John willed the cab to go faster but will couldn't alter reality. And reality was that he was stuck in the middle of a typical London rush-hour traffic jam. He kept glancing at his phone but Lestrade hadn't sent any more messages. All John had was a text saying that Sherlock was in hospital, no specifications made.
Calm down, he told himself. It could be anything. Maybe just the sprained ankle, which had bothered Sherlock for some days... Yet there was certain evidence going against this: If it was something minor, Sherlock could have texted him himself or Lestrade would've told all along it wasn't serious.
Furthermore, a sprained ankle wouldn't require him to come asap.
Finally, they reached the hospital and John darted out of the car, almost forgetting to pay the cab driver.
Lestrade was standing in the lobby, looking down at his mobile. John's eyes searched for Sherlock but he couldn't spot him anywhere. It wasn't a good sign, yet it was only to be expected.
"What happened?" John asked anxiously.
Lestrade looked up irritated, then put his phone away as he recognized John.
"Where you are. I've been about to text you..."
"What has happened?", John repeated.
"Sherlock slipped on the top of a staircase. He fell down the stairs and when unfortunately crashed through a window and fell."
John's eyes widened in shock.
"What floor?"
-"First... Could have been worse, I guess."
John nodded quietly. Yes, dropping two meters wasn't nice but the way Lestrade talked about it it didn't seem to be something life threatening.
"Do you know anything about how serious the injuries are?"
"He was in a lot of pain but conscious afterwards. He didn't make a big fuss about going to the hospital but I guess given the circumstances this is nothing to be concerned about."
That Sherlock had been conscious calmed John a bit. It suggested he didn't have a mayor head-injury and Sherlock losing his brilliant mind was one of the worst things he could imagine.
"What kind of injuries does he have exactly?"
Lestrade bit his lip. "I'm not a doctor but from what I saw, I'd say his left arm is broken pretty badly. His ankle didn't look well either. And of course I can tell nothing about internal injuries."
John nodded. So some broken bones. If the breaks weren't too bad this could be cured by some weeks of casts and rest, even though Sherlock probably wasn't going to like it. At all.
They stood there in silence, waiting. John kept shooting looks at his watch trying to estimate how long the tests they were probably running on Sherlock would take.
Finally, a nurse came, asking if anyone was there for 'Sherlock Holmes'.
They told her they were and followed her to a young doctor who was just taking a look at some x-rays.
"You belong to Mr. Holmes?" They nodded.
"He's fallen pretty badly but he doesn't have any internal bleedings or damaged any organs. What he does have though are several broken bones and it will take time and energy to restore his old strength.
His left collarbone is broken in two places and the lower arm is shattered. He won't be able to use it for at least a month but as far as we can tell, there will not be any permanent damage. Then, he has several broken rips, but they aren't dislocated too badly and will probably heal fine one their own.
Unfortunately, his right leg seems to be a little worse. He's fractured his lower leg twice but what it is more concerning is his ankle: The x-rays showed at least four mayor breaks and is severely dislocated.
In order to align the bones he will probably need a surgery, but if there are no complications it will be restored completely, too."
After they'd talked to the doctor John and Lestrade were allowed to see Sherlock. He was asleep now because of the pain medications but the doctor had pointed out that despite he had definitely a concussion the head was injured only in a quite moderate way considering the high of the fall.
The Consulting Detective's arm was in a cast, the right leg in a splint and elevated. "He will hate it", Lestrade murmured quietly. John sighed. Yes, Sherlock would hate the restricted movement, the help he would have to accept...
"It could've been worse, though."
"And it could've never gotten this worse if the two of you would dare to fight the stubbornness of my brother." They turned to Mycroft who had just entered the room. His expression was harder than usual and his eyes appeared as though he hadn't slept in days. "What do you mean?", Lestrade asked.
"I saw the footage of the CCTV. His right foot failed him on this staircase and all of us know he was limping the last few days."
John swallowed. Mycroft was right; he had noticed his ankle was bothering Sherlock on Monday, but when he asked his flat mate to have a look at it Sherlock had blocked him off, telling it was only a sprain.
"From his x-rays I'd say it was broken all along. I really think you should've known better, Mr. Watson."
John looked at the ground. Yes, he should have indeed insisted on taking Sherlock to the hospital just to make sure. He knew all to well Sherlock liked to hide his pain and didn't care enough about his body.
John spent the night at Sherlock's side. He wanted to be there when Sherlock woke, just in case he would be confused or try to get up or anything similar. Mycroft had left only a few minutes after he'd come, studying the x-rays and other reports in detail, before he told them he was needed somewhere else. For once he didn't seem happy about his job and John supposed it had little to do with him not being able to spent more time with his brother. Lestrade too left but it was shortly past midnight then and he promised to take 'tomorrow's shift' as he put it, so John would have the possibility to shower and get some cloths.
When Sherlock finally woke it was about eight o'clock in the morning and John had just doomed into a dozing state on his uncomfortable chair.
"Have you staid here all night?" John jolted awake. Sherlock was looking at him with a calm expression and he couldn't help thinking the Consulting Detective had watched him for some time already.
"Yeah, I suppose so... How are you feeling?"
Sherlock attempted to shrug but instantly regretted it for his broken collarbone.
"Been better. Way better in fact. What do the doctors say?"
"You've been quite lucky. Just some broken bones."
"Lucky", the Consulting Detective spat. Then: "Help me sit up."
John shook his head. "Not a good idea. You've broken some ribs, and the broken leg better stays above heart level. Even with the splint it looks pretty swollen and the swelling certainly has to be reduced for the surgery on your ankle."
"Surgery?", Sherlock scowled. "Is this really necessary.?"
"Yes, definitely. I saw the x-rays and your ankle is pretty messed up. The bones need setting or they won't heal properly."
Sherlock still didn't seem happy but sighed. "If you say so... Any diagnosis how long I will be on crutches yet?"
"You", John pointed out. "will spent some days in the wheelchair before we even talk about crutches."