Sherlock didn't quite know what he was doing. His usually high functioning brain seemed to have switched off entirely and the replacement only had one thing coursing through it. John. I must get to John. The detective ran down the white corridors, ducking and dodging anyone standing in his way. He switched quickly into an adjacent corridor, skidding along the polished floors. Various men and women in white coats moved to the side to allow him to pass, each with the same sympathetic look creeping onto their face, they'd all seen this kind of thing before. Sherlock scowled, he didn't need their sympathy, he didn't need any of their emotions. All he need was John.

Suddenly Sherlock found himself being confronted by the very man he had hoped to avoid. Before he could dive out of sight, DI Lestrade turned round and laid eyes on him.

'Sherlock. I knew you'd find a way to give the whole of my team the slip.' He said, exasperated. 'Ok, you know the options. You can come back with me of your own accord, we'll put you back in the cell and we'll let all of this go. Or you can run and we will bring a nationwide man hunt baring down on you.' The detective's eyes flickered briefly to the door behind the DI. He then turned his attention back to the man blocking his way. He closed his eyes for a second with a breathy sigh. A few seconds later, he opened them again.

'Detective Inspector Lestrade, let me make something absolutely clear; I don't care what you do now. I don't care what happens to me. I don't even care that you have most likely assembled a team in front of the room I'm trying to get to. The only thing I care about is John and I need to see him.' He quickly sidestepped the other man and moved to open the door.

Now he was running down the corridors once again, the detective braved a glance at his watch. That little conversation had cost him twenty minutes. Twenty minutes that could have been spent next to John. A few more twists and turns found Sherlock staring through the glass into a white washed room.

His pushed the door open but stood as closed to it as possible. In the bed in the middle of the private room, his flatmate, his only true friend lay. The blonds eyes were closed, what little of his skin that could be seen was mottled black and blue. Sherlock made his way over step by step. The heart monitor beeped rhythmically but the sound was lost somewhere in the detectives mind.

'Oh John.' He whispered, his legs suddenly becoming too weak to hold his weight. Sherlock sank to his knees, resting his head on the soft covers of the bed.

'John, I am so sorry.' The heart monitor beeped slightly out of sync and the detective raised his head to look at it. His face broke into a smile when he realised. He can hear me. Sherlock picked up the soldiers hand and held it in both of his,

'John, I know you can hear me. I won't be able to come and visit you after this, for that I am sorry. I needed to see you. Get better, John. Please. And when you are, come back to me.' The door opened behind him and Sherlock stood up again, he turned round to face the intruder though he already knew who it was. Lestrade gave him a soft look and held the door open for him.

'Come on,' He said quietly, 'My offer is still standing.' Sherlock nodded numbly and walked out. John would get better. That, he knew. The worlds only consulting detective's mouth twitched upwards into what some would call a smile. His face held that expression as he enter the police car and all the way back to Scotland Yard. I hate hospitals, He thought to himself, But as long as this one make John well again, I'll make an exception.

This newfound smile also helped to unnerve the whole team set up to watch his cell. Sherlock walked into the concrete room without having to be asked and sat on the concrete slab which was meant to be a bed/chair, leaning back so he rested against the wall. He heard the door close and the various locks click as they locked together. With another twitch of a smirk, he recalled how quickly he had managed to escape. Five minutes. It had taken him less than five minutes not only to get out of the cell but right out of the Yard. And they wonder why I say they are useless.

About three hours later, a slot opened and a plate of food slid inside. Sherlock looked at it with distain and didn't bother to even to get up, deciding to forget it was even there. Forty five minutes past and the slot opened again, one of the guards called for him to pass the tray back through. The detective laughed but didn't move. Whoever the guard was, he clearly wasn't cut out for this job because he became far too angry far too quickly. After a one-sided shouting match, the guard stalked off only to return with Lestrade. The DI wasn't pleased to be called from whatever he had been doing.

The cell door opened and he walked inside.

'Sherlock.' He sighed, 'I really don't know what I'm going to do with you.' The detective gave him his best winning smile.

'You need help on a case but you don't want to consult me because I'm in a cell. Even though I never did anything wrong.' He said. The DI closed the door and pinched the bridge of his nose.

'Sherlock, you are in here on the charge of attempted murder! How is that 'I never did anything wrong'? Hmm? Do I have to remind you what sort of state John was in when we found him? Beaten to a pulp with various knife wounds covering his body? He might not have survived if we hadn't got there when we did!' Though he tried, Lestrade couldn't stop the rising anger. Sherlock growled and stood up, looming over the other man.

'I didn't attack John. I have already told you this. I could never hurt John intentionally.' Greg Lestrade did his best to look taller, he had faced all manner of men but the one he found most frightening was the one now stood in front of him.

'You were found holding the knife. There was no one else in the room. The doors were locked as were the windows, we had to break the door down, and you tell me you didn't do it? Who else could have, hmm Sherlock? Who else could have done that, who else knows where Johns weak points are?' The DI took a breath and calmed himself. 'I don't know why you did it and I never thought you actually had it in you, no matter what the rest of my team thinks. I'm torn, Sherlock. All the evidence points to you but there's just something screaming in my mind that it's not you. This is protocol, Sherlock, and as such I will treat you like I do every other criminal that passes into these cells. Just behave, do what's asked. When this gets to court, you know character is assessed. Just, just don't do anything you'll regret.' Sherlock sunk back down onto the slab.

