Title: I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends (Five Times Victor Needed Assistance and Once When He Asked For Help)
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: PG
Length: 2,150
Summary: Victor has been severely injured and his recovery is frustratingly slow
A/N: Once again my thanks to my excellent beta scfrankles
Title from the Beatles song.

It was ten days since a physically and mentally broken Victor Trevor had been brought to 221B. The bruises on his face were now fading and Sherlock was hopeful his overall recovery would start to follow suit.  Victor had been sleeping better and had been able to join Sherlock in the sitting room for short spells.

All of which meant Sherlock had felt able to begin work on cases again.  He refused to leave the flat for any period of time, but had responded positively when Greg Lestrade had asked him to look at a current case and pick up the anomalies.  He was sifting through the evidence and making notes on points he wanted Greg to follow up when there was a crash from the bedroom.

Instantly he had leapt to his feet and rushed into the room.  Victor was lying on the floor, the bedside cabinet toppled on its side.

Sherlock knelt down beside Victor.  “Okay,” he said.  “Let’s get you back into bed.”

“I wanted to get up,” Victor said.  Sherlock could hear how hard Victor was trying to disguise the pain in his voice as he spoke.

“I know, but there’s broken glass on the floor and I need to clear it away.  Then I can help you get up.”

“I don’t want help!” Victor shouted.

Sherlock made himself walk out of the room before he shouted back.  Both bones in the lower part of Victor’s leg had been badly broken and although now pinned and plastered he could put very little weight on it.  Up to this point Victor had been dependent on Sherlock to get up, although he could manage to slowly cross the room with the aid of crutches.  Sherlock could see Victor had decided to get out of bed by himself, lost his balance and grabbed at the bedside cabinet, pulling it over as he fell.

Sherlock found the dustpan and brush and took that, plus the first aid kit, back into the bedroom.  Victor was staring at the ceiling.

Sherlock began to sweep up the broken glass.  “I can understand you want to be independent,” he said.  “But how about, just for the moment, you call me when you’re ready to get up and I’ll come and watch.  Then, if you do find you need some help, I’ll be on hand.”  He stood up and kissed Victor’s forehead.  “Is that a deal?”

Victor nodded.

“Good.  Let’s see what damage you’ve managed to do to yourself.”

***

Mrs Hudson woke to the sound of screaming.  She sighed.  Victor had slept so much better for the last few nights, but it would seem he wasn’t yet out of the woods.  She heard the violin music start and Victor quietened.  She decided to make herself a cup of tea.  This quickly became a pot, which she took upstairs.  She took the pot into the kitchen and poured two mugs.

Quietly she carried the mugs into Sherlock’s bedroom.  Sherlock nodded to her as she set them down, but continued playing.  It was too dark to make out Victor’s expression, but she could see how tense his body was and saw him shudder as Sherlock came to the end of the piece.  He started to moan as Sherlock quickly swallowed some of the tea, but grew still when he began playing again.

She whispered, “I’ve left the pot in the kitchen.”

She made her way downstairs and resolved to try to go back to sleep.  If Sherlock was still playing when she woke again she would make more tea and some toast.  She hoped this wouldn’t be necessary – she had seen the despair in Sherlock’s eyes as she left the room; the look which told her he had hoped the worst of the nightmares had passed.

***

Now the rigid splint had been removed from Victor’s left hand and replaced with a cloth splint he had been given physiotherapy exercises to perform three times a day.  Sherlock had watched, encouraged, as Victor had tackled the first set in the morning with enthusiasm.  It was obviously hard work, but Victor had been diligent with the exercises, showing the same determination which had led him to succeed so often in life.

The second set of the day, undertaken shortly after lunch, had been faced with less enthusiasm.  One of Victor’s problems was when he dropped the soft ball he had to use for one of the exercises it would roll out of reach.  Being unable to stand up unaided he could not retrieve the ball himself and had to rely on Sherlock’s help.  Sherlock didn’t mind.  Although it was distracting, he was happy to provide Victor with every assistance to aid his recovery.  Victor, however, found this further example of his lack of independence frustrating.

The third set had to be completed in the early evening.  Victor had told Sherlock he was tired of being watched as if he was an animal in the zoo and so Sherlock had retreated to the kitchen, where he could reheat the meal Mrs Hudson had prepared.  As Sherlock moved around the kitchen aimlessly opening and closing drawers and cupboards, he could hear Victor swearing.  The ball had been replaced by a bean bag, so if it fell it would not roll away.

The swearing got louder and then there was the sound of crockery smashing.  Cautiously Sherlock re-entered the living room.  Victor was still on the sofa, looking defeated.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Sherlock said.  “Mrs Hudson will get us some more mugs.”

He walked over and sat next to Victor, put his arms round him and drew him close.  He held Victor as he sobbed on his shoulder and reassured him it was okay, he understood and they knew it would take time.  He kept his own feelings of frustration to himself.

***

Over the past days, Mrs Hudson had grown used to the crashes from 221B as Victor made his way round the flat, and had made no comment about the ‘accidents’ which had required replacement glasses and mugs.  So, when she heard another crash she initially ignored it, assuming Victor had once more slipped or knocked something over.  However, when she didn’t hear footsteps moving rapidly towards the source of the crash, she started to grow alarmed.

She went upstairs and to her surprise found the door to the flat was open.  She knocked and went in, hearing as she entered the sound of groaning from the kitchen.  She hurried over, to find Victor lying on the kitchen floor, unable to get back up.

