(AN: My God, this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written. The last chapter was a bit heavy-handed, I guess.)
"Greg, I really think this is a bad idea. He's ungodly crabby from the medication they've given him and sometimes he doesn't make a lot of sense."
"Still gotta talk to him, don't I? Him being our main and only witness." Lestrade stepped around John and into Sherlock's hospital room. "Sherlock, you should know now that I'm only here because your brother wanted all of what happened to go on record."
"Yes, so he can use it to blackmail me," Sherlock mumbled. Lestrade pretended he didn't hear as he took out a notebook and pen. "Why are you using pen and paper? That's stupid, you should be using the microphone you've got on your phone."
John stepped around the bed and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, hoping to stave off the tirade of insults, observations and snarky commentary he was sure was on the way. Sherlock looked up at him and wriggled around a bit, enough that John's hand was on the back of his neck. Lestrade raised his eyebrows, but wisely didn't say anything. He cleared his throat and said, "Alright, so Sherlock, just tell me from the beginning. What happened that made you vanish for these past couple days?"
"My God, he's going cage crazy," Lestrade said over coffee. He and John had relocated to the hospital cafeteria, but only after Sherlock made John promise he'd be back in no less than twenty minutes. Even that took serious negotiation and the nurse coming in to try and sedate him when he got too riled up about it.
"Yeah, yeah he really is."
"How long's he been here, anyway?"
"Maybe fifteen hours, if you count the ten or so he was asleep or knocked out." Lestrade laughed.
"Well, hope karma comes back around to you for staying with him. I couldn't do it."
"Difference is he likes having me around. No offense."
"None taken, I was actually gonna ask you about that. Did something...I dunno, happen last night?"
To his horror, John could feel his cheeks heating. "Er, he just asked me to stay close, that's all." Lestrade grinned.
"In all seriousness, I'm glad he's found somebody." Lestrade put up a hand to stop John's protest. "I didn't mean it like that, I just mean in general. He was much, much worse before you two started living together, I mean downright cruel when he was having a bad day. He literally made a couple newbies leave the crime scenes sobbing when he felt like it. That thing you saw with Donovan and Anderson the first time, that was just the tip of the iceberg. 'S why I don't care that he points out my marriage issues. It's better he go off on me than somebody who's new and unprepared." Lestrade took a swig of his coffee. "We all agreed a while back we like Sherlock After John a lot more than Sherlock Before John."
"I'm flattered. Please tell me you don't have some kind of pool running about us."
"Well, that's a moot point, seeing as even if there was one, I wouldn't be able to tell you about it."
"Speaking of our favorite Asperger's sufferer, I think my alloted time is about up. God only knows what he'll do to the nurses if I'm not there." John stood and shook Lestrade's hand. "Tell the Yarders 'lo from me."
John was never sure what had happened between the Holmes brothers that made them so catty whenever the other was within half a mile. Whatever it was, it was in full effect now, as Mycroft was passive-aggressively lecturing Sherlock on being more careful while Sherlock brushed it off with insults and snide remarks about Mycroft's diet.
The man who'd rested a hand on his sick younger brother's forehead was gone, replaced with a businesslike government employee interested in the facts of a rather creative kidnapping. The sweet, scared man who'd shyly asked for John's physical presence last night was gone as well, replaced with a possessive, snobbish bastard who was giving his older brother a bad time and refusing to let John be more than a foot away.
John had just about had it with them both. And Sherlock's hair was still dirty. "Ok, stop." They actually did, looking at him with identical expressions. Ha, can't tell they're related at all. "Mycroft, d'you have everything you need?" John shifted his position and Sherlock pulled at his hand like an angry two-year-old. "Sherlock, stop it. Mycroft?"
Mycroft sighed through his nose and looked at his phone. "Yes, I believe I do. Dr. Watson." Mycroft bowed his head and left without bothering to say goodbye to Sherlock. Sherlock mumbled something about political scandals and cake with his arms crossed. John rolled his eyes and stepped around the bed.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock sounded wounded.
"Gonna find someone who can wash your hair; it's driving me mad."
"No!" John turned, raising his eyebrows. Sherlock looked embarrassed. "I just...I don't like people touching my hair is all."
"Sherlock, you leave greasy imprints on your pillow when you sleep, it's revolting."
"I'll wash it when we get home."
"They're not releasing you until tomorrow, it's going to come to life by then." Sherlock pulled his lips down. If John didn't know any better, he'd have called it a pout.
"I don't want someone I don't know touching my hair. Will you do it?"
John knew he was staring and didn't care. "You want me to wash your hair for you? Why don't you do it?"
"Because I don't want to do it."
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"I don't care about the state of my hair, but you seem intent on cleaning it, and I won't cooperate unless you do it for me."
"Oh bloody hell, alright, get up and we'll use the bathroom." Sherlock obliged, or tried to. His knees locked and he fell back.
"My legs have fallen asleep." John sighed and crossed the room, putting Sherlock's arm around his shoulders and helping him stand. Rather wobbily, they crossed to the loo. They'd taken out Sherlock's drip about an hour ago in preparation for his going home the next day. John was immensely thankful for this.
John dragged a chair in the room with them and sat Sherlock down with his back to the sink. He wasn't sure how the physics of this would work out, but the man's hair really was disgusting. John said, "Ok, lean back. Now, move so your head's...yeah, good. Hang on." John plucked a bottle of shampoo out of the shower and turned on the sink's water.
"Can I have a towel around my shoulders?"
"Oh, yeah, right." John handed him one. As he put it around his shoulders, John noticed that when Sherlock put his hands back in his lap, he was clenching them. "I'm not going to rip your hair out..."
"I know that, John," Sherlock snapped. He let out a breath and unclenched his hands, leaning back into the sink.
John cupped his hands and dumped warm water on Sherlock's curls, hearing a slight hiss from the other man. "Calm down."
"Is that an order?"
"If that's what it takes." John pooled more water on his head until it was soaked. Then he squirted shampoo into his hand and started to massage Sherlock's scalp. He ran his fingers through the curly black hair and cupped the back of his head, pressing slightly. From where John was, he could see the muscles in Sherlock's neck and jaw were starting to relax. John continued to roll his fingers and knuckles in his hair, getting rather tangled. He pushed his hands forward and gently kneaded Sherlock's temples. He could feel a nasty bump under his fingertips, probably from Sherlock's kidnapping. It was starting to scab. He pulled his fingers away, threading out hair and rinsing his hands. Sherlock had his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted, which, in John's opinion, looked more than a little adorable.
John took another towel and dried his hands. He patted Sherlock's hair partially dry and said, "Ok, now can you do the rest yourself?" Sherlock gave a small smile as he took the towel from his shoulders and scrubbed at his hair. "Can you stand?"
"I don't think so." John supported him back to the bed and took the towel. Sherlock's eyes started to drift shut. "Thank you for helping me, John."
"I probably shouldn't have, looks like it tired you out."
"No, I'm grateful," Sherlock said, barely audible. He leaned back and closed his eyes. John smiled.