Sherlock refused to sit in a wheelchair on the way out of the hospital, which relieved John more than anything. And he was wearing the sling, but who knew how long that would last.
He hailed a cab with his unbroken arm and slid in.
They rode in silence for a bit, until Sherlock spoke.
"Alright, you've got questions."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Already answered that," he said flatly, looking out the window.
"Hardly..." John muttered.
"The question should be, why didn't you notice?"
John gaped at him. "This isn't my fault! I can't be blamed for not noticing something you barely had any indicators of."
"It's a bit unusual, because I'm average height, or even above average compared to you." He smirked.
"Hey!" John protested. He slapped Sherlock across the upper arm. "Twat."
"John," Sherlock whined. "Don't do that. You'll break me!"
John paled and began to apologize. "Oh god, I forgot. I'm sorry. Do we have to go back to A&E-"
"John," Sherlock said firmly. "I was joking."
"Oh," John sighed, visibly relieved. "I should hit you again for that," he scowled.
Sherlock smirked at him.
"Anyway, I'm of average height, and considering my field of work, I actually haven't broken things very often. Of course, most of my fractures occurred before puberty." He shook his head. "You should have seen me the one year, the summer when I was ten. I broke both legs, a collar bone, and a bunch of fingers. You can imagine how well that went."
John pictured it. A Sherlock unable to walk, probably bored out of his mind. He'd probably set something on fire, or kill someone if that happened today.
"As you can imagine, that year was... hellish to say the least."
John nodded.
"However, that was the year I learned Latin, Greek, German, and Mandarin, which I suppose came in handy."
John snorted. "That explains a lot."
They reached Baker Street and Sherlock hopped out, leaving John to pay yet again.
Meeting Sherlock at the door, John continued. "Do you know any other languages?"
"Of course. French, Hindi, Spanish, and Russian. And those are just the ones I'm fluent in. I have basics in a whole bunch of other languages as well, including Arabic, BSL, and Italian."
John only shook his head as he unlocked the door. "Impressive."
Sherlock smirked at him as he headed up the stairs. "Mycroft would tell you otherwise. He's fluent in upwards of ten."
"Why am I not surprised..." John muttered.
"Comes in handy for the ruling the world bit."
John snorted.
Sherlock collapsed in his chair, unwinding the sling from around his neck and throwing it across the room.
Sherlock waved his good arm at John, who was already opening his mouth to protest.
"I'm just going to be sitting here. It can rest on a pillow."
He looked pointedly at John as he said that, and John whipped the flag pillow at him.
"Lazy sod," he muttered.
Sherlock only shrugged, settling his arm and looking at his laptop mournfully.
"Oh for the love... I'm not getting it for you until you answer some questions."
Sherlock sighed dramatically, but seemed to relent.
"Okay. Give me a basic history."
"This is the first time I'd broken a bone in... oh, two years. A pretty good track record."
John snorted. "No, this is the first time you've gone to the hospital for a broken bone. Because I know that you broke ribs last month, and broke a finger three months before that."
Sherlock stopped fiddling with the pillow and examined him. "You've been keeping track," he said with mild interest.
John shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yeah. I can't help it. I'm a doctor, and I care about you, so I like to keep track of when you get hurt. You know, for those pesky medical records. Speaking of which... Is there anything else I should know about?"
Sherlock sighed dramatically. "I had my last bone density scan seven months ago and the results were fine. I had rodding surgery when I was eleven on both my femurs."
Another year essentially ruined, John thought, but nodded for him to continue.
"I don't show any signs of hearing loss yet, and go for checkups every year for that. And, in case you haven't noticed, my eyes don't show any signs of being blue."
John nodded. If he'd noticed that, he would have been far more suspicious far sooner.
"And the loose joints..." he realized.
"Believe me now?" Sherlock said with a smirk.
"Don't think I'll hesitate to slap you!" he warned. He winced at a memory of being told to punch him. "God, I wish you'd told me before I hit you. I could have broken something."
Sherlock waved a hand at him. "Then you wouldn't have hit me at all. It was necessary."
John rolled his eyes. Sherlock tended to have different definitions from the rest of the world.
"You really shouldn't smoke you know," John commented.
Sherlock scowled. "Of course I know that. It's why I quit."
John raised an eyebrow. "Is it really?" he murmured.
Sherlock glared at him and John only shrugged innocently.
"Laptop," he demanded.
John handed it to him without another word.