The immediate moment I stepped back into Greg's house, I shed Mycroft's jacket. Mycroft was just behind me, carrying the duffel bag once more so it did not strain my wounds. I sighed and leaned on the cane as I walked upstairs. I still carried my medical bag with me. I could smell the poignant scent of tomato sauce and basil coming from Greg's kitchen and deduced he was making pasta.
At the thought of deducing anything, I thought of Sherlock. A twinge of pain shot through my chest as I finished stepping up the last step and onto the upstairs level of Greg's house. I made a beeline for the bathroom and shut myself up in it, locking the door behind me and leaning my cane against it. I set the medical bag up onto the counter next to the sink.
I braced my arms on the edge of the porcelain and look into the mirror. I took in the sight of bags under my eyes and the worry lines on my forehead. I reached for the tap and turned the water on cold. Standing straight, I opened my medical bag and pulled out a couple rolls of bandages. They were in separate, sterilized packages.
My cuts and burns on my legs were not bad and nearly healed up to the point where they needed no bandages, so I did not bother with them. Shrugging out of Greg's borrowed shirt, I began to unwrap the now pinkish bandages from my chest and back. I winced as a few scabs were pulled, but it was an easy process.
I could see fresh pink skin around the edges of the whips marks and see that the blisters from the burns were practically gone. I gave myself a little smile in the mirror as the progression of healing was great. I binned all the old bandages and reached for a small washcloth that rested next to the sink. I ran it under the cold water and let the green fabric darken from the moisture.
I then rung it out and started to clean around my wounds. It took longer than the stripping of the bandages, as I had to contort a bit and move around so I could see what I was doing in the mirror. With that over with, I rinsed the rag out and tossed it into the nearby hamper. I reached my arms up, my right going higher than my left because of my past bullet wound, and stretched out. I pulled more of the scabs and hissed as they burned, but it felt good to stretch out. Rolling my neck, I grabbed one of the rolls of bandaging and opened it.
I quickly unfurled the end and started wrapping. This time around I decided to wrap them around my entire torso instead of making sure just to cover my injuries. I knew that in the end I would look like a mummy, but it did not matter. As I worked I thought of how I should have asked Greg where my ointments and creams were, but skipping them once would not severely harm the healing. I finished wrapping after roughly ten minutes and tossed the empty plastic packaging into the bin.
I zipped up my bag and picked Greg's shirt from the floor. I had my own clothes to change into now, so I tossed his shirt into the hamper with the rag. After unlocking the door, I stepped out into the hallway and limped with my cane and bag into the guest bedroom across from Greg's room. He had set it up for me and Mycroft must have placed my duffel onto the bed. My pills were on the nightstand with a bottle of water, probably courtesy of Greg. I left them alone as I was not due for another round of medication yet. Tossing the medical bag haphazardly onto the bed, I undid the closing on my duffel and pulled out my red, cashmere jumper. I slipped in on over my bandages, now being careful of opening scabs back up.
"Nice in here," I mumbled to myself as I looked around the room. The walls were painted a deep burgundy with a deep orange trim. The wood of the bed's headboard and footboard were made of mahogany, as was the dresser near the closet and the desk nested into the corner by the window. The drapes were a rich cream color to match the carpet and the sheets on the bed. The duvet and throw pillows were a design with a mix of red, burgundy, orange, and cream. It all blended nicely and made me relax.
"Very homey," I breathed out as I leaned on my cane. I heard the distant call of my name from downstairs and assumed dinner was ready to be served. Limping out of the room, I figured I could unpack my things later. I trudged back down the steps, around the railing, and through the sitting room to the kitchen. The table was set for three where Mycroft and Greg were already seated. They looked pleased to see me finally down with them.
"Sorry, I was changing my bandages," I said almost sheepishly, carefully sitting down in the seat where a piping plate of spaghetti sat waiting for me. It looked and smelled delicious. I then realized just how hungry I was.
"No problem, Mycroft and I were just chatting about cases and such," Greg answered with a smile, lifting a fork and digging into his food. I smiled and began to twirl small bites onto my fork. As I had guessed, Greg chatted away for Mycroft, leaving me to my food and thoughts.
My thoughts wandered to Sherlock. Mycroft had Molly's phone now, so there was a chance at tracing the number Sherlock was texting off of. No promises on being able to track him with it, but I had hope. Next was that if we kept using Molly's voice, we would be able to obtain information from Sherlock up to a point. That would leave him open to give away his location.
My thoughts came to a halt. Sherlock was smart enough to realize when it was someone else who was texting him. He would also catch on soon, seeing as he was obviously using Molly for help. I set down my fork with a near silent sigh at the thought. Therefore, the phone really was not much use after all.
"Something wrong?" Mycroft asked, peering at me from across the table. I noticed Greg was also staring at me with a small frown. I quickly placed a small smile on my face and shook my head.
"Just thinking and I'm full already," I answered with mostly the truth. My stomach was actually protesting to the food now as I stressed out. I knew that Greg would buy the smile, but Mycroft would most likely see right through it. "I'm going to excuse myself now, you two continue chatting about whatever it is you were," I said, not noticing that I barely ate half of my food.
I made as hasty of a retreat as I could with my cane and trotted up the stairs. I could feel my stomach rolling and I made it into the bathroom in time to wretch into the toilet. I could feel tears burn at the edge of my vision as I lost what I had eaten and kneeled on the floor. Soon enough I was just spitting up bile and shuddering at the taste. Wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, I straightened and flushed down my sickness. Turning the tap onto cold once again, I rinsed out my mouth and splashed my face.
I leaned heavily on my cane as I walked into the guest room, now being my room. Lifting my bags from the bed and setting them onto the floor, I sprawled myself out above the duvet. I felt my headache come back on worse than before and felt awful. Reaching out, I grabbed my pill bottles and the water and took two more pain pills and one of the antibiotics.
Groaning, I buried my face into the pillow. I could hear a pair of footsteps coming down the hall and looked up as a few knocks sounded on the doorframe. Greg stood there looking a bit troubled and frowning at me.
"Are you all right?" Greg asked me as he stepped further into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. I shook my head into the pillows and shut my eyes as pain coursed through my body. "Need anything?" he asked another question.
"Sleep," I mumbled into the pillows, keeping my eyes shut. "Mycroft still here?" I asked.
"Yeah, he's cleaning up the dishes right now. Do not worry too much right now, John. We'll find him and he'll get an earful from all of us at how stupid he is," Greg chuckled and attempted to make me feel better. Normally, I would have agreed and laughed back. Right now, I was too unwell and upset to positively react. Greg noticed and placed a hand onto my shoulder. "I'll leave you to your rest. If you need anything, just yell," he offered weakly and moved from the bed. As soon as the door shut, I let my eyes fill with tears.
Stupid Sherlock and leaving me here like this. I was a wreck. I was worried for him and what would happen. I had to deal with my injuries on top of it all, which did not make for a great time. Sobbing weakly into one of the pillows, I clutched onto it and let all of my emotions pour out of me.
I could feel a steadily growing damp spot and ignored it as my brain grew fuzzy around the edges. I am not sure how long I actually lay their crying into the pillow before I fell asleep. What I do remember is my headache growing number and my body growing wearier from exhaustion. Soon enough my tears dried up and I had drifted out into a slumber, still clutching the pillow to my chest.