A/N: Another one of my Sherlock/John dialogues, I hope you enjoy it. It takes place just after the end of "The Great Game" - with John in the hospital. What happened in the pool, according to my imagination (it's a seperate being, let it be) is: Sherlock shot the vest, and John pushed him into the pool, thus shielding him and taking most impact himself.

Spoilers: All the way up to the end of the series.

Warnings: very mild swearing, Sherlock himself.

No slash.

Little technical notes:

Asperger syndrome - disorder characterised by significant difficulties with social interaction, but usually connected with brilliant abilities in one specific area (maths, photographic memory, deduction, etc.)

Sociopathic behaviour - "disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others". Sociopaths don't understand feelings such as empathy or love, and although they may recognise them in other people, they probably won't behave accordingly - sociopaths just wouldn't care that they hurt others.

According to a doctor and a friend of mine, who likes this series as well, Sherlock is a textbook example of both.

"Sherlock" belongs to BBC (unfortunately not me).

Enjoy!

Lesson Taught

First time John woke up in a hospital bed, his vision was blurry. As soon as he could focus his eyes, and spotted a familiar figure sitting on a chair by his side, he exclaimed:

"Sherlock!"

And there he was, the world's only consulting detective, staying by his bed and just looking at him. O… kay? Eyebrow raised in inquiry got John no response, and he felt too tired to ask.

The second time was just the same (and there were some other times when Harry, Mycroft or Lestrade, or of course doctors and nurses came in, but John did not count those), and the third would be, if John had not gathered all his physical strength to ask hoarsely:

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"Nothing at all" was the only answer he got, uttered in a painfully dismissive tone. Something was just not right.

And the detective continued to stare with these steady, though slightly concerned eyes. Ok, enough of that.

"Care to tell me, why are you staring at me like..." Coughing causing severe pain in his chest caught John off-guard. He was not surprised, when Sherlock put a straw to his mouth, so he could sip some water.

Next time he was awake he returned the stare, and this is when the detective looked away, as if his mind was suddenly occupied with something else. Dammit, Sherlock!

"Moriarty escaped, so the first thing you must do is leave," Sherlock said pacing around the small room. "We should make it look like we've split up, or better still, as if I threw you out. I'll organise some..."

"Wait, Sherlock! What?" Split up? What the hell? Throw him out? "What are you on about?"

Sherlock stopped in the middle of yet another circle around the floor. "You must make full recovery first, of course."

And then came the nurse to throw Sherlock out.

John waited impatiently for the visiting hours, and when Sherlock came (a bit earlier than he was officially allowed, but John somehow was not surprised at all), he was greeted with an annoyed, you-are-being-an-arrogant-sod look. The detective finally acknowledged his defeat.

"Ok, you have questions."

"You ok?"

"What? Yes, just fine. Next?"

"Any clues about Moriarty?"

"No. Next?"

"Hold on, slow down."

He just realised he did not ask the most obvious question, and he did not even think of speaking to the doctors about it.

"You look, fine, so... How bad am I?"

Sherlock's lips twitched. He did not look that well after all. Dark shadows under his eyes, skin paler than usual (and that was saying something) and slight trembling in his hands all added up to quite a miserable picture, but his condition was still remarkably better than John's.

"Broken leg, fractured ribs and a lot of bruising. Also, a minor concussion, but nothing serious."

"How long since the pool is it now?"

"Four days, ten hours."

"So how long was I out?"

"Two days, nineteen hours." Oh... "Surprisingly short time for someone who has..." He let his voice trail off, as if not sure how to finish the sentence. Or, more precisely, lacking courage to finish it, which was very much not like Sherlock. In fact, not like Sherlock at all. John returned the concerned look. The detective cleared his throat.

"And what were you talking about last time?" John dared.

"Don't mind it now, you're obviously not in a condition to deal with it. Has it not occurred to you, John..." Sherlock paused. The doctor also noticed a slight hesitation before his name. "No, most likely not, not to someone with a brain like yours." That was more like Sherlock, but still not quite.

"What occurred, Sherlock?"

"I would ask a completely different set of questions in your place, perhaps with an exception to the one about Moriarty."

"But that's you, Sherlock." John growled. This conversation was tiring. "What's wrong with the others?"

"You can see from my clothes that I am not a patient anymore, so, I'm fine. You should have inquired about your own injuries to your doctor, which was an obvious thing to do. And it just happens so that the date and time are displayed on the TV." He waved a hand towards a top corner of the room.

"Oh." To be honest, John had not noticed the muted TV at all. He was too concerned with his flatmate's unusual distress. Sherlock was speaking almost too fast for the doctor to follow his train of thoughts, and his explanation was surprisingly clear and throughout, so John would follow it easily if not the first circumstance. "So... what would you ask?"

"Think, John, what is it that does not fit into any explanation you would think of?"

John growled. Sherlock spun around to sit on a chair, supporting his chin with his fingertips, as he was in a habit of doing.