'I didn't do it, Lestrade. But I wasn't there to stop it either. I should have been. I shouldn't have allowed him to get hurt.' His voice cracked slightly so he stopped talking, if there was one thing he wouldn't lose it was his composure. He felt a hand lightly rest on his shoulder. He looked up as a folder was passed quickly into his hands.

'You know, you still have your phone call. I'm sure you have a family member who could help you out.' The DI said, he'd had dealing with the elder Holmes more than once in the past, enough to know he was a force not to be trifled with. Sherlock shook his head, in much the same way as a child would. He handed the folder back.

'No, I don't want to bring him into this unless I absolutely have to. He already knows what has happened, that's why John's in a private room.' The detective replied. From outside, someone called for the DI. In a hushed voice Sherlock muttered,

'Find the daughter. If she has an engagement ring then bring her fiancé in.' Greg nodded his thanks and picked the tray up as he knocked on the door to be let out. Before leaving, he twisted back,

'You really should eat something Sherlock.' The detective sneered,

'Who do you think you are, John?' He then realised what he had said and shrank back slightly. John might never tell him to eat something again.

One week later, Sherlock still sat in the cell. The DI had given him various cases, mostly cold ones they wanted to solve quickly, to keep him occupied. He hadn't had any word from John yet so the man must still be in the hospital. John wouldn't just leave him. He wouldn't. Without his doctor, Sherlock only ate when he absolutely had to. Prison food was disgusting and something he would be much better off without. Since the first day, the guards had been completely different. Friendlier for one and the detective found that on the days when he wished to speak, which weren't often, that they would happily chat with him. Mostly about their family lives, the state of the economy and how awful British weather is.

But the guards didn't stop to talk to him today, Sherlock saw that as a sign, something was up. The opened and Lestrade walked inside. The detective's eyebrow raised slightly but he stayed silent. Now was not the time for idle conversation. The DI tried to hold a stern expression but failed miserably.

'The court case is in three hours. I've, well your brother, took the liberty of getting you a top lawyer but it doesn't look good.' Lestrade eye's showed full sympathy, 'I know open-close cases are illegal now but that is pretty much what this is. How this jury managed to pass for 'unbiased' I'll never know.' Sherlock nodded. He had known from the start that it would be this way.

'How is John?' He asked, partly to change the subject but mostly because it had been eating away at him for days on end.

'I'm not allowed to indulge that information, I'm afraid. But if I was, I would tell you that he is doing well and should be allowed out a few days. Also, that he hasn't been told anything of your current predicament for safety reasons.' Sherlock smiled, John was fine. He was soon to be out. It was doubtful that he even remembered anything that Sherlock had told him but being in a drug induced coma was a pretty good excuse for it.

Once he got to the court, Sherlock realised what the DI had meant by the jury. Almost all of them were some kind of relative or friend to the many criminals he had helped to catch. The fact that there was so many was too much of a coincidence. He didn't stand a chance, no matter how good his lawyer was. Talking about his lawyer; she was slight, dark cropped haired and extremely determined. Most like one of the best in the country. The judge enter the courtroom and everyone became seated. The detective switched off not too long after that. There was a reason he never made any court appearances, they were dull. The case seemed to whiz by and the detective suddenly found himself sat being addressed by the judge.

'Sherlock Holmes, we have heard both accounts and the jury has made their decision in frankly the fastest time I've ever seen. And so it's my duty to-' The doors opened with such force that every in the court room turned round. John Watson stood by himself with an almost murderous look in his eyes. He stalked forward, eyes flicking over every being in the room. He stopped briefly in front of the jury then turned to the judge,

'I sincerely hope you were about to say he's not guilty because if not then you are entirely mistaken. While we're on the subject of mistaken, I may not have been on all of Sherlock's cases but I've been on enough to know that that jury there is the most unbiased group of people I have ever seen. Each and every one of them hates him for some reason or other. Also, surely if I'm the one who someone had attempted to murder, it might be a good idea for someone to tell me what the hell was going on and actually ask me. It took me hours to find out what had been going on, if it wasn't for a friend of mine I wouldn't have even realised that he was in court.' He snarled, then his voice took on a different tone, 'So everyone here, listen to me when I say this: Sherlock Holmes did not attack me. In fact, if he hadn't been there I would have bled out. The fact that someone has gone to all this trouble to get him behind bars is frankly astounding.' He spat. The entire court room was silent for many minutes. Sherlock looked blankly at him. John calmed himself down and held his hand out to his flatmate. The detective smiled and took it, climbing out of the defendant box with a grace only he had. The doctor grimaced and Sherlock was suddenly holding his shoulders,

'Are you ok, John? Where does it hurt?' He asked, slightly panicked. The doctor laughed and pushed his friend's hands off him,

'I'm fine, Sherlock. Just some bruising. I was told not to do anything strenuousness for a few days, that went out the window when I tried to find out where you were.' He said, 'Now lets get out of here.' The two men turned to leave but where stopped by various men in uniform. The judge spoke,

'This case isn't closed yet, the defendant is only allowed to leave afterwards or in handcuffs.' He said, clearly unsure what to do. John let go of his flatmates hand and turned back to the judge, shoulders hunching with returning anger.

