Sherlock was as stupid as the average man apparently when he was waking up from one hell of a lost fight. He groaned loudly, scrunching his eyes tight against the pain blossoming to life in every nerve ending as he regained consciousness. Everything hurt, especially his head, but he doubted if even being run over by a herd of rampaging rhino's would have left him feeling much worse.
"NnnnggggfuckwhereamI?" The oh so eloquent mumble was penetrated by a low chuckle that seemed to split his already pounding head in two, and he almost considered slipping back into the dark edges of unconsciousness that were beckoning but for the closeness of the sound. Slowly, bits and pieces of the events leading up to his black out were falling into place, and he sat bolt upright with a start as he realised he was in danger.
The lighting was thankfully not too bright, but it did mean the figure sitting hunched against the bars before him was cast into shadow, and he could barely make out their features. Something in his expression must have given away his suspicion, for the woman (yes he could tell from the vague outline that she had feminine curves) held up her hands placatingly.
"Shh it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm in the same boat as you, I'm not one of them." She spat the word 'them' out harshly with a gesture of the head towards the open space outside their cramped cell, but hushed her tone when Sherlock winced. "Sorry.. you took one hell of a beating, you must be feeling pretty rough. My name's Harriet, I used to be a nurse before.. well before this. Here let me take a look at that."
She crossed to 'his' side of the cell, as he determined it must be judging by the separation between bedrolls, and waited for his permission before settling beside him. He was still guarded, even though her hands were gentle as she carefully felt through his matted curls for the wound. Sherlock heard her make a sympathetic sound as she found where he was bleeding from.
"It's not going to be life threatening but you'll have one hell of a concussion. They won't let you get seriously hurt though.. they'll probably patch you up soon. Until then I'll clean it as best I can with what we have." She made to leave him, but Sherlock stopped her with a hand on her wrist, and she settled back beside him with a questioning glance, imploring him to speak his mind.
Finding the right words was harder than Sherlock anticipated. Harriet, whoever she might be, was the closest thing he was going to have to a friend in here though, and he needed to make the most of that.
"Thank you. My name is Sherlock." A pregnant pause, then his natural curiosity wouldn't allow him to leave it at just gratitude, however inadequately expressed.
"What's going to happen to me.. to us? Do they just hold people here to sell on or.." He left the rest unsaid, knowing from Harriet's downcast eyes all he needed to know.
She lifted her head and levelled him with the most pitying, if genuine smile he'd ever seen, and patted his arm lightly.
"You're going to be okay Sherlock. We all look after each other in a place like this. Now let me clean up this wound for you."
Sherlock nodded, and Harriet left him to tear some of her bedlinen into strips, presumably to use as a makeshift bandage, and he was left wondering just how much more linen they would get though before the week was out. He'd hurt some of his captors badly, no doubt they took that very personally. He was not going to have it easy.
Re: Complications Part 9
Sherlock was as stupid as the average man apparently when he was waking up from one hell of a lost fight. He groaned loudly, scrunching his eyes tight against the pain blossoming to life in every nerve ending as he regained consciousness. Everything hurt, especially his head, but he doubted if even being run over by a herd of rampaging rhino's would have left him feeling much worse.
"NnnnggggfuckwhereamI?" The oh so eloquent mumble was penetrated by a low chuckle that seemed to split his already pounding head in two, and he almost considered slipping back into the dark edges of unconsciousness that were beckoning but for the closeness of the sound. Slowly, bits and pieces of the events leading up to his black out were falling into place, and he sat bolt upright with a start as he realised he was in danger.
The lighting was thankfully not too bright, but it did mean the figure sitting hunched against the bars before him was cast into shadow, and he could barely make out their features. Something in his expression must have given away his suspicion, for the woman (yes he could tell from the vague outline that she had feminine curves) held up her hands placatingly.
"Shh it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm in the same boat as you, I'm not one of them." She spat the word 'them' out harshly with a gesture of the head towards the open space outside their cramped cell, but hushed her tone when Sherlock winced. "Sorry.. you took one hell of a beating, you must be feeling pretty rough. My name's Harriet, I used to be a nurse before.. well before this. Here let me take a look at that."
She crossed to 'his' side of the cell, as he determined it must be judging by the separation between bedrolls, and waited for his permission before settling beside him. He was still guarded, even though her hands were gentle as she carefully felt through his matted curls for the wound. Sherlock heard her make a sympathetic sound as she found where he was bleeding from.
"It's not going to be life threatening but you'll have one hell of a concussion. They won't let you get seriously hurt though.. they'll probably patch you up soon. Until then I'll clean it as best I can with what we have." She made to leave him, but Sherlock stopped her with a hand on her wrist, and she settled back beside him with a questioning glance, imploring him to speak his mind.
Finding the right words was harder than Sherlock anticipated. Harriet, whoever she might be, was the closest thing he was going to have to a friend in here though, and he needed to make the most of that.
"Thank you. My name is Sherlock." A pregnant pause, then his natural curiosity wouldn't allow him to leave it at just gratitude, however inadequately expressed.
"What's going to happen to me.. to us? Do they just hold people here to sell on or.." He left the rest unsaid, knowing from Harriet's downcast eyes all he needed to know.
She lifted her head and levelled him with the most pitying, if genuine smile he'd ever seen, and patted his arm lightly.
"You're going to be okay Sherlock. We all look after each other in a place like this. Now let me clean up this wound for you."
Sherlock nodded, and Harriet left him to tear some of her bedlinen into strips, presumably to use as a makeshift bandage, and he was left wondering just how much more linen they would get though before the week was out. He'd hurt some of his captors badly, no doubt they took that very personally. He was not going to have it easy.