess of gangly limbs until he hit the bins below with a very audible, gut curdling smack. John’s heart had predictably lurched into his throat as he ran down the remaining steps to Sherlock’s prone form, the other panting and breathing raggedly as John pulled him free and down.

It had taken him all of ten minutes for John to stabilise his friend’s condition as the Lestrade phoned in an ambulance, all the while reviewing Sherlock’s condition. A broken arm, hairline fracture on the radius, the left side of his body severely bruised up, with two ribs suffering the same broken fate as that arm, and a bruised ego, Sherlock had been admitted to St. Barts, taken off and patched up to the best extent before he was retired to a private room with a very worried John Hamish Watson.

Sherlock and hospitals were a very terrible combination. White walls, white sheets, everything disinfected and wiped clean left little for Sherlock’s racing mind to process, to deduce and distract himself with as they both waited for a doctor to come in and give them the information they needed to know. Sherlock tapped impatiently at his thigh with his good hand, and John sat off to the side rigidly, neither of them speaking, and nothing breaking the silence. Sherlock’s eyes snapped up to the door, hearing the turn of a knob, and lips turning down in a sneer.

“Out,” Sherlock snaps sharply, glacial eyes narrowed dangerously at the doctor who had nothing but a toe in the door, his working arm raised and making a rude dismissive gesture with a flick of the wrist. John stares mutely, his jaw just as agape as the female doctor’s, who is currently making quite the impressive imitation of a fish.

“Sorry,” John interjects quickly, seeing Sherlock about to part his lips to continue on from his singular worded command, obviously having thought the word would have been able to be comprehended by any idiot the world could throw at him. “Sorry, but he’s still a little disorientated from the fall, you know, and the drugs they gave to reset that bone.”

John smiled sweetly, and Sherlock pulled a face that spoke clearly of his displeasure at having been spoken over the top of, muttering of his displeasure as the woman seemed to nod in acceptance of the hastily composed excuse. Sherlock glared, clearly alert, as the woman, once again, opened her mouth to speak-....only to be cut off by Sherlock once more.

“Considering you obviously did not comprehend my previous request, I will format it in a way in which you will clearly understand it. I have no need for you to begin the no doubt tiring speech you wish to subject me to on my condition, as it will no doubt be a waste of my time. I’ve no need to be tended to by a doctor that has only just begun her second year of residency with a frankly alarming lack of people skills, nor do I desire to be frequently checked on by you or the doting little nurses. In fact, you should save us all the effort, and hand the chart you’re holding in your hands to my doctor immediately, and then, promptly, get out of my sight.”

John sat in silence through it, wincing at ever snap and growl in Sherlock’s tone seemed to bounce off the doctor until it appeared she was nearing tears, rubbing her hands against the white coat she wore. It was silent for all of three seconds before the woman tossed the clipboard down on the end of the bed, shooting a look toward John that was indecipherable even to him, before turning on her heel and running from the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
“Sherlock,” John began, tone disapproving, which only earned a furious glare from a very wild and haggard looking Sherlock.

“Shut up.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Oh, please, it isn’t hard to predict. No doubt another lecture on my manners, or lack thereof,” Sherlock replied as his eyes rolled skyward, completely over exaggerated in a way that only Sherlock could ever hope to manage.

John paused, and he supposed that had been rather transparent. That, and in this state, there wasn’t any possibility that Sherlock would listen to him anyway, so he decided to change the topic entirely. “I’m your doctor?”

John’s answer was a wordless look, one of Sherlock’s patented ‘You’re an idiot for having even asked that question,’ looks, combined with ‘How do you survive with such little capacity for brain function.'

“Right, right. Still, this is the point where you use words to elaborate, Sherlock,” John mutters tersely, tanned fingers rolling into fists, nails biting at his palms as he sucks in a heavy and slow breath. He definitely wasn’t worried about Sherlock’s condition now.

“I trust you,” began Sherlock, voice and tone slow and flat, as though he was explaining something particularly complex to a dense child, “is that not reason enough?”

John blinks owlishly, brows knitting together. “I...suppose it is, yeah.”

Sherlock sniffed, seemingly accepting John’s answer with a curt nod. “Good. Get reading. I want to get out of here.”

John smiled fondly, picking the clipboard up from where it had been discarded at the end of the bed with a light chuckle. Git.

I love this! I hope part-2 is going to happen! :)))

poor doctors!

*and nurses

Prompting Part XXXVII

John, Sherlock- Wrong Doctor, humor, fluff

Re: John, Sherlock- Wrong Doctor, humor, fluff

The 'I got bored and did a fill' story [part one?]

Re: The 'I got bored and did a fill' story [part one?]

Re: The 'I got bored and did a fill' story [part one?]

Re: The 'I got bored and did a fill' story [part one?]