'Now you listen to me, and you listen good. You have no grounds to hold Sherlock, you have no grounds to even try Sherlock. I never asked him to be. Now I think about it, who has put him on trial? Do you even know or is it just some mystery man behind a black screen.' He asked. The judge opened his mouth but closed it when he didn't find a suitable answer. John nodded to himself then walked out, dragging the detective behind him.

Once outside, the doctor turned into his flatmate and grabbed him round the waist, pulling the other man in for a long awaited hug. Sherlock tentatively wrapped his own arms round his friend. The blond sighed in content, squeezing the detective slightly before pulling away. He smiled apologetically and Sherlock scowled.

'Don't even think about saying sorry.' He said, not unkindly. John smirked mischievously,

'Nice to see you haven't changed in my absence.'

When the pair reached 221b Baker Street they found themselves face to face with a challenge they didn't expect. Mrs Hudson. Upon seeing her boys she raced out of the house, pulling both into a crushing hug. She then proceeded to inspect each man, cooing and tutting throughout.

'Sherlock, you haven't been eating again.' 'John, you look like a battlefield.' 'Honestly boys, I don't know who you two have managed to survive so long. Well I suppose I should leave you to get settled in again. I'll bring up tea for you both later, but just this once- I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper.' Then she bustled off. The men looked at each other for a second then burst out laughing, somehow making their way up the stair at the same time.

When they got to the door, it was stiff and John couldn't get it open. Sherlock decided to help but through the laughter, couldn't find the time to tell his flatmate. The next thing they knew, the two men were falling to the floor. Sherlock saw that John would hit the ground first and instinctively grabbed him and twisted their positions. The impact hurt a lot more than he thought it would and he hissed in pain. John's landing was a lot softer, mostly because he landed on his flatmate. He groaned and waited for his head to catch up. When it did, he leapt off his flatmate, already spewing out apologies. Sherlock gracefully got to his feet and put a finger on the doctors mouth to silence him.

'What did I tell you about saying sorry?' He lifted his finger and John immediately resumed his apologising. Sherlock growled, and lunged for him. The doctor froze, not realising what was happening until he felt pair of lips on his own. He melted slightly then his mind screamed at him. IDIOT! This is Sherlock you're kissing, if you don't stop now God help you cos I certainly won't. The blond pulled away. Sherlock smirked evilly and crowded his space,

'Now that shut you up.' He whispered. John whimpered then blushed. He gently pushed his flatmate away from him,

'Sherlock, I-wh-I don't understand.' He stammered. The detective sighed and pulled the doctor close to him, despite his protests against this.

'I escaped Scotland Yard to get to you, I waited for a week and a half for some news that you were well and then I find that the jury I was being tried in front of was set up. I thought I would never see you again. Then you storm in and God, I can see why you think heroes exist.' He moved his face back to Johns but the other man ducked out of his way then hissed in pain and crumpled to the floor. He didn't hit the ground though, Sherlock caught him and picked him up before he got there.

'Sherlock! Put me down!' He struggled to no avail as he was carried to the bedroom, Sherlock's bedroom.

'No, you were told no strenuous activity so you're going to bed. We can't have you getting hurt.' The detective said playfully, dropping his flatmate on the bed.

'Yes but I am perfectly fine walking up the stairs to my room and going to my own bed.' He said, trying to right himself. A task that proved impossible once the detective held him in place.

'You don't like me going into your room.' He said childishly. John sighed. His mind yelled at him, screaming the same threats as before but the doctor couldn't quite find the strength to care.

'Fine, I'll sleep here tonight and we'll sort this out in the morning. Don't do anything while I'm out of it.' The doctor warned, his flatmate raised his hands in mock surrender and John snuggled close to him, he hadn't realised just how tired he was until his eyelids closed and he dropped into unconsciousness on the other mans chest.

Sherlock chuckled as his shattered friend slept soundly. If anyone asked him how long he had been attracted to his flatmate, he honestly wouldn't be able to tell. It was as if his mind just decided one day that it wanted to love someone. At first, this irrational behaviour scared him but he soon realised how amazing it was. In the morning, there would be a long conversation involving a lot of topics he didn't want to talk about but John was a man who was happy to take a risk but wouldn't even think about risking a relationship unless he actually thought it would work. Which was why he was so tentative around the detective. Sherlock lay back and sighed, no matter what topics John brought up, he would answer them truthfully and then the doctor would see how perfect they were together. But until then, he was happy to just lie back on his pillow and listen to his doctors soft breaths. Sherlock often said there was no such thing as perfection, however, this was so close it made him wonder.

AN- Well, there you go. Thanks for reading. If you're feeling really kind you could even, you know, review?

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