Lestrade was hesitant to have Sherlock return to helping at crime scenes again, but as Sherlock pointed out, he would still be better than most of his team, especially if it included Anderson. (It did.)
Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically at Lestrade and grabbed his coat, beckoning John to follow him.
"Don't bother telling me the details now, I'll just forget them. Text them to me!" he called down the stairs as Lestrade left.
He shrugged his coat on and looked at John pointedly. "Are you coming?" he asked.
John looked bewildered.
Sherlock sighed. "John, thirty minutes is more than enough time for me to deliver my deductions with a bow on top. So are you going to come or not?"
John nodded, grabbing his coat off the hook and throwing it on as he clambered down the stairs after Sherlock, who was already halfway into a cab by the time John had reached the door.
For some unknown reason, although Ethan had told John it was rather common, Sherlock managed to retain knowledge about his injury. And it wasn't just a Sherlock thing, because the other patients Ethan had read and heard about had also retained some awareness about their handicap.
And for that, John was thankful. He was having a hard enough time adjusting as it was, and he honestly didn't know what he would do if Sherlock looked at John every thirty minutes and asked him why he couldn't remember how he got there. Because Sherlock was smart, and he would figure it out in those thirty minutes, and the final result would be a mess that John would be forced to clean up, and by the time he did, it would just start all over again.
John was thankful for a lot of things.
Indeed, Sherlock gave Lestrade's team enough information that they were able to solve the case, despite forgetting what they were doing there as they were leaving.
John crossed his fingers they wouldn't see Anderson on the way out, especially after the greeting Sherlock had given him, but it was not meant to be.
"Ah, Anderson!" Sherlock had said, smirking. "So nice to see you. I can't recall having insulted you recently, so I really must make up for that."
But by then John'd had enough.
He clamped a hand over Sherlock's mouth, praying the prat didn't bite him, and dragged Sherlock away to a cab.
"That was hardly necessary," he grumbled as they headed back to Baker Street.
"Sherlock, I know you don't remember, but you almost made him cry when we got there."
"So I was on a roll today! Why did you stop me?"
John only gave him a look of disgust and went back to texting Ethan.
They wouldn't be meeting up this week.
John's blog posts grew more detailed, containing play by plays of what happened during cases. John never published those posts, just saved them as drafts. Sherlock would read them when he hacked into John's computer, which was still child's play for him. John didn't mind. That was why he did it of course.