John was 60% sure that Sherlock was actually asleep. He had just been allowed into Sherlock's room (probably thanks to a call from Mycroft), and a nurse was still getting the detective settled after all of the tests and examinations he had needed. She finally left and John had to fight the urge to grab Sherlock's chart, unsure if the man would consider it an invasion of privacy.
He was startled out of this internal debate by a familiar baritone voice. "You know I'm not actually asleep, right?"
"I knew it was a distinct possibility," he answered with a small smile. "Although I was hoping you were sleeping; your body needs to rest."
Sherlock returned his smile. "I fell asleep during the MRI. And you can look at my chart - I know you want to." The doctor thanked him before taking his chart and forcing himself to appear as neutral as possible as he read the list of injuries: dehydration, malnutrition, slight hypothermia, three bruised ribs, two cracked ribs, electrical burns, lacerations on his back, wrist and chest, and cocaine in his system.
"Well?" Sherlock asked once he finished reading.
John shrugged. "It's better than I expected."
The detective frowned. "What do you mean?"
"While extremely painful," he answered with a sigh, "all of your injuries are relatively superficial. Nothing is life threatening or overly debilitating. You'll be back on your feet within a month and completely healed in six to eight weeks. Most of it won't even scar, and the scars that you will have will be light. Sherlock, you were missing for six days, and I spent the majority of that time convinced you were either dead or dying; this isn't nearly as bad as I expected." Sherlock nodded and attempted a small smile to reassure his friend; John returned the smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Sherlock frowned. It was obvious that the doctor was worried about something that he wasn't talking about. Unfortunately, the painkillers were making it difficult to think, so he had to go with his best guess.
"John," he said, trying to sound serious and sincere. "I was clean before, I swear. And I'm not going to start using again. This isn't a relapse, not really."
John reached out and took Sherlock's hand in both of his. "I know Sherlock, I know. I'm not really worried about it. It probably won't be easy, but we'll get through it." John squeezed his friend's hand before letting it go and leaned back in his own chair.
Sherlock sighed. "John, what's wrong? I don't understand. I'm fine, you said so yourself, and you know I'm not going to relapse, so why are you so worried? Tell me, please. I don't understand what's bothering you."
John shook his head. "I'm sorry Sherlock, I really am. I was just really relieved and tired. I shouldn't have done it; I know it's not what you wanted. I'm sorry."
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked, sighing again.
John winced. "The kiss earlier. Everyone saw. I'm sorry; I know you didn't want anyone to know about us. I'm sorry."
Sherlock blinked a few times, finally understanding. "You think I'm upset because you kissed me in front of other people."
John nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know you wanted to keep it a secret."
"I'm not upset," he answered, grabbing for his friend's hand. "The only reason I didn't want people to know is that I didn't want to hear what they'd say when you left me. I've since decided that I'd rather not hide you."
"You didn't want anyone to know about us because you were convinced that I'd leave you." The doctor repeated, disbelief and confusion evident in his voice. Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave him a look that clearly said 'you're lucky I like you because I really shouldn't have to put up with stupid questions.'
"It was statistically likely. I do tend to scare people away."
"People are idiots," John replied quickly, shaking his head. "You're not going to scare me away. I'm not leaving. And you can't go through this relationship planning for its end; it's not fair to either of us."
Sherlock nodded. "I know that -" John gave him a look and he added "now. I do, but I didn't when we started this. By the time I figured it out it seemed more than a little awkward for me to just say that I lied in the beginning when I told you why I didn't want anyone to know about us. And besides, you seemed more than fine with the way things were; I didn't want you to feel pressured to tell people if that made you uncomfortable."
"I'm not uncomfortable," John answered with a fond smile, reaching out for his friend's hand again. "I couldn't be more thrilled that I don't have to keep you a secret anymore. Although it would have been nicer if it had happed under less traumatic circumstances."
He smiled. "I'm glad too. Maybe now I won't have to watch people try and pick you up at crime scenes."
John rolled his eyes. "No one is trying to pick me up at crime scenes. You're just paranoid."
"And which one of us is far more observant?" He asked, raising one eyebrow.
He rolled his eyes again. "I think I would notice someone trying to pull me. And besides, you're the only one who would ever think it's appropriate to flirt over a corpse."
"I'm sure I'm not the only one," Sherlock answered with a smile. "Molly has been trying for years." John returned his smile but didn't say anything. He leaned back in his chair, Sherlock's hand still in his, feeling more relaxed than he had in a week.
After a few quiet minutes, Sherlock pulled his hand back, wincing as he rolled his wrist. John sat up straight again, concerned by his friend's obvious discomfort. He wordlessly held his hand out and after a moment's hesitation Sherlock offered him his wrist. The doctor began to carefully manipulate his partner's hand, feeling the way his wrist popped and clicked with the motion. He kept his gaze focused on the detective's face the entire time, cataloging each wince and grimace.
"Did they x-ray your wrist?" John asked, finally placing Sherlock's arm gently on the bed.
Sherlock shook his head. "It was unnecessary. It's just a bit sore, that's all. It'll be fine in a few days - a week tops.
"I'm going to go talk to your doctor," John answered, ignoring Sherlock's attempts at reassurance and standing up. "You need to get that looked at."
The detective sighed and reached out to stop his lover. "John stop; I'm fine. You're making a big deal out of nothing. Just sit down and relax."
"You're not fine, Sherlock. Nothing about this is fine!" He snapped. After a moment he sighed and some of the tension drained out of his shoulders. "Look, I know that in all probability your wrist will be fine, but I can't take the chance that it's not. What if you can't play the violin anymore because we didn't get this checked out? I don't know if I could bear it. Please, Sherlock, let me take care of you."
The man sighed as deeply as he could, considering the state of his ribs, and nodded. "Alright, fine. Go bully the hospital staff into doing what you want."
"Thank you," John replied, dropping a quick kiss onto his boyfriend's lips. "I'll go find your doctor."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're my doctor, but, yes, I suppose you do need the imbecile who works here to sign the proper paperwork. But be quick about it; this place is painfully dull." John just smiled and kissed him again before walking briskly to the door, almost running into Lestrade on the way out. After awkwardly mumbling a quick apology, John kept going, only to be stopped moments later by Donovan's hand on his arm.
"So you and the Freak, huh?" she asked, raising one eyebrow in obvious derision.
John sighed and firmly stamped down the anger that flared at her tone. "I really don't have time for this right now. Piss off."
Her expression softened slightly, but she didn't release his arm. "Just tell me what you could possibly get out of a relationship with him." He knew he could break her hold on him with almost no effort at all, but for some reason he at least wanted to attempt to make her understand.
"Mutual respect and affection," he stated calmly. "That's what I get out of it."
"Respect?" The Sergeant scoffed, not loosening her grip.
He nodded. "Yes, respect. You've seen our kitchen; he keeps his experiments to the designated areas out of respect. And when was the last time he left me at a crime scene? Or ran off to chase a lead without me? That's respect, and I'm sorry if you're too blind to see it." With that he pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked quickly away, not looking back on her stunned expression. He couldn't be positive, but he was about 90% sure that his friend was smirking from his hospital bed.
