Suspect

John enjoyed the chase, it was lovely weather and Sherlock was in a good mood having just solved a case, well all but, they hadn't actually caught Melvile the burglar yet.

Unfortunately the case had gone on for days and Sherlock had not been eating which to John's concern had him stumbling and having to sit down with his head between his knees.

'Get him John, I'm fine. Sherlock mumbled from between his knees as he pressed a pair of handcuffs into John's hand.

Knowing the cause for Sherlock's illness and that it could be easily managed once the thief was apprehended John pushed forward and caught up with the man Just as he was dashing into Hyde park and toward the Serpentine.

The man wasn't big or very skilled, it should have been an easy fight but then he had something in his hand and, shit is that a crowbar John thought. He managed to duck away from it hitting his head while simultaneously landing a punch to the mans chest. Melvile grunted but swung again and the second blow hit John over the hip knocking him to the ground.

Fear and pain surged almost at the same time and he tried to push through it when he heard an unexpected gunshot and a very familiar voice. 'Hit him again and you're dead.' Sherlock, the man who had absolutely no verbal timing at all could at times have an absolutely perfect timing when it came to turning up in the nick of time.

The man was soon in handcuffs and a rather confused patrolling policeman was agreeing to deliver him to Detective Inspector Lestrade. The young man had never heard of Sherlock and he had never seen anyone make a citizen's arrest before, let alone overpowering a man armed with a crowbar. The gun was safely tucked away and thankfully the young criminal was too busy protesting his innocence to have time to mention it.

That night Sherlock slept like a baby after having had a huge dinner. John didn't sleep at all. He lay all night twisting and turning and alternating ice packs and heating bads on his bruised hip in an attempt to make it stop throbbing. Nothing was broken but the bruise was truly impressive. By morning it was so dark it was nearly black and the painkillers did little more than take the edge off. He knew that if he wanted to he could get something stronger but that would make his head foggy and he had to report to Lestrade in the morning and then he had work in the afternoon and he knew he couldn't work if he was all doped up.

Lestrade looked confused at John as he entered his office limping badly and for the love of God, leaning on that cane again. Lestrade had mentioned the cane and the limping to Sherlock at one point and Sherlock had beamed at him with a proud smile and said. 'Oh, it was all psychosomatic, I've cured it, all sorted now.' It did not look all sorted to Lestrade.

Recently it had even progressed to the point where John had turned up to the crime scene on crutches. He was a bit concerned. Having someone so crippled around criminals didn't seem entirely safe. Not when Sherlock was around anyway.

'How's the leg?' he asked tentatively.

'Painful.' Came John's short and succinct answer.

'I thought Sherlock said he cured it.' Lestrade queried.

'He did. Your suspect from last night brought it back with a rather effectively wielded crowbar.'

'Lestrade didn't like the cryptic nature of that response. If it had been anyone other than John he would assume that he had been simply injured by the escaping villain, something which would be bad enough, having civilians getting hurt. Yet with John, he was a returning war veteran, a wounded war veteran and crazy enough to shack up with Sherlock. What if chasing after all these nutters was really sending the doctor round the bend again. He didn't want that on his conscience.

But now Sherlock was spouting deductions at high speed and he needed to keep up so he turned his attention away from the doctor who for the moment was perched on his desk looking with tired admiration at his flatmate. For once he was fairly oblivious to the level at which his sanity was being questioned.