John stared back levelly at the orderly. It was a calm, unintimidated, disappointed stare, and he held it until it verged on uncomfortable. Then he turned and made his way back to the table. When he got out, he told himself, he’d have a word with the organization that was responsible for oversight of the hospital. Until then? He’d sit with the poor girl. Drugged as she was, she probably wouldn’t notice, but it would make him feel better.
It was the only thing John could think of to do.
He slipped back into the chair and watched the orderlies. Sherlock would have found some exploitable weakness by now. John? John observed the way they carried their weight and the way they glanced around the room. Not trained fighters, but they’d clearly had experience in dealing with trouble. He exhaled through his nose, a huff of disgust.
Sloppy. It was one thing to handle a difficult patient and another entirely to create a difficult patient by frightening them.