Work Text:
'What was worse was the haunting terrified look in the detective's eyes. Although near fully paralysed, save the uncontrollable seizing his eyes attempted to follow John as he finally came to stand beside the bed. His blue grey Iris's were swallowed up by dark dilated pupils, reddened sclera and deep creases around his lids, conveying nothing but misery.
John's brows knitted together in both pain and sorrow. His best friend was stripped partly of his clothes and at the total mercy of the medical professionals working on him. Sherlock Holmes was a proud man so what made this worse was he seemed to remain completely aware of what was going on around him. Conscious to the very real possibility that the toxin running through his veins may well just kill him. His dignity was all but stripped bare. His body betraying him at every chance, numb yet every muscle convulsing with relentless force. He was trapped, betrayed by his own transport as he would say.
But that was the murderers point wasn't it, to keep the man alive and aware of his existence right until his final breath.'
(3B graphite pencil, A4, 1.5hrs)
