Recap:

"I wanted to see the scans come up."

Now:

John jumped at Sherlock's voice. Him again? Then again, the doctor did mention that he was listed as next of kin... 'That's understandable,' he thought sourly. 'And the fellow,' Sherlock he reminded himself, 'did say he was my best friend... That's debatable, but it would hopefully link up with the concern... Concern that others say is so not normal... Huh. Maybe we were more than best friends? Like brothers? That'd be reason for concern... Right? Hidden concern at least...' He slowly blocked Sherlock and the doctor out, getting lost in his volley of thoughts.

Sherlock watched the scans fervently, a small indent appearing on his brow as they all came back normal, if slightly concussed. "I...I don't understand." The doctor sighed and set a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, getting shrugged off. "Let's let see these as well, hm?" He went out and got the ex-soldier, leading him inside. "Here are your scans. Completely normal, as you can see."

John reviewed the scans, a small indent of a frown appearing on his brow. "...Well. At least nothing's damaged."

Sherlock started pacing. "But that doesn't explain your memory loss! You should remember everything by these scans, and you don't!" The doctor took a step towards the pacing man, only to stumble back at the death glare directed at him.

John reached up, steadying the doctor, casting his own death glare toward Sherlock. "That was completely unnecessary! Where the hell are your manners?!"

Sherlock visibly flinched back, face paling a shad at John's harsh looked at the doctor. "My...apologies," he murmured slowly, looking down. "Excuse me, I need to make a call." Without looking at John, he darted out of the room, pulling out his phone.

John wrinkled his nose a little. 'How do I put up with that? Do I put up with that?' He thought, jerking a hand through his hair in an exasperated motion. "...Is there a chance I can leave now? I kinda want to make arrangements," he murmured, looking to the doctor for conformation.

The doctor nodded, but hesitated. "Don't be too hard on him. . From what I understand, you are his only friend, more like a brother really, and he blames himself for your...damage. I believe this is him simultaneously grieving, blaming himself, and trying to fix this."

John nodded slightly. "Sure. Thank you, by the way." John walked out the room and around Sherlock, who was standing outside the room, making his way down the hall. Reaching the waiting room area, he signed himself out, waiting by the door for Sherlock, wanting to make sure he goes to the right place. '221 Baker Street... Huh. Dunno where that came from. Might as well make sure, though, right?' He hummed at the thought, walking on out the hospital. Once outside, he hailed a cab, heading for the address that came to mind.

Sherlock finished his call with Mycroft, trying not to think about how easily John had just walked past him, barely glancing, and he was still smarting from the remonstrance of earlier. He wandered out to find a cab going away and he sighed, hailing a cab and instructing it to follow John's, thrilled when both pulled up at Baker Street. "You remembered," he said quietly, happily.

John, who had gotten out of his cab, strolled over to Sherlock just in time to hear his comment. "I'm not sure what I remembered," he started. "But this address popped up. I'm going to guess by your tone it's a good thing?" It was more of a question than the statement it was supposed to be, but he hoped he'd get an answer anyways.

"It's where we live," Sherlock said, smiling quietly. "I'm glad it came to mind. That's a...good sign, yes?" he asked, uncertain how to act around this New John. The John who didn't know him.

John nodded. "Yes, I'd call that a bit of progress." He looked around for a moment, then checked his pockets. Nope. No key. Looking to Sherlock, he murmured, "Per chance, do you have your key on you?"

Sherlock grimaced and patted his pockets, grinning. "Ah, yes. Thank goodness, you are normally...well." He cleared his throat and unlocked the door. "Welcome home."

John stepped into the flat, looking around, strolling through to the kitchen, he paused, critically looking over everything, and looking to the table, twitched. "..Sherlock," he started in an eerily calm tone. "Why are there toes on the table?" His voice raised slightly, though remained calm.

"Ah, yes, I...experiment, I'll just clean that up," Sherlock mumbled moving the toes carefully. "Sorry, it's been a busy time, I didn't think...I forgot that you wouldn't remember the experiments." He chuckled sadly. "You didn't like them on the table, anyway."

"I'd hope not. I'd hope we eat on that table," he remarked with a slight frown. Was this really who he lived with? Truly? Was there a mix up, because this didn't seem right. 'I remember the address, but I don't remember anything about him... That's not normal.'

"I sanitize it before you eat," Sherlock mumbled, despairing more and more of ever getting his John back. He grabbed the disinfectant and cleaned the table thoroughly, not making eye contact. "Um...Mycroft, my brother, has set up some treatments for you, if you wish. To jog your memory."

John seemed to brighten up a bit. "That'd be wonderful. Thank you."

Sherlock sent him a hesitant smile. "Good. You'll receive the very best care, of that I'm certain, even if I owe him a case for this."

John twitched a little, putting his hand to his temple. "Nn. Of course. Thank you, again, for doing that." He growled a little mentally, rubbing his temple to relieve a minor pain.

Sherlock frowned. "Are you alright? Should you sit down? Perhaps some painkillers?" he offered, fidgeting.

John noticed the fidgeting and shook his head. "No, just a little nuisance, I'll be fine." A memory came flooding back, to which John accidently growled aloud to. 'Mycroft? Why are we accepting help from Mycroft? We never do that. Ever.'

Sherlock fought to keep from jumping in joy as John appeared to remember something, but couldn't stop a wide grin. "Quite right, we usually don't, but he is the best resource at the moment. "

"Do we have any other options? I mean, I want my memory back as much as... Well, as much as you seem to, but I don't want to be in debt to Mycroft," John nearly spat the name.

"Do you know anyone else who works in the government that can ensure you'd get the best care without paying any major bills?" At John's blank look, Sherlock swallowed. "Right... Sorry."

"You've apologized at least thrice to me today. According to others, it isn't normal. You don't have to keep apologizing if you're not used to it," John said with a smile. "Really. It's not your fault I can't remember anything; stay in your comfort zone. Besides, you don't seem to be the worrying type."

Sherlock smiled apologetically, but refrained from saying sorry again. "You never let me stay in my comfort zone," Sherlock mused, sitting back. "You're always dragging me out to meet with people." He shuddered. "And I always worry about you. You're important."