johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

John. When was the last time you gave someone stitches? -SH

Hm, quite a while ago….why do you ask?-JW

It’s vital for a case. Do you remember any unusual bruising? Specifically…

Well, that’s a bit different. Normally it’s around the entire area, not just one spot. I’ll be home soon, do you need me to check it out?-JW

I don’t require your assistance, but if you’d like to take a look, I wont deny it to you. I’ll just stick the arms in the fridge for now. You might want to stop at Tesco, I doubt you’ll want to eat anything in the fridge now. -SH

Sherlock paused for a moment before typing a hasty afterthought

Sorry -SH

I already had lunch, thank you. Do you need me to pick up anything, though?-JW

John thought a moment and texted back: No need to apologize.-JW

No, I’m fine, we’ve got tea -SH

Sherlock examined the severed arm that was currently lying in a bath of preservative fluids on the kitchen table. There were seven stitches in the wrist, almost parallel to the lines of the hand. They weren’t administered by a medic and the thread seemed to be treated with some sort of chemicals. Granted, he had already deduced the nature of the cut and the timespan in which the injury took place. He poked gently at the stitching with a scalpel, the bruising lightening with the pressure as he did so.

When are you getting here? -SH

Right now.-JW

He opened up the door of 221B and bounded up the stairs. Setting his jacket down on the armchair, he looked into the kitchen. “I really should be used to this,” he said softly to himself at the sight arm, shaking his head. He walked over to it, examining. “Yeah, that’s a bit…..a bit odd. What’s your ideas?” John looked up at Sherlock, ready to hear his friend’s deductions.

Sherlock didn’t bother to look up as he heard John’s step on the stairs and felt his presence in the room. “Well obviously the injury was in a work environment without any medical staff. The wound was treated, though not professionally.” He looks over his shoulder towards John for confirmation. Upon getting none, Sherlock clears his throat and continues. “The bruising is at the base of the wound, suggesting the thread was chemically altered to introduce a new substance into the blood stream. The main vein runs directly at the base of the wound, where the bruising is most prominent.” He gestures with the scalpel, bits of the thread being torn as he does so. “Thoughts?” 

John observes the area Sherlock points to. “That’s amazing. But yes, I do see what you’re saying.” He pauses to think. “So, you’re suggesting that whoever treated the wound, spiked the thread with a chemical in order to…..poison this person? Any idea on the chemical?” He pointed to the lab tools. “Or do still need to, um, test that?”

Sherlock set the scalpel on the table and stood. “No, still have to test it, I’m afraid.” He bobbed his head in the direction of a set of microscope slides sitting on a petri dish. They each held roughly a centimeter of the stitching thread. “Have a look if you’d like.” Sherlock turned his back to the table as he began to clean up the science equipment. He lifted the tray and the fluids and hastily shelved it in the fridge along with several other dismembered body parts. He busied himself for several minutes; beakers boiling, tubes steaming, chemicals pouring into various bottles…

John walked over to the dish, picking it up to look at the thread. He tried to think of anything that could cause this. “It could have been spiked with some sort of bacteria, thus causing sepsis. But there’s quite a bit that could cause such a thing.  How long did it take for the person to die? After this injury?” He put the dish down. “If you know, that is.”

Sherlock suppressed a sly smile as John picked up the slide. “You might get a better view with a microscope.” He ment the tone to be an offhand one, but it sounded sarcastic and far too superior. Sherlock tossed the dish towel over his shoulder as he sunk against the counter. He began to slip, his shoes sliding on the hardwood floor, but he dug his elbows into the cabinetry. “You’re the medical expert. How old is the injury? How old is the body?” Sherlock was entirely too amused to continue drying the dishes. He crossed his arms. “Make a deduction.”

