John flipped through photos of him and Sherlock. Rare times when Sherlock would agree to let someone take his photo. John liked those times. Oh, there was one when they were at the beach. That was the best day. God, John couldn't wait until Sherlock got back from Ireland. Surely, Scotland Yard could figure it out on their own.
John. I require your assistance. -SH
What is it this time? What happened to "alone protects me"? -JW
He regretted that. He forgot that you can't read emotions.
Beaumont Hospital. Please come. -SH
Sherlock, that's hours away! -JW
I realise such. I'm a bit... Laid up. -SH
Explain. I'm not coming until you do. JW
I underestimated our primary subject, and walked into a trap. -SH
I still don't understand, but fine. I'll be there in an hour or two. -JW
Wait, how am I supposed to get there, Sherlock? - JW
I mean, I'm in the hospital, alright? -SH
A train, I suppose. -SH
John grabbed his wallet and went outside to catch a cab. He was silent the whole way, trying to understand what was wrong with Sherlock. What did he mean, he walked into a trap? Sherlock never explains himself. But that was one of the best things about him. He could surprise John so much with rare moments of...kindness. Sometimes he could be so cruel, and then five minutes later he would grab John's hand and kiss him sweetly. John paid the cabbie and boarded the express train to Dublin. It would take him a couple of hours to get there, and there were no stops in between, so he figured he might as well catch up on lost sleep.
Sherlock laid in a hospital bed in Dublin, various nurses bustling about him, one of which tried to take his mobile.
"I'm attempting to contact a friend. Leave it," he said, gritting his teeth as they tried to clean the dried blood and dirt off of him. He set his mobile aside as a doctor strode into the room.
"Alright. What do we have here?"
"Two bullet wounds, one to the lower abdomen and another to the shoulder, possible concussion, possible broken rib," Sherlock rattled off, though the question had not been meant for him.
John woke as the train stopped with a start. He quickly got out and went to catch another cab. He thought he probably didn't have any time to lose. He arrived at the hospital, but saw no sign of Sherlock
Where are you? -JW
Room 349. -SH
Alright, I'm coming up. Hold on a minute. -JW
John quickly asked reception how to get to the right room and hurried up after given directions. What he saw when he walked in to the room almost stopped his heart.
"Sherlock!" He rushed to the bed in which Sherlock was lying in.
"Oh my God, Sherlock, what happened?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John.
"I told you. I walked into a trap," he said, as if this were completely normal.
"They won't let me leave, even though they've already performed the necessary surgery. Idiots." John swallowed thickly
"Sherlock, I- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you earlier. I shouldn't have- I'm sorry." He had to blink back tears.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, don't get overly sentimental. I'm not going to die," Sherlock huffed, automatically crossing his arms, and then wincing at the effort, holding his left shoulder.
"Sherlock, how can you- Wait." Something inside him snapped "Who did this." Sherlock looked nervously at John when he heard the sudden change in tone. John looked murderous.
"John?" He said cautiously. John paid almost no attention to him.
"I said. Who. Did. This."
"The main suspect in the case, as I said. Lestrade's got him in custody." Sherlock said, raising an incredulous eyebrow at John.
"Where is Lestrade." John said narrowing his eyes
"That isn't my business, John." Sherlock replied. "I am fine. Calm down."
"No. No, I will not calm down, Sherlock! Someone hurt you and I will not stand for it! WHERE IS LESTRADE!"
"I don't know," Sherlock said, irritated, raising his voice as well. "The risk is a part of my career, John. This happens sometimes. Nothing can be done about it. Now, that man committed a triple homicide, and he will be punished by the judicial system. Not by you."
John closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Sherlock would be fine. Sherlock would be just fine. He opened his eyes and fought with himself to not start shouting again as he looked at Sherlock's injuries. "So. What are the doctors saying?"
"They want to monitor me overnight. This is absolutely ridiculous, as I said. You're a licensed professional, and it's not as if bullet wounds are going to get worse overnight," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.
"Fine. Then why did you ask me to come, Sherlock? What do you want?" John said impatiently
"Ah. Because my condition didn't appear to be so stable earlier. Apologies."
"Still, what did you need me for, Sherlock? Was there any reason?"
"I wanted you here, in the event that anything... Happened. Sentiment," Sherlock said, avoiding eye contact.
"Right. Well, uh, um, thank you. I, uh, yeah." John almost blushed. "Anyway, so you're stable now. Do you still need me here, or shall I go?"
"You could attempt to convince one of the nurses that yes, you are actually a doctor and no, I am not making up nonsense in order to be allowed home."
"That's not what I asked, Sherlock. They won't allow you home, not yet. You need time to properly recover. Do you need me for anything, or should I go home?" Sherlock sighed.
"I don't care."
"Oh. Fine. I'll go then. Good luck. You know, healing. I'll text you." John tried to keep his tone upbeat, but Sherlock saw right through it.
"Okay. Apologies for bringing you here."
"Bye, Sherlock." John walked out the door.
Why was he surprised? Sherlock was never really one for sentiment. He had his moments, but rarely. What was John hoping? That Sherlock would say that he needed John here? That he wanted John with him? As if. That was not Sherlock and it never will be. John just felt so rejected. He tried, just to be pushed away. Like always.