Lestrade must have gotten them to sedate him, because Sherlock didn't wake up until there was no sunlight peering in the window of his hospital room.
"Sleeping beauty awakens," John noted. Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice.
He rolled over to face him, sitting up in his own bed, working away at a bowl of gelatin. Hospital food was so pitiful.
"You hardly get to talk," he informed him. "You slept through all the excitement. Sorry about any bruises you may have, you're not exactly easy to carry."
John frowned for a second before shaking his head. "I don't want to know."
"I do," Lestrade announced.
"Ah, yes Lestrade. I didn't see you lurking there," Sherlock smirked.
"I want to know what you were doing in the middle of nowhere, John belted into an ancient truck and you lying on the road next to it. You know you nearly got run over, right? That's who called the paramedics, some poor bloke who almost flattened the world's only consulting detective lying smack dab in the middle of the road. Bet Gladstone didn't like that."
Sherlock made a non committal noise.
"A truck? Sherlock, were you driving?" John demanded.
Sherlock only shrugged. "It was necessary. You were unconscious, and could have been for who knows how much longer, bleeding from a head wound of unknown origin, and besides, I pulled over before I had the seizure. It was fine."
John gaped. Apparently he hadn't know about the seizure. "Seizure? Sherlock!" Damn.
"Oh, did I say seizure? I meant-"
"Shut it," John ordered.
"Necessary," Sherlock muttered.
Gladstone only sighed like she was tired of settling arguments between them.
Lestrade grinned.
Sherlock made a note that he was enjoying this way too much, and to find some form of payback in the near future.
So many opportunities.
AN- 'Tolle Rota' is Latin for 'Take the Wheel'. Is it bad to admit I have too much fun naming these stories?