Mrs Hudson arrived shortly and looked positively livid at the state of Sherlock.
"Now, don't you think I'm getting those stains out Sherlock. The mess you've made..." She broke off, choking up, and threw her arms around Sherlock despite his dirty clothes. She sobbed into his shirt.
"You always do such dangerous things. You make me so worried. One of these times..." she trailed off, sniffling into his bloody shirt.
"He'll be fine," Sherlock said absently. He wasn't very convincing.
Thankfully, a nurse chose that moment to enter the room, sparing Sherlock the trouble of having to reassure Mrs Hudson that John would indeed be fine.
"You came in with John Watson, correct?"
Sherlock practically jumped at her.
"Yes. Is he alright? Take us to him," he ordered.
"He's out of surgery now. You can see him if you'd-"
"Yes. Now."
She looked startled, but had begun to nod when Lestrade shook his head.
"You're getting changed first," he said firmly.
Sherlock glanced down at himself, remembering again the state of his clothing.
"Whatever." He rolled his eyes at Lestrade and ripped his shirt off, not even bothering with the buttons, shrugging his shoulders into the new one, and doing the same with the pants.
"There," he declared, buttoning the shirt up. "Let's go."
The poor nurse was gaping at him, Mrs Hudson had a similar look on her face, and Lestrade was mostly wondering what he'd done to deserve this.
"Pick them up," he ordered.
Sherlock scowled, but obeyed.
Lestrade nodded to the nurse, who led them out of the room without another word.