[audio]

[worldsonly]

Ms Adler. If you've experienced any particularly grievous injuries over the last couple of years before your arrival here, be prepared to deal with them again. Don't bother with the hospital, obviously, it'll be full of idiots coming in to cry about papercuts and old stove burns.

If not, it would perhaps be in Shinichi's best interest if you looked after him for the next few days. John is -- not well, and I don't -- ggnk --

[ there's a clatter, then the sound of violent choking for several seconds as well as a scratching, as if fingers were being scrabbled over the surface of the phone, until it disconnects and sends the audio. unfortunately (or fortunately?) for Sherlock, the buttons he unintentionally selected were for the public option. ]

Comments

[worldsonly]

[ that rhythmic hacking could almost be a laugh. or his throat spasming. ]

action.

[herrin]

[ she doesn't even dignify that with a response, instead rounding the next corner to where their house was and not even bothering to knock - she tries the handle, finds it unlocked and pushes the door open, bursting into the hall and lo--

oh. there he was.

she dropped down to the floor next to him, feigning an exasperated sigh. ]

You know, all the dramatics are getting a bit old.

[ have an offered hand. ]

[worldsonly]

[ he pulls himself into a sitting position with her help, fingertips tenderly feeling out the borders of the bruises on his neck. the funny thing is, he's been strangled so many times he's not even sure which one he's supposed to be reliving. he'll have to find out what they look like and deduce from there.

wheeze, croak. ]

I'll -- hhhh -- keep that... in mind.

[herrin]

[ she reaches for him with her other hand, gently tipping his chin up so she can examine his neck, though she doesn't touch. tsk, tsk. ]

Raise your arms, put your hands on your head. It'll help you breathe.

[ don't ask how she knows. maybe she's had similar bruises before. ]

[worldsonly]

[ his hands and his eyebrows go up at the same time, the expression on his red face saying clearly that he has his own theories as to her experience with breath restriction. ]

It's, hhhah, Christ... It's fine.

[herrin]

It's not. Not yet. But it will be.

[ sorry, she's not falling for that. but, she will sit herself next to him without heed for her white skirt, avoiding jabbing him in the side. ]

Lifting your arms raises your ribcage, it allows your lungs more space to expand when you breathe.

[ because he's an insufferable know-it-all and would probably want to know why. ]

[worldsonly]

Yes, thank you. [ the eyeroll he gives her is that of a scolded child. ] It's not my first... attempted throttling.

[ except he'd have probably just laid there and wheezed for a while until john needed another dose of analgesic or something, so her intervention is probably for the best. still, good luck getting him to admit it. she's not wrong, he is insufferable. ]

[herrin]

Somehow I'm less than surprised.

[ two can play that game. but if he's insufferable, she's equally so at times, so they really can't compete. it doesn't bother her to just sit here, next to him, until he feels he's ready to stagger to his feet. ]

Where is the good Doctor? In bed?

[worldsonly]

[ no one ever seems to be surprised to hear about how many times people have tried to kill Sherlock...

he nods, flinching slightly at the strain it puts on his neck. ]

Having a nice cuddle with the good drugs.

[ he does go to pull himself up now, looking increasingly better-colored in the face if not the throat, and pulls out his phone to use as a mirror and peer at the marks. ]

[herrin]

[ she follows behind him when he stands and hesitates, before pressing a hand against his back to steady him. she's eyeing the marks herself, much harder when he's not on the ground. ]

What happened?

[ to john, to him. and why was she still ok? ]

[worldsonly]

Well, old wounds are coming back. His was a bullet hole.

This one's less exciting, attempted murder by giant Czech assassin. Could have been any number of worse things, really.

[herrin]

Old wounds.

[ she's pale, suddenly, though she doesn't offer any sort of explanation. perhaps she'd gotten off lucky, this time. ]

Could have been much worse, I imagine. Still, you ought to have a cup of tea. I'll put it on.

[ let's just .. bustle into the kitchen before he uses that ridiculously keen brain of his. ]

[worldsonly]

[ amused: ] Naturally. Tea for all ailments.

[ he doesn't miss her reaction -- of course, that was why he'd been trying to warn her. it didn't take a detective to deduce she might have a bit more than a few bumps and bruises in her background, and that's not even taking into account how he found her in Pakistan. ]

We brought home half of John's clinic, so if you wind up needing something, it's at your disposal.

[herrin]

We are English, aren't we?

[ come now, sherlock, don't stoop to denying tea.

she sets the kettle on, pulling out two mugs and teabags for herself as though she owns the place (though she doesn't, she knows where everything is), and nudges a chair out at the table for him. the look she throws him is clear - sit. now. ]

Did you find him? After he was .. reinjured?