It seemed like an eternity before someone came to see them. And even then, they barely knew anything.
"You came in with John Watson, correct?" the woman had asked. Sherlock had rolled his eyes and nodded impatiently. "He's been taken to surgery."
And although Sherlock had bombarded her with questions, she apologized, not knowing anything else.
She directed them to a waiting room on the surgery floor and backed out of the room, carefully as to not incur the wrath of a Sherlock deprived of information.
Lestrade apologized silently, then dragged Sherlock up to the waiting room. He'd been there enough times, whether it was waiting for Sherlock, John, another one of his officers, a victim, or even a criminal, and knew exactly where it was.
By the time Donovan called him with an update on the suspect, who had since confessed, Lestrade was sure Sherlock would wear a hole in the carpet any time now.
"How is he?" she asked.
"Which one?" he retorted.
Lestrade could hear Sally rolling her eyes.
"Not the freak."
"He's in surgery. Still. That's really all we know."
She sighed. "And how is the freak?"
Lestrade watched him do a couple of laps before responding.
"Edgy," he said finally. "I'll keep you updated."
He hung up, realizing that it was now an acceptable hour to be calling other people.
First up, Mrs Hudson.
Lestrade glanced at his phone for a minute before pressing the call button. He hated having to break the bad news.
"Hello?" she answered.
"Good morning Mrs Hudson, it's Detective Inspector Lestrade."
"Oh dear," she said quietly. "Have the boys gotten themselves into trouble again?"
"A bit," he replied. "I need you to do a few things for me."
"Of course dear."
"Sherlock needs a change of clothes, his have gotten..." he glanced at Sherlock, the blood on his clothes now dried to a rust shade. "...dirty," he finished. "We're at the hospital. Can you bring the clothes there?"
"Oh, not again. What's happened?"
Lestrade sighed. "John's been shot. He's still in surgery now."
Mrs Hudson squeaked.
"Of course, I'll, I'll just get those things and be right there. Oh dear..." she trailed off.
"Mrs Hudson?" Lestrade called into his mobile. There was no response. He shrugged and hung up. The poor woman probably got so flustered she forgot to hang up the phone.
"Is she coming?"
Lestrade jumped, the detective's voice practically booming in his ear.
"Jesus Sherlock, there's no need to sneak up like that."
"I wasn't sneaking," he replied impatiently. "Is Mrs Hudson coming?"
"Yeah," Lestrade muttered,m rubbing his face with his hands. He could really use some sleep. "She's bringing you a change of clothes."
"Clothes, why would I need-" he glanced down at himself and realized. "Oh. I suppose. Good thinking."
He threw himself into a chair dramatically.
"What's taking so long?" he moaned.
"It's surgery Sherlock. It takes a long time." Truthfully, Lestrade was getting a bit antsy too, but he supposed no news was good news, at least for now.