Prologue
Sherlock had been unusually quiet since they both woke up in the same hospital room. Well, it was not unheard of that he wouldn't speak with his brother or the police. But usually even when Sherlock was quiet, he wasn't. There always seem to be some kind of energy sparkling around him. (Sparkling? Where did that come from? His concussion must be more severe than the doctors told him.)
John was worried. He wasn't used to this quiet Sherlock without the sparkling (sigh) energy. He climbed of the bed to check Sherlock's chart.
„I'm fine!" John glanced up to the detective and looked back to the chart before he gave him a pointed look.
„Okay, I may have some injuries. But I'm quite sure that the doctors found everything and treated it accordingly. So basically I'm fine."
„Then, what is it?" John asked.
„Nothing." Another pointed but effectless look from the doctor to the consulting detective. „And John, you should stay in your bed if the bandages around your leg are legit."
„Tell me what's wrong?"
„I told you. Nothing. And now return to your bed."
With a sigh John climbed back. The detective was right (of course). He shouldn't wander around with his injuries. And if Sherlock was in this mood he wouldn't get an answer anyway.
They stayed silent for the rest of the evening, through the visits of the orderlies, the check of the nurses. John was slowly drifting into sleep when he finally heard his friend.
„When will you move out?"
„What?" John was trying to see his friend's face but the detectives eyes remained at the ceiling.
„You heard me. When will you move out?"
„Do you want me to move out?"
„No, of course not. But …"
„But?"
„Moriarty will come back."
„I know."
„He will try to use you against me."
„I know and I won't move out. Unless you throw me out."
„Why?"
„It's too late for moving out." John really didn't want to elaborate how it felt having semtex strapped to his own body. Or being used just as a game device. It was an odd mixture of feeling helpless and anger. Anger towards Moriarty. It wasn't about the other victimes anymore, Moriarty had made it personal.
Sherlock slowly turned his head and stared at him. Despite the darkness, John could almost see the piercing gaze of his friend.
„Oh."
„You're welcome."