"Sherlock, can you hear me?"
John. My eyes were so heavy but I forced myself to open them, squinting a little at the harsh light.
Had I taken the drugs again? Lestrade was here, evidently yes.
"Sherlock, do you remember what happened?"
Lestrade looked tired as ever. No doubt as a result of our acquaintance combined with his divorce.
I had been having a perplexing dream about my childhood. It required further analysis. I had watched myself as a child, from my father's office. I recalled a small, sleeping version of myself in pyjamas with feet sewn on. How unusual.
"Took drugs again," I mumbled, surprised at the difficulties presented in speaking.
They gave a brief glance at each other.
"Em, no Sherlock," John replied, stepping closer to the bedside. "You were stabbed on a case, you lost a lot of blood. You've been out of things for a while now."
He sat in the bright blue chair beside me.
"Ah," I acknowledged. "I see. Did you at least apprehend the suspect?"
His expression showed the hadn't. Imbeciles. Now we would be further behind, a minor set back but irritating none the less.
Mycroft's presence could be felt in the size of the room. Evidently he had used his influence to find me a private room owing to how overcrowded London hospital's usually were. I hated his meddling but appreciated the quiet.
John had a thoughtful expression and I glanced at him, deducing his actions over the last while. I had been asleep for approximately five days it would seem by his appearance and the worry etched onto his face. Worry. Hmm. Something to analyse.
"Developments in the case so far?"
"Few," answered Lestrade, leaning against the door post and checking his phone. "I'd best get back to the office, work piling up," he explained. He had been here while I was unconscious? Interesting. Required analysis.
"Why didn't you ask me to go with you?"
"It wasn't necessary."
"Clearly," John replied sarcastically.
"Quite."
"You're an idiot sometimes, you know that Sherlock?"
Affectionate tone. Required further thought.