"I think I'd like to decide that for myself, Sherlock." John says with a small sigh as he looks at the chart, glad to see that it really was just a graze, only three stitches, and they were more concerned about his possible concussion than the injury itself. He's kind of curious how he ended up in a hospital room rather than just being released, but he supposes until they had some sort of ID on him, they were going to keep him for observation.
Of course, when the nurse comes in because Sherlock hit the call button, and sees that John is looking at his own chart, she frowns. "You're not supposed to be looking at that." She says as she takes it from him and puts it back on the foot of the bed. "It's good that you're awake though." She says before she looks at Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes, you were told that you were not supposed to come up here, visiting hours are over." She snaps in annoyance at the taller man. "Mr. Watson needs to rest." She scolds before she bustles about checking the machines, picking up the IV that John pulled out. "If you didn't have a concussion, I would sedate you. Clearly, you are going to be trouble." She scolds sternly as she looks at John.
"I am a doctor, and I have been a soldier for over a decade. I believe I know how to cope with a concussion and a few stitches. I am sure you are very good at your job for the average person, but if you attempt to sedate me, I will walk out of this bloody hospital." John says with a frown at the nurse. "Mr. Holmes is my friend and my emergency contact. I would prefer he stays here to make sure that my wishes are carried out." he adds after a moment, really not liking the nurse's attitude. "And if you have any problems with that then I will be happy to vacate this bed for someone else."
The nurse looks rather flustered to be talked to like a first year recruit, and she frowns a little at John. "I see." She says in an icy tone, glaring a little at John. "Well, I am very glad that you apparently think you know everything, Dr. Watson, just like most doctors when they become patients. Goodnight." She says before she turns on her heel and walks out, muttering about working at the hospital too long to deal with 'this stuff' on Christmas.
Sherlock merely watches this exchange with a little bit of amusement, before walking over to the door to close it behind the nurse. "Well, it seems that doctors really do make the worst patients." He says as he looks at John. "I believe the nurses here are exceptionally stupid, however, this is the only hospital where I have thus far been able to maintain lab access." He says as he looks around at the room suspiciously.
John relaxes back on the bed as he watches Sherlock. "I guess getting shot on Christmas has me a little on edge." He says before he adds, "I don't like nurse's with poor bedside manner, either." he says as he looks around the room. "This isn't a bad room, though. They've made quite a few changes since I was here." he says as he considers it.
"You were here?" Sherlock echoes thoughtfully. "Ah. St. Bart's is a teaching hospital, this is where you finished your degree." He deduces absently, "Medicine advances like technology, rather quickly that is." he says as he looks back at John, having difficulty seeing him sitting there in a hospital bed. He's not had a lot of experience with people being sick or dying, usually by the time he gets to them they're already dead. Not to mention he couldn't care less about 99% of the population. So even if they were dying it wouldn't affect him. But seeing John in a hospital bed is a little difficult for reasons he hasn't figured out quite yet.
John just rolls his eyes a little and sighs. "You know what? To hell with this bloody hospital." he grumbles. "There's nothing much wrong with me other than concussion and a bit of blood loss, nothing I need to stay overnight for. Go see if you can get my release papers, Sherlock. We can take care of the rest back at the flat." he says as he sits up, making sure he's disconnected from all the monitors before he puts his feet on the ground, steadying himself for a moment.
Surprised at the change of attitude from his friend but understanding the desire to leave, Sherlock merely nods, putting his hands in the pockets of his unbuttoned jacket before he walks out with confident strides. There's a little bit of a ruckus outside which is probably Sherlock being less than tactful in trying to get the forms John needs in order to be discharged, before the detective returns to the room with a clipboard in hand.
While Sherlock is gone, the doctor changes back into his clothes carefully, still a little woozy from everything and taking one last look at his chart before Sherlock returns. "Finally." he says before he takes the clipboard and looks it over, nodding a little. "I'll have to get this prescription filled tomorrow. Otherwise, it's pretty standard." He says as he starts to sign where he needs to. "Sherlock, you're going to have to help me when we get back to the flat. You're going to have to wake me up every few hours." He says seriously as he looks up at the taller man.
"I am well aware of the consequences of a concussion, John. I will be vigilant." Sherlock reassures while somehow still sounding condescending, pacing over to the window out of boredom as the doctor finishes his forms, and then walking close to him out of the room, to make sure that he doesn't falter or fall. Perhaps a little overprotective, but given the circumstances that's not entirely unwarranted.
The walking is a little slow, but John makes it out, heading down the corridor from what he remembers of the layout, finding the station he's looking for to hand over his forms and sign anything else. When they get outside, he sighs and looks up at the sky. "Sherlock, you don't have to hover quite so much. I got a graze. Hardly worse fussing over, I had worse growing up just from playing rugby." he says before he shrugs, heading toward the street. "Lets just get back to the flat. Some leftovers sound good, I'm a bit peckish."
Not saying anything, Sherlock nevertheless moves away a little, striding to the edge of the sidewalk and raising his arm, instantly summoning a cab to his location the way it always seems to. When it arrives, he opens the door and lets John get in first, giving his address once inside. "You lost a great deal of blood, it would be advisable for you to eat something." he agrees, staring out the window of the cab.
"No shit, Sherlock. I am a bloody doctor." John says as he rolls his eyes a little, but he smiles a little as well, relaxing in the seat and trying not to doze off, some of the drugs in his system are still making him drowsy.
There we go. Poor Sherlock, so many unfamiliar feelings. And John just wants to be left alone to recover in the comfort of Sherlock's flat rather than an annoying hospital room with an annoying nurse. :) Hope you guys all enjoy this chapter, I'm afraid John will have to return to Afghanistan after the New Year, so not too long now!
Reviews/Comments welcome!