John looked at Sherlock, a surprised look on his face. Soon a smile appeared. “You really are serious.” He shook his head. “Okay, then.” He placed the slide under the scope and looked through, adjusting the view. “Oh, yes.” He got up. He checked the hand, really observing it. “A few days, at most. The bacteria would have entered his bloodstream quickly. But it would have taken a while for the symptoms. Sickness, fever, heart rate. What I don’t understand is why it was left untreated.” His voiced veered off. “Unless there was some sort of foul play involved. Stopping the victim from getting this treated.” He looked at Sherlock. “Because three, four days, of this….causes failure to the organs.” He smacked his lips. “Hm?”

The corners of Sherlock’s lips twinged upward in a brief smile. “Wonderful, John.” He stood and made his way from the kitchen, the dish towel dropping from his shoulder and onto the counter and he swept himself into his chair. Sherlock drew his knees in and steepled his hands under his chin. His elbows planted themselves on the chair arms. “What, would you say, were the circumstances of the injury?” He allowed his eyes to droop. He hadn’t slept in nearly three days. “Hm? Where was the man? What caused the injury? Why wasn’t it treated correctly?” With a blind hand, Sherlock unfurled a newspaper sheet and extended his arm out slightly. The top headline read, ‘Unidentified Corpse Found’, though the article was nothing compared to what Sherlock knew. He kept his eyes closed as his form slacked in the chair, “I’m surprised…” He mused, “You’re finally asking the right questions.”

(via cas-are-you-god)

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

John. When was the last time you gave someone stitches? -SH

Hm, quite a while ago….why do you ask?-JW

It’s vital for a case. Do you remember any unusual bruising? Specifically…

Well, that’s a bit different. Normally it’s around the entire area, not just one spot. I’ll be home soon, do you need me to check it out?-JW

I don’t require your assistance, but if you’d like to take a look, I wont deny it to you. I’ll just stick the arms in the fridge for now. You might want to stop at Tesco, I doubt you’ll want to eat anything in the fridge now. -SH

Sherlock paused for a moment before typing a hasty afterthought

Sorry -SH

I already had lunch, thank you. Do you need me to pick up anything, though?-JW

John thought a moment and texted back: No need to apologize.-JW

No, I’m fine, we’ve got tea -SH

Sherlock examined the severed arm that was currently lying in a bath of preservative fluids on the kitchen table. There were seven stitches in the wrist, almost parallel to the lines of the hand. They weren’t administered by a medic and the thread seemed to be treated with some sort of chemicals. Granted, he had already deduced the nature of the cut and the timespan in which the injury took place. He poked gently at the stitching with a scalpel, the bruising lightening with the pressure as he did so.

When are you getting here? -SH

Right now.-JW

He opened up the door of 221B and bounded up the stairs. Setting his jacket down on the armchair, he looked into the kitchen. “I really should be used to this,” he said softly to himself at the sight arm, shaking his head. He walked over to it, examining. “Yeah, that’s a bit…..a bit odd. What’s your ideas?” John looked up at Sherlock, ready to hear his friend’s deductions.

Sherlock didn’t bother to look up as he heard John’s step on the stairs and felt his presence in the room. “Well obviously the injury was in a work environment without any medical staff. The wound was treated, though not professionally.” He looks over his shoulder towards John for confirmation. Upon getting none, Sherlock clears his throat and continues. “The bruising is at the base of the wound, suggesting the thread was chemically altered to introduce a new substance into the blood stream. The main vein runs directly at the base of the wound, where the bruising is most prominent.” He gestures with the scalpel, bits of the thread being torn as he does so. “Thoughts?” 

John observes the area Sherlock points to. “That’s amazing. But yes, I do see what you’re saying.” He pauses to think. “So, you’re suggesting that whoever treated the wound, spiked the thread with a chemical in order to…..poison this person? Any idea on the chemical?” He pointed to the lab tools. “Or do still need to, um, test that?”