"I don't know what is there to explain, but anyway, what is it?" John asked, blinking off the pain which exploded in his chest, when he tried to turn to look directly at Sherlock.

"I'm a sociopath, John. Deduce from it, would you?"

"No way, I had a concussion and I'm not in a mood for playing mind games with you," snapped John, mildly irritated. As usual he had no idea, what Sherlock was trying to figure out, but this time he had a very bad feeling about it. Sherlock was acting as if he was on a difficult (or interesting, as he would describe it) case; he was very agitated, and to other people very irritating. John more or less got used to his moods, yet there was something worrying in the clue thrown at him. Of course he knew that Sherlock perceived himself as a sociopath, but what connection had it got to anything?

"The question is," (this sounded almost like the time when he was pondering over the Pink Lady's case... suitcase, and John almost expected him to ask about whereabouts of a phone) "knowing the definition of a sociopath, why do I make the mistake of caring?"

John blinked at that. There was no annoyance or impatience in Sherlock's voice; he rather sounded surprised and interested in this new puzzle. Before the doctor could ask 'care about what?', Sherlock continued.

"I do show all the symptoms, so there is no doubt. Asperger's still quite likely. So why?"

Now, that was very much like Sherlock, seeing people (even himself) as bags of clues, that can be put into a mathematical equation and solved.

"I dunno, maybe you just do?" asked John, feeling a bit dizzy. He really needed rest now.

"I just do what?" Sherlock blinked at him.

"Do care. Just so."

"I never do anything just so." He waved his hand dismissively.

"But that's why people do things sometimes, you know. And you care about cases and such..."

"No, no, no, they just keep me from getting bored. I meant caring about people, John."

Oh... Wait, what? The doctor really wished his flatmate would slow down and start from the very beginning, and perhaps even before that.

"And how did came to the conclusion that you care about people?" Although the question did not sound right, John hoped it would get through to Sherlock. The detective frowned.

"You know you can be really blunt sometimes, John. It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Not that obvious to me. The way you completely do not care about Donavan calling you a freak or Anderson..."

"Oh, I did not mean them, of course."

"So..."

"I've just spent four days here, and..."

"You haven't eaten for FOUR days? Sherlock!"

"Yes, but that's not the point."

"Hold on, before we go any further, you will go and eat something and let me sleep for a bit, OK?"

Something in John's voice made Sherlock obey. The doctor was really glad, and he used the opportunity as well as he could.

With Sherlock's memory and John's worries it was easy to pick the conversation exactly where they stopped.

"So have you eaten now?" asked John, moving his shoulders slightly. A nurse helped him to sit up a bit, but after so many days in bed even that small change felt odd.

"A bit," replied Sherlock absentmindedly.

"And how much is a bit? As your doctor..."

"Mrs Hudson brought you some cookies." He nodded towards a plate placed on a cupboard.

"How many have you eaten?"

"One or two..."

"Sherlock!"

"Food is boring, and it doesn't help me think."

"What do you have to think about now?"

"Well, obviously..."

Thus back to the topic.

"So you've spent four days here, by my bed?" John asked rhetorically. "Yes, that does show that you care." It did not sound right, but again it was impossible to have a perfectly normal conversation with Sherlock. Oh, God, I don't want to blush now. "So maybe you are simply not a sociopath after all?" John suggested, the awkward feeling growing stronger and stronger.

"I was diagnosed with Asperger as a child by quite a few psychiatrists." And this whole conversation just proved them right, John thought. Sherlock was a textbook example of a sociopath. John was definitely not a psychiatrist, but of course he knew a bit about mental conditions. It seemed unlikely that any other therapist would survive even a single session with Sherlock, and by asking that absurd question the detective was clearly in need for at least one. John did not have much choice, but to try his luck and pray that this awkward conversation will not lead to something... that John really did not want it to lead to.

"So can we start with the obvious? Please?" John cleared his throat. "You want to know why people care, right?"

"Yes, said so."

"Ok, so let's take it slowly. Why have you spent four days in here?"

"The obvious explanation is that I care..."

"No, Sherlock, that's the conclusion. Step by step, could you? What do you consider to be the beginning?"

The detective started pacing again.

"Well, of course the impasse situation by the pool."

"Yes, keep going."

"And then I was giving you clear signs to run, but you decided..."

"WHAT clear signs, Sherlock?" John felt anger slowly rising in him. Did the detective really expect him to do that?

"They were obvious, if you thought about it."

Oh, God, he really did. This conversation was wrong on so many levels, that John just wanted to stop it there, but he knew that Sherlock would be nagging him to continue, until he solved whatever puzzle he had in mind.

"And you really expected me to run and let you explode yourself, right?"

"You are angry, why? That was an obvious solution."

"Of course it wasn't!"

"You are really angry."

"Yes, Sherlock. Brilliant deduction."

"What have I said?"

"How could you even think I would leave you there?"

A nurse peered into the room, concerned with the shouting. John waved her off. He was teaching a lesson here, and did not need distractions. The task itself was difficult enough.