“Victor!  What happened?” she asked.

“I thought I’d make myself a cup of tea,” he answered.

“Where’s Sherlock?”

“He went to buy some bread.”

“Oh!”  Mrs Hudson didn’t comment on how unusual that was.  Normally Sherlock would have asked her to go, and had she known they needed bread she would certainly have offered to get it.  It sounded as if Sherlock had wanted to get out for a few minutes.  Not that she blamed him; he’d been cooped up in the flat for the last two weeks, refusing all her offers of help and insisting he alone would be Victor’s carer.

“I don’t think I can help you back onto your feet, dear,” she began, “but maybe we can get you a bit more comfortable for the moment.”

Victor smiled ruefully.  “Please don’t try, Mrs Hudson.  I’d hate to think I was responsible for you getting stuck down here as well.  I think if I wriggle around a bit I might be able to sit up sufficiently to lean against the cupboard.  But,” he paused, “would you mind staying with me until Sherlock gets back?”

“Of course, dear, that won’t be a problem at all.”  She couldn’t understand why Victor looked almost afraid to be left alone sitting on the kitchen floor, but she wasn’t going to ask.  It was no skin off her nose to keep the young man company for a few minutes.  “And while we wait, shall I make that cup of tea?”

***

Greg Lestrade unlocked the outside door in Baker Street and started up the stairs.  He’d been passing close by when it had occurred to him he could call in to ask Sherlock his opinion on an aspect of his current case, and maybe grab a quick cup of coffee at the same time.  He started up the stairs, only to find Victor sitting on one of the stairs, towards the top.

“Morning, Victor,” Greg said cheerfully.

Victor shuffled over to give Greg room to get past.

“Is Sherlock in?”

“No, he went out about ten minutes ago.  He should be back by about half past.”

“Right.”  Greg looked thoughtfully at Victor.  He knew he’d been working on going up and down the stairs, but always with Sherlock watching carefully to provide assistance if needed.  It looked as if Victor had decided to practise on his own, overtaxed himself and was waiting until just before he expected Sherlock to return before hauling himself back upstairs.  “I don’t have time to wait for him, I’m afraid.  I don’t suppose I could run a couple of ideas past you instead.”

Victor shrugged.  “If you like.”

“Excellent.  If you shift over a bit more I can sit next to you and show you what’s puzzling me.”  Greg dug the photos out of his briefcase.

Victor considered the pictures carefully and then pointed out various anomalies.  Greg had already spotted one of them, but with Victor’s help he realised he can now pierce together the chain of events.

As Greg put the photos away he said, “Thank you.  I don’t suppose you would fancy doing some consultation for the Yard yourself?  We could certainly use your expertise.”

Victor looked hopeful.  “Are you serious?”

“Most certainly.”

“Once I’m properly mobile, I’d be very interested.”

“Why wait until you’re mobile?  I bring things to his lordship all the time – I know a couple of officers who’d be delighted to make the trip to Baker Street to get your help.”

Victor smiled.  “That would be good.”

“Excellent.  I’ll set the wheels in motion.  In the meantime, do you want me to give you a hand to get back upstairs, so you can tell Sherlock the good news on his return?”

***

Victor made his way down the two flights of stairs slowly and cautiously.  The day had taken a lot of preparation, but with the willing assistance of Greg and Mrs Hudson, his plan was about to come to fruition.  He had a short rest half way down, on a kitchen chair borrowed from Mrs Hudson, before finishing the descent and stepping outside.

The day was almost perfect: sunny, but with a gentle breeze.  Had it been raining his plans would have had to be postponed, but there was no need.

Greg brought down the wheelchair which had been hidden in Mrs Hudson’s flat for the last couple of days.  Although Victor could now walk reasonably confidently with the aid of his crutches, there was no way he would manage to cover the necessary distance without exhausting himself.

Greg pushed him down the road and into Regent’s Park.  They crossed the bridge and reached the main path.  At this point John Watson joined them.

“All ready?” he asked.

Greg helped Victor to stand, ensuring he was balanced safely on his crutches.  “Ready!” Victor said.

John took out his phone and sent a text.  “And go!”

Slowly Victor made his way along the path.  He could see Mary, pushing the pushchair and talking animatedly to Sherlock. She paused to apparently point to something in one of the trees.  Sherlock looked up and spotted Victor.  Without a word he ran down the path towards him, stopping just in front of him, so he didn’t lose his balance.

Sherlock looked at Victor, but couldn’t say anything.

At that moment Mrs Hudson said, “Why don’t you two boys sit down here?”  She collected up all the paraphernalia she’d spread along the bench she was sitting on, preventing anyone else from taking a seat.

Sherlock started to say, “You don’t need to go,” but she interrupted by saying, “We’re going to feed the ducks.”

Sherlock helped Victor to sit on the bench and then they threw their arms around each other.

After a while, Sherlock pulled back slightly.  Victor looked at him and saw the tears in Sherlock’s eyes mirrored his own.

“You are happy, aren’t you?” Victor asked.

“Incredibly so.  And so proud of you and all you’ve achieved.  It was a wonderful surprise to see you walking along the path towards me.”  Sherlock leant in and kissed Victor again.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Victor said.  “I wanted to say thank you and to show you what you’d enabled me to do.”

Sherlock smiled at him through his tears, “My Victor.”