4. You Know What I Want
Lestrade walked briskly down the hospital hallway. It had been three days since the 'incident'. Sherlock had been heavily sedated, partly to recover from his extensive injuries, and partly to keep him from disturbing the most tender part of the recovery process; judging by his actions at the playground, he wasn't going to treat himself gently.
Lestrade had called the hospital that morning to check on Sherlock. After convincing the hospital staff that though he was not listed as an emergency contact, he was one now, they told him that they planned to take Sherlock off the sedatives later that afternoon, and asked him to be there when he awoke. Lestrade was feeling horribly awkward with the whole situation, but knew he needed to be there for Sherlock, because the person who normally would have been there for him, couldn't and wouldn't be anymore.
Lestrade approached the front desk.
"Can I help you?" The receptionist asked, a fake smile appearing on her face.
"Ah, yes, I am here to see Sherlock Holmes?"
"Of course." Her eyes moved away from him to the screen, and for a few moments there was only the sound of the clicking of her manicured nails against the keys.
"Yes, here it is." She scanned the computer screen. "Are you Dr. John Watson?" She asked absentmindedly, already writing 'John Watson' on a blank name tag.
Lestrade mentally winced. "Um, no. I'm actually not listed, I'm Greg Lestrade, I spoke with the staff earlier-"
"Oh, I'm sorry." The lady said, not sounding very sorry at all. She scratched out what she had written, and squeezed Lestrade's name into the small space that was left. She handed it to him. "Second floor, room 221."
Lestrade gave the lady a half smile, half grimace, and stuffed the name tag in his pocket, setting off for Sherlock's room. As he was walking, he realized he was actually nervous. Lestrade had known Sherlock for years, but Lestrade still could not honestly say he knew Sherlock. John Watson probably was the only man who could claim that. This shouldn't be Lestrade's job, this felt wrong, it should be John walking to Sherlock's hospital room, being there when the detective woke up, not Lestrade. He only knew how to deal with Sherlock at crime scenes, but never outside of work, he didn't even know if Sherlock considered him a friend, or even if Lestrade himself did. What they were was not quite friends, though you certainly couldn't call them acquaintances, but they were more than colleagues as well.
Lestrade paused outside Sherlock's door, and took a deep breath. He opened the door slowly, carefully, to reveal Sherlock stretched out on the hospital bed, sleeping. Unfortunately, he still looked as terrible as when Lestrade had found him, though he was at least cleaned up and bandaged now.
Lestrade pulled up a folding chair from the corner of the room, and put it beside Sherlock's bed. He settled into it, releasing a sigh as he got comfortable.
The room was quiet, save only for the soft sound of Lestrade and Sherlock's breathing, and the beeping from the machines. Lestrade felt awkward, wondering what the devil he was supposed to do-was he supposed to say something? He cleared his throat, once, twice. "Sherlock-" He began, but was interrupted by a doctor and a nurse entering the room. Lestrade stood up swiftly, and turned to the doctor, an older, thin man who looked like he needed a hospital bed himself.
The doctor checked his clipboard. "Dr. John Watson, is it?"
Lestrade shook his head, and suppressed a sigh. He knew he should have worn that bloody name tag. "Detective Inspector Lestrade. Dr. Watson is unavailable at the moment."
"Ah. Thank you for coming, Detective Inspector. Addy, if you would be so kind as to take Mr. Holmes off the sedative..."
Addy obliged, and the doctor nodded to Lestrade. "It should be just a few minutes, so just pull up a chair and wait. Addy will return in a few minutes to check on him."
He and Addy left Lestrade alone with Sherlock, who was already beginning to stir. Sherlock's brow furrowed, one eye opening slightly, then closing again. He moaned softly.
"Sherlock?"
The detective was already trying to sit up, his eyes still tightly shut, groaning as he lost what little energy he had gained, sinking into his pillows. Moments later, he was trying again, attempting to force his body to move upwards, but failing.
"Sherlock, stop that! You need to give it time."
The detective grunted angrily, frustrated over his temporary lack of motor skills. Lestrade stood up, pushing the determined Sherlock back down. "If you would just give it a minute or two, Sherlock, you will be fine. Now quit trying to rush it!"
Sherlock complied now, but only because he didn't quite have the strength to disobey. He surprisingly stayed still for the next few minutes, creating yet another awkward silence as the sedative slowly wore off.