"It was a logical thing to do." Sherlock was still arguing. God, give me patience. John inhaled deeply to calm down. He felt it painfully in his ribs.

"Have you ever considered others' feelings, Sherlock!"

"Feelings? No, feelings are boring and useless."

Why on earth did he have to make it so bloody difficult? John decided to treat his flatmate like a child and start with the basics. Feeling that they went off a tangent, he asked:

"Have you considered that perhaps I may not want to run away, because I care and I don't want you to blow yourself up?"

"Yes, I did. But I decided that not blowing you up was more important. Does it mean I care more?"

"What? No! Stop jumping to conclusions, it's not like you. Yes, it is a sign of caring, and yes, staying in the bloody hospital for four days without sleep or food, is one as well. But for goodness' sake, there isn't a scale to judge who cares more and there's no need for it, got it?" When the detective nodded, John stated simply. "So we established that you care. That's something."

"Yes, John, but why would I care?"

The doctor forgot just how easily Sherlock could lose his patience.

"Why do you think?" asked John.

"That's my question."

"No, come on, Sherlock. What explanations have you considered?" The detective kept quiet. "You must have some ideas, you are Sherlock bloody Holmes after all."

"I find you useful on the occasions?"

Oh, God, please let it be no more awkward than that.

"Keep going, Sherlock, we are getting there."

"Yes, but there is something more, something I can't quite grasp." The detective sat on a chair, supporting his chin with his fingertips. The more excited he was about this silly puzzle, the more tired John felt.

"Look, Sherlock, maybe you just do. That's the reason for many emotions and there is nothing wrong with it."

"No, no, it's not that..."

"Why do you want to know it so desperately, anyway?"

Sherlock blinked at him.

"Isn't that obvious?"

"Not to me."

"Getting rid of some causes changes the outcome. Obvious."

"No! What causes, what outcome?" And did everything really have to be a stimulus-response system or a chain reaction to Sherlock's analytic mind?

"Moriarty chose you for the fifth pip, because he realised that I care about you."

"Ok. And?"

"I can't just stop caring..."

"Glad you realise that part."

"Without knowing the cause, so I must find the cause and delete it."

Wait, WHAT?

"But there is no cause!"

"Of course there is, I just haven't found it yet."

"Ok, have it your way. You don't know the cause, so that leaves you at a dead end. Can you find a way to work around it to lead you to whatever your goal is? What is it, anyway?"

"To keep you safe, of course."

Oh...

"Right, so..." And then the realisation came. "The thing you were talking about earlier, the throwing me out bit, was it...?"

"Yes. Just think about it, John."

"You know, you talked about splitting up, but... what in the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? We are not..."

"Of course we are not. It does not stop people from perceiving us as a couple, obviously."

"So you want to show them that we are definitely not a couple" (oh, God, that sounded SO wrong) "and that nothing connects us, right?"

"Finally, John, you got it."

"No."

"So what else do you want to know?"

"Did you hit your head in the pool?"

"No, why?"

"Because you must be mad if you think I'll let you have it your way."

"But what's wrong with it? It's a perfectly logical plan to let Moriarty know that targeting you would not work anymore."

"You forgot about something."

"About what?"

"One more factor."

"Yes, tell me, what is it?"

"Me."

"What?"

"Me, Sherlock. I'm not letting you throw me out, because if you do so, one day you'll starve to death or something, and there will be no one to entertain a certain psychopath."

"I managed before you moved in, you know."

"Yes, but now I'd rather make sure that you can manage. Personally." For a few moments John looked at a rather lost expression on his flatmate's face. "And yes, Sherlock, this is a sign that I care about your wellbeing."

"You obviously do," he agreed. And he gave John the strange look again.

"What?" the doctor snapped. No response. Well, that was definitely intriguing. "Why are you looking at me like that?" And thus back to where they started, dammit.

"Obviously, John..."

"What is it, Sherlock? I haven't got the faintest idea what you are talking about."

"You shielded me from the bomb."

"Oh... yes, I guess so. And yes, it is a sign that I care, well done."

"It's the first time someone has done that for me."

"I would hope so."

Sherlock's face suddenly lit up.

"That's it!"

"That's what, Sherlock?" asked John, concerned.

"That's the reason."

"Oh... No, it isn't! You don't care about someone just because that person cares about you."

"In this case it is."

John considered his mental state at the moment. Further discussion could lead to some serious effects.

"Ok, have it your way. So you found the cause. What are you going to do about it?"

"John, think, is there anything I can do about it?"

"Not really, no. So?"

"So I'll find another way to prevent Moriarty from targeting you. Simple, isn't it?"

"That's what I said way back, you idiot!"

"Want a cookie, John?"

"What? No, I'm going to sleep, g'night!"

When Sherlock did not reply, John turned his head away from him, pretending to fall asleep. The detective just smiled at that, and reached for his Blackberry. Among a few texts from Lestrade there was one sent from a withheld number, saying: It is the heart that teaches a sociopath to care. Still smirking, Sherlock put the phone back into his pocket.