Thirty minutes after John left to bring him something interesting from the flat, Sherlock was flipping disgustedly through the hospital's dozen or so television channels about sports when a familiar face walked in. She was a muscular Asian woman almost as tall as Sherlock himself, and for some reason she had traded her usual combat-ready attire for a modest nurse uniform.
"Guns?" Sherlock said, confused.
"You bet your ass," she grunted in return.
Sherlock stared at her brown hair, which was tucked under a feminine white cap. "Why is your hair all in an uppy fashion?"
Guns gave him the "I can't believe you're so fucking dumb" look that Sherlock got so rarely in everyday life. "Part of the job," she said.
"But... why."
The woman glared at him. "This is all your fault," she hissed. "Your damn brother is worried about you and your habits again. I'm gonna be babysitting you until you can get your shit together."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm clean," he insisted.
"Tell that to Your Highness," Guns said. "Anyway, what I came here for is to tell you not to let anyone fucking know I'm your bodyguard and shit, alright? As far as you're concerned, I'm a regular nurse who works at this hospital."
"Oh, really? And what should I call you?"
"Nurse Wretched."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Subtle. I like it."
John entered the room carrying a reusable grocery bag in one hand. "Alright, the cabbie charged me for the time he spent waiting outside the flat, so you better be pretty fucking happy," he said. "I wasn't sure which books you were still in the middle of because you never put them away or use bookmarks, so I just grabbed as many as I could carry from off the table, as well as some DVDs I think you'd enjoy. I'm sure a nurse could help you figure out how to work the telly. As far as food goes I've got a couple bags of crisps and sodas, and here's your wallet if you still want to take a trip down to the vending-"
He cut off mid-sentence upon noticing a third person in the room who was looming over him. "S-Sorry, I'm... I'm a friend. Are visiting hours still on?" John set the bag down against the wall but hesitated to step in further.
"Nurse Wretched," Guns said. "I've been assigned to keeping an eye on Mr. Holmes during his stay, as well as making sure that he isn't bothered by... unwanted company."
"Unwanted company. Yes. Very good, Ma'am." John nodded vigorously.
"Ma'am?" snapped Guns. "That's Sir to you, soldier."
John blinked in surprise. "Sir?"
"DID I FUCKING STUTTER?"
"N-No, Sir! Absolutely not!" He did a full 360 in place before deciding to excuse himself. "Well, that's all I came for, so. I'll just... take my leave... yeah. Um, Sherlock, you can text me if anything comes up, and otherwise... Bye!"
Sherlock gave Guns a disapproving look as John fled out into the hall. "Now why'd you have to go and scare him off like that?" he demanded.
"I'm a bodyguard, not an actress," she sneered. "I can look the part of 'sweet and innocent nurse,' but I sure as hell ain't gonna play it."
Guns snatched up the goodie bag John had brought and tossed it onto Sherlock's bed. The detective immediately began poking around at its contents with renewed interest. After only about a minute of this, however, he shoved the bag off onto the floor again and began to stand up.
"Hey now, kiddo," Guns interjected, stepping in front of him. "Just where do you think you're off to?"
"What does it matter?" Sherlock shot back.
"It matters. I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight from the minute you step out of this room until you crawl back into that bed."
"Even if I have to go to the loo?"
"Especially the loo," Guns replied grimly.
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest before changing his mind and turning around again. "Never mind. I didn't want anyone to see me in this stupid gown anyway." He climbed back into bed and threw the sheet over himself with a huff.
Guns sighed. "What were you going to get from the gift shop?" she asked.
"Binoculars."
"Bino-whatever do you need binoculars for?" Shaking her head, Guns turned toward the door. "You know what, never mind. Just this once. And don't make me regret it, you hear?"
Sherlock smiled back innocently. "Of course not."
-x-
Guns must have made quite the impression on John, as he hadn't returned to visit Sherlock that evening. At around seven, two actual nurses arrived to serve Sherlock his dinner, which he gave a distrustful once-over and then refused to accept. This spurred quite the controversy and ultimately ended in one of the nurses calling in the doctor from before, who threatened to diagnose Sherlock with anorexia. To which Sherlock replied by flushing his applesauce and orange juice down the toilet.
Eventually all the fuss did die down and Guns finally wandered off on her own. Sherlock welcomed the returned quiet and saw this as his chance to play with the pair of kiddie binoculars Guns had bought for him. Trying not to sigh at how small the shitty plastic toy was in relation to his adult-sized eyes, Sherlock held the binoculars up to his face and focused on an apartment building across from his hospital window.
A wide alleyway separated the housing complex from the hospital, but it stood at just the right distance for Sherlock to clearly make out twelve windows. Of these twelve a little less than half were covered by curtains and the remaining ones practically served as a display case for Sherlock's viewing pleasure.
The detective could distinguish four, possibly five different flats on the opposite side of those windows. Sherlock inspected the first: a little girl in a blue gown was seated in front of a piano, practicing. Around seven years old, Sherlock thought to himself. Probably takes lessons, but something tells me she doesn't enjoy it nearly as much as she pretends to.
A married couple appeared from another room, obviously having just been in an argument but quickly wrapping it up as soon as their daughter was within earshot. Sherlock watched with interest as they conversed for a minute more before the gentleman kissed his daughter on her forehead and then took his wife's hand. The minute they exited the room, the little girl leapt up from the piano bench, forgetting to shut it, and scurried off into another area. The corner of Sherlock's mouth curled up into a smirk. Nailed it.
Sherlock lowered the binoculars, rubbed at his eye, and then moved on to the next visible window. He could see a bedroom and inside of it two university students were making out atop the bed, barely dressed. Sherlock almost considered moving along to give them some privacy when someone else stepped into the flat, entering the adjacent room. Suddenly the young lovers erupted into an obvious panic. The female shoved a pair of jeans into the man's hands and pushed him into a closet, shutting the door on him. She threw a hoodie over herself and tied her hair up before joining the other man in their sitting room and planting a kiss on his cheek.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. What a sly fox. Thinks she's clever too - this sort of thing must happen quite frequently. Frequent enough to have an escape plan already set into motion, in any case.
Sure enough, the woman and one of her boyfriends disappeared into the restroom, which was exactly when the second boyfriend emerged from his hiding spot, snatched up a shirt from underneath the bed, and slipped out the front door just as the others returned.
Already bored of this storyline, Sherlock shifted his line of vision to a third window. On the other side of the glass, an older gentleman with partially greyed hair was seated on his couch and half-listening to the running telly. In his hands he was jotting something down in a newspaper, so most likely either sudoku or a crossword puzzle. This one lives alone, Sherlock thought to himself, eyeing a twin bed from another room that was half-hidden by curtains. Drinking habit, but nothing too serious... Other than that, perfectly average disgruntled middle aged man who works as an accountant or some other desk job.
Sherlock set down his plastic binoculars and let out a yawn. Several of the flats' lights had already been shut off, cloaking their rooms in blackness. Sherlock had almost completely turned his attention away from the building complex when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Party of One letting another man into his living room. They were yelling about something. As the debate grew more heated, the guest finally lunged at his host, who quickly grabbed a knife from his kitchen counter and thrust it into the other man's chest. He let go and stumbled backwards as the body flopped onto the floor and out of Sherlock's sight.
Hair on the back of his neck standing up, the detective watched with renewed intrigue as the man took a good thirty seconds to process what had just happened. Taking a deep breath, the murderer pressed up against his living room window, glancing down at the alleyway below, and then flicked the overhead lights off.