Faint steps followed behind him the whole way up, diverting only to venture into her own room quickly and strip free her sheets and blankets and grab her pillows.
The whole bundle in her arms as she entered into his room and dropped them upon the floor. She set up a place for herself right by the door, finding him like a child sent with no dessert laying face down on his bed still completely clothed. She would have sighed, but found herself with little energy to even do so and instead used what remained to venture across the room and close the heavy drapes and leave them in darkness. Settling down in her makeshift "sleeping bag" Joan thought to read, but not even the discomfort of the floor beneath her back seemed to ward off sleep.
She was drained and took the opportunity to recoup. She dreamed of morgues.
Later when he had begun to stir as if waking, Joan found reason enough to situate herself on his bed. Waiting for him to slowly groggily come back, but he was taking a bit longer than Joan was clearly ready to wait and so-- well being a doctor she did what she did best.
"How are you feeling?" it was not a question seeking an emotional response, it was a question to his physical. Joan had no problem invading his space it seemed, placing the back of her hand against his temples to check for cold sweats or clamminess as she sat perched on the side of his bed. Congratulations, Holmes-- you've made her right worried. The combination of fitful sleep and nightmares.
If he wasn't wakened by that he would surely find offense when she pressed her thumb beneath his eyelid and pulled down. It had been maybe three hours tops and the outside had finally begun to darken. It came quicker in the colder months, but Joan had flicked on his side lamp which was honestly in need of a new bulb. She released his face soon enough though and instead took his arm in her hands, fingers finding his wrist pulse point as she checked her watch.
no subject
The whole bundle in her arms as she entered into his room and dropped them upon the floor. She set up a place for herself right by the door, finding him like a child sent with no dessert laying face down on his bed still completely clothed. She would have sighed, but found herself with little energy to even do so and instead used what remained to venture across the room and close the heavy drapes and leave them in darkness. Settling down in her makeshift "sleeping bag" Joan thought to read, but not even the discomfort of the floor beneath her back seemed to ward off sleep.
She was drained and took the opportunity to recoup. She dreamed of morgues.
Later when he had begun to stir as if waking, Joan found reason enough to situate herself on his bed. Waiting for him to slowly groggily come back, but he was taking a bit longer than Joan was clearly ready to wait and so-- well being a doctor she did what she did best.
"How are you feeling?" it was not a question seeking an emotional response, it was a question to his physical. Joan had no problem invading his space it seemed, placing the back of her hand against his temples to check for cold sweats or clamminess as she sat perched on the side of his bed. Congratulations, Holmes-- you've made her right worried. The combination of fitful sleep and nightmares.
If he wasn't wakened by that he would surely find offense when she pressed her thumb beneath his eyelid and pulled down. It had been maybe three hours tops and the outside had finally begun to darken. It came quicker in the colder months, but Joan had flicked on his side lamp which was honestly in need of a new bulb. She released his face soon enough though and instead took his arm in her hands, fingers finding his wrist pulse point as she checked her watch.