Sherlock set the scalpel on the table and stood. “No, still have to test it, I’m afraid.” He bobbed his head in the direction of a set of microscope slides sitting on a petri dish. They each held roughly a centimeter of the stitching thread. “Have a look if you’d like.” Sherlock turned his back to the table as he began to clean up the science equipment. He lifted the tray and the fluids and hastily shelved it in the fridge along with several other dismembered body parts. He busied himself for several minutes; beakers boiling, tubes steaming, chemicals pouring into various bottles…

John walked over to the dish, picking it up to look at the thread. He tried to think of anything that could cause this. “It could have been spiked with some sort of bacteria, thus causing sepsis. But there’s quite a bit that could cause such a thing.  How long did it take for the person to die? After this injury?” He put the dish down. “If you know, that is.”

Sherlock suppressed a sly smile as John picked up the slide. “You might get a better view with a microscope.” He ment the tone to be an offhand one, but it sounded sarcastic and far too superior. Sherlock tossed the dish towel over his shoulder as he sunk against the counter. He began to slip, his shoes sliding on the hardwood floor, but he dug his elbows into the cabinetry. “You’re the medical expert. How old is the injury? How old is the body?” Sherlock was entirely too amused to continue drying the dishes. He crossed his arms. “Make a deduction.”

(via cas-are-you-god)

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

John. When was the last time you gave someone stitches? -SH

Hm, quite a while ago….why do you ask?-JW

It’s vital for a case. Do you remember any unusual bruising? Specifically…

Well, that’s a bit different. Normally it’s around the entire area, not just one spot. I’ll be home soon, do you need me to check it out?-JW

I don’t require your assistance, but if you’d like to take a look, I wont deny it to you. I’ll just stick the arms in the fridge for now. You might want to stop at Tesco, I doubt you’ll want to eat anything in the fridge now. -SH

Sherlock paused for a moment before typing a hasty afterthought

Sorry -SH

I already had lunch, thank you. Do you need me to pick up anything, though?-JW

John thought a moment and texted back: No need to apologize.-JW

No, I’m fine, we’ve got tea -SH

Sherlock examined the severed arm that was currently lying in a bath of preservative fluids on the kitchen table. There were seven stitches in the wrist, almost parallel to the lines of the hand. They weren’t administered by a medic and the thread seemed to be treated with some sort of chemicals. Granted, he had already deduced the nature of the cut and the timespan in which the injury took place. He poked gently at the stitching with a scalpel, the bruising lightening with the pressure as he did so.

When are you getting here? -SH

Right now.-JW

He opened up the door of 221B and bounded up the stairs. Setting his jacket down on the armchair, he looked into the kitchen. “I really should be used to this,” he said softly to himself at the sight arm, shaking his head. He walked over to it, examining. “Yeah, that’s a bit…..a bit odd. What’s your ideas?” John looked up at Sherlock, ready to hear his friend’s deductions.

Sherlock didn’t bother to look up as he heard John’s step on the stairs and felt his presence in the room. “Well obviously the injury was in a work environment without any medical staff. The wound was treated, though not professionally.” He looks over his shoulder towards John for confirmation. Upon getting none, Sherlock clears his throat and continues. “The bruising is at the base of the wound, suggesting the thread was chemically altered to introduce a new substance into the blood stream. The main vein runs directly at the base of the wound, where the bruising is most prominent.” He gestures with the scalpel, bits of the thread being torn as he does so. “Thoughts?” 

John observes the area Sherlock points to. “That’s amazing. But yes, I do see what you’re saying.” He pauses to think. “So, you’re suggesting that whoever treated the wound, spiked the thread with a chemical in order to…..poison this person? Any idea on the chemical?” He pointed to the lab tools. “Or do still need to, um, test that?”

Sherlock set the scalpel on the table and stood. “No, still have to test it, I’m afraid.” He bobbed his head in the direction of a set of microscope slides sitting on a petri dish. They each held roughly a centimeter of the stitching thread. “Have a look if you’d like.” Sherlock turned his back to the table as he began to clean up the science equipment. He lifted the tray and the fluids and hastily shelved it in the fridge along with several other dismembered body parts. He busied himself for several minutes; beakers boiling, tubes steaming, chemicals pouring into various bottles…

(via cas-are-you-god)

