Peeta Mellark (stillbeme) wrote in expresslogs, @ 2012-04-22 20:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | {peeta mellark, {sherlock holmes |
Who? Peeta & Sherlock (cameo from Dr Watson.)
Where? The infirmary.
When? Sunday afternoon.
What? Peeta recovers. Sherlock is surprisingly caring.
Rating: Should be pretty low.
It may have been true that John was trying to pay a little bit more attention to Peeta than to the rest of his patients - on one hand, his morals told him he shouldn't be showing any favouritism, but on the other hand, the poor kid had been through so much. John had spoken to him, albeit briefly, before the incident with the tracker-jackers, and had honestly become so concerned for him. He was glad that Sherlock was taking an interest, but the kid really did need someone to look out for him. Mentally disorientated was right. The boy needed a psychiatric evaluation, therapy, and more than likely he ought to be medicated. John was not qualified to offer any of those things. The best he could think to do was the give him a mild sedative as he started to wake up.
Peeta had woke up screaming the previous evening, and John had taken it upon himself to give him a dose just to relax him, just to make the healing process a little easier on him. He didn't need to mental strain of hallucinations on top of everything else. That was ethical enough, wasn't it? It was probably best for everyone's safety if the kid was kept as calm as possible.
Peeta's four day sleep had been anything but peaceful. His dreams were a horrible replaying of every memory the Capitol had distorted, mixed in with some new ones of his own. Events blurred into each other, facts becoming obscured, voices interchangeable, scenes editing themselves into something new, something horrifying. The sedative had helped, giving him an evening of more restful sleep before he jerked awake with a frightened gasp on Sunday afternoon. John had immediately moved to his side with a dose of the sedative ready, just in case he became too distressed again. The leaves had been cleaned from his wounds as he slept, and he was just left feeling a bit groggy and confused. Everything ached - he'd been lying there for too long. He blinked up at the ceiling of the train, trying to piece things together again but failing miserably.
Another patient was needing assistance, so John handed the injection over to Sherlock. "Just in case," he said softly, giving his partner's shoulder a grateful squeeze before he moved away and left him to it. Peeta turned his head, squinting at his visitor. Was he in District 13? Who was this man? "What-" he started to ask, but found that his throat was dry and scratchy as he tried to speak. "What's going on?" he managed to choke out painfully.