They kept John in the clinic for nearly a week before they were willing to let him go and for once John did not complain or try to get discharged early. He was so tired and the service in the clinic was so good that he was quite happy to stay there once his laptop had been delivered and he was able to help Sherlock look for the man who was tormenting them.
He spent several hours searching facebook and twitter accounts to look for friends of Charlotte Stoker's. The husband, once released and told he was no longer under suspicion had proved rather helpful in providing a list of all male acquaintances whom he could think of. He stubbornly refused to acknowledge that his wife may have had a lover but was more than willing to accept that some bloke or other may have had a crush on the woman whom he described as 'the best person who ever lived'.
For every day that passed John looked a little less haunted and by the time he was let home he was happy to chat and giggle with Sherlock and Mrs Hudson and when he turned up to give updates, Lestrade. He didn't feel worried any more. The clinic had taken good care of him and even provided an extra bed for Sherlock who refused to leave. John knew the stay must have been expensive but Mycroft when he popped by to talk to the doctors and ensure that his brother was not causing too much havoc assured him that it was all taken care of and they really didn't need to worry.
John reminded himself to make sure to treat Mycroft more kindly in future. His concern for his brother had obviously come to extend to John as well and he was grateful. Knowing that the British Government was looking out for him made him feel a little bit more safe as he hobbled into the cab with Sherlock to make it home to Baker Street.
They had refused to let him go home until he was stable on crutches and down to a smaller dose of pain killers but he was finally allowed to return home six days after being moved. He didn't like the crutches but they were a lot more practical than the wheelchair he had been confined to for the first few days. It would have been impossible to manoeuvre the chair in the flat so John had pushed them to let him get on his feet and try to move around as soon as possible.
It was tricky and it hurt but when he was finally able to slump down in his own chair at the flat John knew that it was worth it. Despite the comfort of the clinic being back home was wonderful.
Sherlock fussed amusingly over him, making him appalling tea and getting take away.
For three days they stayed entirely in the flat until Lestrade informed them that they were bringing a suspect in who might be the anaesthesiologist who had failed to help John. At that point John told Sherlock that he was going to the station whether or not Sherlock was coming with him and a first step was taken toward normalcy.
The man was not the anaesthesiologist in question and the trip was a wasted one but it did help to put things into something resembling a normal state. Sherlock still hovered but less so for each day as things returned to normal and the need for them to do things separately became increasingly apparent.
After another week of John trying to convince Sherlock to not stick to him like a leach he finally announced that he was going back to work and Sherlock had to give in. He was not happy about it as they had failed to find any man who matched John's description who was at all related to their case but John was adamant, he would not let this turn him into a recluse and he left for work early the next morning manoeuvring his crutches with surprising ease.
It was an uncomfortable week of work. His colleagues still ignored him and the patients looked unpleasantly suspicious at finding their doctor hobbling around in the room on crutches but it worked and John felt like things might be getting back to normal, at least to some degree. When he had begun to view spending every break alone with his coffee cup and lunch isolated trying to ignore the whispers of his colleagues he did not know but he tried not to think about it.
Going home on the Thursday a gang of teenagers found it a pleasant pass time to pelt him with eggs and he returned home to Sherlock covered in raw egg and with a slight bruise on his jaw where one of the eggs had struck him and found that his flatmate went into a complete flurry at the sight of him.
"John! Not again… I told you not to go back to work:" he scolded as he ushered John into the bathroom and onto the toilet.
"Sherlock, this has nothing to do with that man…" John huffed rubbing at his face with toiletpaper to wipe off the sticky eggwhite. "It was just kids having a prank… don't get paranoid" he argued getting up and washing his face in the sink, biting his lip slightly as he rubbed across the bruise on his jaw.
"What have you been up to today?" he asked wiping his face with a towel and Sherlock relented.
"Lestrade brought me a case. It's not important though, not compared to finding this guy." Sherlock waved a hand in the air.
"Ah, when?" John asked smiling.
"An hour ago, wanted me to come to the yard to look at pictures, I refused." Sherlock informed and John's smile widened.
"Ok, let's go now… you'll feel better if you're working" he instructed and with slight trepidation Sherlock agreed.
They arrived at the yard not long after and Lestrade was pleased to see them. Several of the officers enquired after John's health and thumped him kindly on the back something which he appreciated after a week of being treated like he was dirt by his colleagues.
Sherlock was bristling with attention and threw out helpful deductions at an alarming rate making John smile. He simply sat by the desk and watched as Sherlock analysed the crime scene photo's one by one.
Eventually he noticed Lestrade yawning and he pushed himself to his feet. "We're all tired, and I don't trust take away coffee at the moment, I'll go and make some and get someone to help me bring it back… you don't need me anyway." He informed Lestrade and Sherlock who both nodded.
He hobbled out of the office and toward the kitchenette. As he entered an officer whom he did not know was standing by the coffee maker with his back turned to John.
"Do you have enough for another three cups?" John asked and the man whirled in apparent alarm. Boiling coffee flew across the room and John startled dropping his crutches as the hot liquid his him across the cheek. He stumbled falling and wondered briefly why the scalding liquid kept pouring down on him even as he fell. Then it was suddenly over and the other man was crouching next to him looking down at him.
"Are you alright, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." The man, barely more than a boy offered.
John struggled out of his shirt trying to get the scalding liquid away from his chest. "Shit. Ice, do you have any ice?" He gasped as he threw the shirt away and tried to push himself up.
"No, I don't think so… what do I do?" the young man looked unhappy as he crouched beside John who's chest was turning red.
"Anything cold, ice is best, cold water will work" John hissed gritting his teeth against the pain. Is this really an accident he wonders, what with recent events but the young man next to him looks so apologetic as he soaks a towel in cold water and hands it to him.
He dabs at his stinging chest breathing heavily against the pain. He finds he doesn't even really care if this is linked to his previous mishaps or not… it hurts and if Sherlock knows he is hurt he will draw his own conclusions and none of them will be good.
"Give me my shirt back will you" he asks the hovering young man who swiftly complies. He puts it back on and nods to the officer. "Can you put another pot on?" he asks and is rewarded with a nod as he leaves the pantry.
"I think I need some help." He offers as he enters Lestrade's office. "I made a mess of the first attempt, got one of your guys to help me make a new pot but I won't be carrying them back… you'll have to get your own cups." He offers Sherlock and Lestrade who look up and take in the sight of his wet shirt.
"John." Sherlock exclaims and bounces across the room hands grappling at Johns' buttons.
"Don't Sherlock, it's ok, I was just being clumsy, come on help me out" he asks and Sherlock grudgingly obeys but a slight frown appears on his face.
John tries to move as though nothing is wrong but he has the distinct feeling that Sherlock's eyes have grown x-ray ability and is able to see the blisters developing across his burnt chest. The poor young detective on Lestrade's staff surely does not deserve Sherlock's assumptions, he had looked so scared as he handed John that towel.
