"Who are you texting?"
"You took your time getting downstairs. I'm not taking any pills, John."
"And I'm not planning to shove them down your throat. I thought they might help you sleep. You're the one who claimed to be so terribly bored."
"I wanted you to come back downstairs. I can't shout very well at the moment."
John sighed, setting his med-kit down on the chair and cracking open the latches. He suppressed a snicker when he noticed Sherlock's eyes had gone wide.
"Don't give me that face. I told you, I'm not going to stuff anything down your throat. I am however going to need to change those bandages. Now lie still." He snapped two sterile latex gloves over his hands.
Sherlock laid back patiently, barely even wincing as the old gauze was pulled off of his side and leg. His face twitched just slightly at the sting of the antiseptic, but otherwise he was a model patient. John eyed him suspiciously, but continued re-dressing the slowly healing wounds in silence.
"Did I ever tell you what Lestrade was looking for with that ridiculous 'drugs bust' of his?" Sherlock's deep voice startled him. John paused, halfway through taping a gauze pad down to Sherlock's boney ribs. He returned to his work.
"No. I assumed you didn't want to."
"You assumed correctly. It was morphine."
"Morphine… I'd have thought cocaine."
"Your bedside manner is astounding."
He began wrapping the graze-wound on Sherlock's calf.
"Sherlock… why are you telling me this?"
"Because I wanted you to know."
"… Oh."
There was silence for a few moments.
"Sherlock?"
"Mmm?"
"I'm sorry I called you a machine… at Bart's."
"Don't be. You were expected to be angry, that was the point."
"I was. But it was still out of line. I should've known something was up."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Sherlock, those two words have been kicking me in the ass since you jumped."
"John, you don't seem to be understanding me. I intentionally provoked you."
"Would you just let me apologize please?"
"John, why did you hug me yesterday?"
"Why- what are you talking about? I already told you-"
"Yes, but why the impulse?"
"I don't know…Sentiment, I guess."
"Ah…"
Skin flushed, indicating embarrassment. Avoiding eye contact. Repeatedly attempts to change subject of conversation. Interesting….
John stood up from where he'd been crouched, peeling off the gloves and tossing them out before turning back to his med-kit to pack up.
"What kind of sentiment?"
"What-?"
"What kind of sentiment caused your impulse?"
"Why all this sudden interest in sentiments? I thought you hated them."
"I'm bored."
"Dear god…" John rubbed his eyes. He wasn't sure he could take another week of this.
