Minutes tick by at a glacial pace, the clock on the sterile hospital wall making slow ticking sounds that begin to grate on John. He had been discharged with mild bruising days ago, it being almost two weeks since the incident took place - and since then he had been returning to the hospital to see if he could hear any whispers about what had happened to Sherlock.
The doctors refused to tell him a thing, many just brushing him off and telling him to go home. It makes him think the worst, it makes him feel the worst. Guilt, for being the one to get off so lightly when he had been the one stupid enough to get himself kidnapped in the first place. Anger, that Sherlock would go behind his back like that. But most of all, there's concern. So much concern.
Again, John is continuing the vigilant routine. Sitting in the reception area, grabbing the shoulders of passing doctors to see if he could get a word out of them. The sky outside begins to darken, and John considers calling it a night - that, until he sees Mycroft walking through the revolving door. Staff in tow.
John jumps up, immediately gaining the attention of a tall, blacksuited man that can only be assumed to be a bodyguard. He takes a step toward John, but Mycroft quickly flags him down and steps forward himself.
"John." Mycroft's brows are high on his forehead, surprised. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"What do you think I'm doing here?" He returns back, evidently irritated. "I'm waiting."
As if confused as to why, Mycroft looks around before focusing back on the pint-sized doctor. "Waiting?"
John begins to entertain the possibility that Mycroft is being infuriating on purpose. "Yes, waiting. Like I have been since I got out. Waiting for someone to tell me what the hell is going on."
There Mycroft gives a quiet, complying sigh. "You won't find him here. He was moved to Richmond upon Thames last week."
"Last week? I've been going back-and-forth like an idiot and you're only telling me this now?" He exclaims, then sighs himself. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just .. tired."
"I'm sorry too, John."
A silence sits, before John asks. "Is he dead?"
"No. Quite the opposite."
"What does that mean?"
Mycroft glances past John into the faraway hospital corridor, seemingly abandoning whatever he had come to the hospital to do and engaging himself into the now. He sends a subtle nod to the suited man that had been obediently stood off-side him, and the man removes a set of car keys from his pocket.
"I think you could come with me, John." He sighs. "We have much to discuss."