The next time he woke up, he kept his eyes closed longer; wanting to appreciate every moment he had to be awake before his brother realized. The drugs still in his system were making it really hard to concentrate. He heard his brother talking sternly to the doctor outside the curtain and realized it was ok to open his eyes.

"Look, Dr… Stark," his brother said condescendingly. "My brother and I are from a very important family in London. Our parents actually donated a wing to this hospital, I believe. You're telling me you don't have one empty room in this entire place?"

"I'm terribly sorry," said the doctor. "We are completely filled. There have been quite a few accidents lately. As soon as there is an open room I'll let you know."

Mycroft's tone got softer, more urgent. "My brother… he can't handle public places. He has a hard time interacting with people. He really needs a private room."

The doctor said a few reassuring words and then left to deal with other patients. Sherlock heard his brother sigh. He wanted to cheer him up, but didn't know how.

"Great, our doctor's a kiss ass," Sherlock joked. His brother forced a smile. "Where are mum and dad?"

The smile wiped off his face. "Oh, you know them. They're on their way from… Italy, I believe. They should be here within the next few days. I should call the doctor."

"Not yet," Sherlock said quickly. "Please, just a few minutes. You need some company, judging from the state of you."

His brother gave in, and they talked lightly until the patient next to them made a commotion. She was apparently waking up and resisting the tube in her throat. In their curiosity, Mycroft opened the drape. The brothers saw a woman panicking and the doctor from earlier looking reserved, yet worried. From the resemblance, they both deduced it was her brother. When the tube was out of her throat, she immediately began talking despite the doctors warning her against it.

"Johnny, you know I hate hospitals!" she complained, coughing a bit.

"Harry, you were passed out on the couch with a temperature of 106!" John said, rather angrily. "Why the hell didn't you call me?"

"You have my phone," she said. She refused the water a nurse offered her.

"My phone," he corrected.

"Whatever. When can we leave?"

"As soon as we- I mean the doctors- find out why you had a fever of 106."

She sighed rather dramatically.

Throughout this whole conversation, Sherlock never took his eyes off of Harry. "You're an alcoholic," he stated simply.

"Excuse you?" John asked irritably. "Don't talk to my sister that way."

"That's how he is, I'm terribly sorry," apologized Mycroft.

"How do you know that?" asked Harry. To be honest, John was glad she was distracted.

"You smell like it, along with your old- or his new phone. Scratch marks where it connects to a charger. You don't see a sober person with them, nor a drunk without them. Last night you went to a bar some few blocks away. It was raining slightly when you headed out, but close to pouring when you left the bar without an umbrella."

"Are you psychic?" she exclaimed, turning completely towards the teenager.

"…No," he asked, confused. He looked to his brother for help.

"Normal people aren't used to that. Don't worry, Sherlock," he explained.

"What else do you know?" Harry asked excitedly.

"I know why you have a fever." The doctors looked at him incredulously. "I do," he insisted. "That cut on your ankle was from a bar chair with a broken leg. It scratched you when you pulled it out, and you were too drunk to notice you were bleeding. It was bleeding quite profusely, judging by the depth. It became infected. The rain only aggravated it."

Dr. Watson looked from Harry to the boy, checking her injury to make sure. "That… was amazing. Give her antibiotics," he ordered the doctors. "Thank you, so much."

"You're welcome," he said proudly.

"So I'll be OK?" Harry asked, receiving a convincing nod from the doctors. "Great, let's go John!"

"Whoa, wait a minute," John said. "They have to fix your ankle. You do want to walk, right?"

"Uh, duh?"

"Then you'll have to stay for a while."

She sighed again. "Fine. This sucks."

"I know you won't let me forget it the entire time we're here."

Sherlock yawned twice and one of the doctors was preparing a sedative. "No! I'm fine, I just yawned. I'm not tired, really. Mycroft, tell them to stop sticking me with needles."

His brother didn't help. John felt sorry for the poor boy. "How about you wait a little? He did save my sister's life, so obviously he's not delirious from pain or anything."

"Sorry, doc," said one. "We have strict orders from the parents." They stuck him quickly and the boy was out in seconds.

"He doesn't do well in public situations," explained Mycroft. "It stresses him out. Did you see his BP the entire time he was talking? He doesn't understand interactions."

"I think it's up to him to decide if he wants to be conscious or not."

Mycroft laughed. "That proves my point. You obviously don't know him. Why should you be encouraging him against the advice of people who know him? It's none of your business."

At that point, Dr. Watson made a mental note to keep an eye out on the boy known as Sherlock Holmes.