"How long?" He asked, his voice slurring a bit.
"Three days."
"Hmph. Details, Lestrade." He said irritably.
"The-the case?"
Sherlock snorted. "Yes, the case."
Lestrade ran a hand over his face. "The whole thing's very hush hush, need to know basis. Only thing we've released to the press is that we have the suspect in custody. Press would go crazy if they knew it was Sherlock Holmes' partn-" He cut off when he heard a sharp inhale from the detective, and Lestrade cursed himself for his mistake. He really was no good at this hospital bedside thing.
"Uh, anyways...that's all, really," Lestrade said hurriedly. Sherlock simply looked up to the ceiling.
"Have you interrogated him?" Sherlock asked flatly.
"...Yes. Not talking though."
Sherlock didn't respond, still staring intently upwards.
Lestrade swallowed uncomfortably, and decided to change the subject.
"Got a call from Mrs. Hudson asking where you were. She just got back from her sister's-"
"What did you tell her?" Sherlock demanded, turning his sharp gaze to Lestrade.
"I didn't get the chance to tell her anything, I had to-"
"You can't tell her."
"Sherlock, she's worried about you, of course I'm going to tell her!"
"Fine. But you can't tell her about him then."
"Sherlock, you can't ask me to-"
"I'm not asking." Sherlock was glaring at him now, daring the inspector to even try to say no.
"Alright. I won't tell her." Lestrade said resignedly.
Sherlock nodded once, and resumed staring at the ceiling. "Good. Now go away."
"Go away?" Lestrade sputtered.
"Yes, go. You've done what you came here for, and I don't want anyone's company right now."
Lestrade threw his hands into the air. "Fine, I'll go away. I'll let you know if anything happens with the case."
Sherlock grunted noncommittally and rolled over, turning his back to Lestrade. The inspector took this to mean goodbye, and walked out.
He stopped right outside, and for whatever reason turned back to look. Sherlock was curled into a fetal position, face half buried in his pillow, looking rather like a lost child who had been left alone one too many times.
Lestrade didn't want to see this anymore. He turned on his heel and walked away, the image of Sherlock curled up on his hospital bed burned into his brain.
###
"Still nothing?"
Donovan sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Yes. He hasn't said a word."
The inspector closed his eyes. "I'll go and try."
They both turned to look at John, who was sitting on the other side of the glass, appearing as if he didn't have a care in the world, staring hard in their direction. She knew that John couldn't actually see them, but it was still creepy.
Donovan repressed a shiver. She still couldn't believe that John Watson had been the one behind all this, and that every single one of them had missed it, had not even noticed him doing it right under their noses. And how did Sherlock Holmes, the man who never missed anything, how in the world did he miss this? He lived with the man, for crying out loud! Somehow John Watson, this seemingly ordinary, every day man had snaked his way into the Freak's life and tricked them all.
Lestrade nodded once at Donovan and opened the door into the interrogation room. He walked in and silently took the seat across from John.
"Ready to talk yet?" Lestrade said.
John smiled, cocked his head. "Now, it won't be that simple, Detective Inspector."
"I think it will be. There's something that you want, isn't there?"
John's smile grew broader. "Perhaps there is."
"What is it then?" Lestrade asked a bit testily, his fist clenching under the table.
John chuckled. "Really, Detective, don't be daft. You do know what I want. You just don't want to consider it."
Lestrade's face tightened slightly. "I'm afraid you'll just be disappointed."
"Then I'm afraid you will be as well."
Lestrade pounded a fist on the table.
"This is not negotiable, I won't do it."
"If you want me to talk, you will. You can do whatever you like, send in as many people as you want, but you won't get a thing out of me, not unless you do it, so I suggest-"
Lestrade suddenly reached across the table, seizing John's collar and yanking him upwards, breathing hard and looking furious.
"You think that I am going to just give him to you after what you did?"
"I think you will, because no matter how much you claim to care about him, the job comes first, doesn't it?" John said, his smile curling into a sneer. "This is your chance, Inspector. You may resist for now, but we both know that eventually, you'll have to give in."
Lestrade's face crumpled into an expression of what looked like defeat, and he let John fall back into his chair.
He stood up, his expression becoming cold again.
"The answer is no. Have fun rotting in prison then."
He walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Author's Note: I know very little about sedatives and hospital procedures, so I had to guess a little about some things. Anyways, let me know what you think!