Johnlock Stories

Day 22: Knives And Stuff

Hey! I am back bitchessssss, I took some time off, which was much needed, I feel a lot less stressed now, and now I have some chapters for you friends.

Also, I do post frequently on my account, just talking about some crazy stuff that happens, ya know? So if you want to see that or whatever, I will probably give updates about oncoming chapters and whatnot, so like I said, if thats something you care to see then feel free to follow me. And no, this is not a way to gain followers, I am sincerely letting you know about it just in case.

Day 22 my guys, this is past me currently, its the 23th that I'm writing this so technically its past me and I have no idea what day I'm going to post this because in reality I want to have a few chapters ready so I don't get overwhelmed again. But yes, there was something past me was going to say, hm... I cannot remember, just, good luck to future me I guess and also don't overwhelm yourself and start going to school you dumb fuck.

On with the story now? Sounds good.

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"Dr. Khan, he's crashing," Sherlock followed behind the group of doctors hastily, looking over their shoulders to watch John, who laid lifeless in a gurney with a bag valve to help him breathe.

"Remove the BVM, we'll have to intubate him immediately," Sherlock assumed Dr. Khan had ordered that, but he didn't know what it meant, nor did he care.

"Whats happening?" Sherlock asked, they all ignored him, he started breathing heavily as he watched them pull away what was supplying his air and instead shove a tube down his throat, Sherlock winced and a single tear slid down his face as he continued walking after them.

"Dr. Khan, we have to start immediately, he won't make it to the floor," a small girl glanced up at Dr. Khan and Sherlock looked between the two.

"What do you mean he won't make it? What's happening?" he shouted this time, the girl glanced at him but said nothing, looking back to the doctor before her.

"Alright, pull him into this room," he motioned behind him and they wheeled the gurney into the room, Sherlock followed still, watching John as his heart raced.

"Scissors," Dr. Khan ordered and held his hand out, clasping the pair of scissors that were set in it, he cut away at Johns shirt around the knife, making the bloody wound more accessible.

He set the scissors in a tray next to him and grabbed the handle of the knife, easing it out slowly, the beeping of the monitor he was connected to started increasing as the knife was removed and Sherlock turned his head away, feeling as though he might puke, the situation, the scene, his John. Everything was so messed up.

He, against his better judgement, looked at John again, and another group of tears fell at the sight of him, he tasted bile in the back of his throat but continued to watch. He was too shocked to think rationally or say anything, so he just stood there, watching the doctors fumble around.

He heard the low mumble of Dr. Khans voice, demanding a towel that he then put on Johns open wound, the white cloth turning a gruesome red at the blood.

"Patel, retractor," Sherlock heard him more clearly this time and watched someone open Johns chest after Khan had removed the cloth and dabbed the wound with gauze held between tweezers. Sherlock scrunched his face as they opened John, he wasn't one to be affected by gore, but seeing John like this made the effect last.

"Lap," another doctor said.

"Got it,"

"Clamp,"

"Retractor," the words flew over Sherlock's head quickly, he wondered why no one was making him leave, but then realized it's because John needs everyone.