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

John. When was the last time you gave someone stitches? -SH

Hm, quite a while ago….why do you ask?-JW

It’s vital for a case. Do you remember any unusual bruising? Specifically…

Well, that’s a bit different. Normally it’s around the entire area, not just one spot. I’ll be home soon, do you need me to check it out?-JW

I don’t require your assistance, but if you’d like to take a look, I wont deny it to you. I’ll just stick the arms in the fridge for now. You might want to stop at Tesco, I doubt you’ll want to eat anything in the fridge now. -SH

Sherlock paused for a moment before typing a hasty afterthought

Sorry -SH

I already had lunch, thank you. Do you need me to pick up anything, though?-JW

John thought a moment and texted back: No need to apologize.-JW

No, I’m fine, we’ve got tea -SH

Sherlock examined the severed arm that was currently lying in a bath of preservative fluids on the kitchen table. There were seven stitches in the wrist, almost parallel to the lines of the hand. They weren’t administered by a medic and the thread seemed to be treated with some sort of chemicals. Granted, he had already deduced the nature of the cut and the timespan in which the injury took place. He poked gently at the stitching with a scalpel, the bruising lightening with the pressure as he did so.

When are you getting here? -SH

Right now.-JW

He opened up the door of 221B and bounded up the stairs. Setting his jacket down on the armchair, he looked into the kitchen. “I really should be used to this,” he said softly to himself at the sight arm, shaking his head. He walked over to it, examining. “Yeah, that’s a bit…..a bit odd. What’s your ideas?” John looked up at Sherlock, ready to hear his friend’s deductions.

Sherlock didn’t bother to look up as he heard John’s step on the stairs and felt his presence in the room. “Well obviously the injury was in a work environment without any medical staff. The wound was treated, though not professionally.” He looks over his shoulder towards John for confirmation. Upon getting none, Sherlock clears his throat and continues. “The bruising is at the base of the wound, suggesting the thread was chemically altered to introduce a new substance into the blood stream. The main vein runs directly at the base of the wound, where the bruising is most prominent.” He gestures with the scalpel, bits of the thread being torn as he does so. “Thoughts?” 

(via cas-are-you-god)

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

John. When was the last time you gave someone stitches? -SH

Hm, quite a while ago….why do you ask?-JW

It’s vital for a case. Do you remember any unusual bruising? Specifically…

Well, that’s a bit different. Normally it’s around the entire area, not just one spot. I’ll be home soon, do you need me to check it out?-JW

I don’t require your assistance, but if you’d like to take a look, I wont deny it to you. I’ll just stick the arms in the fridge for now. You might want to stop at Tesco, I doubt you’ll want to eat anything in the fridge now. -SH

Sherlock paused for a moment before typing a hasty afterthought

Sorry -SH

I already had lunch, thank you. Do you need me to pick up anything, though?-JW

John thought a moment and texted back: No need to apologize.-JW

No, I’m fine, we’ve got tea -SH

Sherlock examined the severed arm that was currently lying in a bath of preservative fluids on the kitchen table. There were seven stitches in the wrist, almost parallel to the lines of the hand. They weren’t administered by a medic and the thread seemed to be treated with some sort of chemicals. Granted, he had already deduced the nature of the cut and the timespan in which the injury took place. He poked gently at the stitching with a scalpel, the bruising lightening with the pressure as he did so.

When are you getting here? -SH

(via cas-are-you-god)

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

johnlock-kisses-inthe-tardis:

jamsandjumpers:

John. When was the last time you gave someone stitches? -SH

Hm, quite a while ago….why do you ask?-JW

It’s vital for a case. Do you remember any unusual bruising? Specifically…

Well, that’s a bit different. Normally it’s around the entire area, not just one spot. I’ll be home soon, do you need me to check it out?-JW

I don’t require your assistance, but if you’d like to take a look, I wont deny it to you. I’ll just stick the arms in the fridge for now. You might want to stop at Tesco, I doubt you’ll want to eat anything in the fridge now. -SH

Sherlock paused for a moment before typing a hasty afterthought

Sorry -SH

(via cas-are-you-god)