Author's Note: hey everyone, sorry this took so long but hey, i think by now you all know i'm just lazy. no one has any excuse for not reviewing, and dont be scared to critisize! hope you enjoy it,
BB#
John was rushed straight from the ambulance into several operations, one after the other, fixing his leg and arm, as well as what was apparently a punctured lung and removing dangerous splinters from his ribs and repairing them. He was unconscious until he woke a day later and found himself in the ICU. Sherlock was waiting. He'd refused to leave John's side. He'd only been separated from John during the operations, and that was only because he saw the sense there, but after that he stayed, waiting for John to wake up and praying that Jim hadn't done lasting damage. He was also still waiting for Jim. As he'd said, Sherlock had been late... he was worried about when the criminal would finally strike.
When John finally woke, the first thing he saw was Sherlock at the end of the bed, apparently reading the chart.
"Hey, Sherlock." his voice was surprisingly strong, considering, but he still sounded weak. Sherlock's head jerked up. He moved his chair so he could sit beside John's head. John wouldn't have to talk so loud then, either.
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
"A little rough, but I've had worse. how long was I out?"
"Around a day."
"Hmm, not too bad. How long have you been here?" Sherlock glanced up at John. He'd been pointedly studying his hands before.
"The whole time." John looked at him properly for the first time, puzzled.
"why?" He blinked at John and took a moment to answer.
"Sentiment," he finally said.
"oh, ok..." Sherlock was aware that he'd explained sentiment before to John, so he didn't need to go into detail. He hesitated, then asked,
"What happened with Sebastian?"
"ah, yeah... that. you have to... remember, it wasn't ...all your... fault Sherlock, so ...just don't blame ...yourself."
"I'm aware it wasn't all my fault, you should've been smarter." Sherlock sniffed and sat up in his chair, crossing his arms.
"But I'd still like to know what happened." John chuckled at this,
"of course. well, basically I... was the street" he had to stop for breath, "and a black... car pulled up...and pulled me in. Sebastian... drugged me and I... was in some... shed where I ...punched Seb, so... he cut off my...toe," John pointed to the stub at the end of his left foot.
"then I got beaten...every now and then...and Seb broke my leg before...moving me into...the studio, where he... broke my arm...and some more ribs. the...arm wasn't to...do with you, though..."John grinned at the memory, looking to the detective to see his reaction to what had happened. Sherlock looked calm, but his fury was evident in his eyes; they were like shards of black ice.
"Damn Sebastian... And you really should have known better, John."
"trust me, it...was worth it."
"Not if he did that," Sherlock growled, gesturing at John. "If I'd been any later, you would have probably died."
"I doubt it, why?"
"Infections, splintered ribs..." Sherlock shook his head and looked away, still angry. With himself, with Seb, with Jim and with John.
"I could have lasted a... few hours at least..."
"No, you wouldn't have. Moriarty had me on a five minute time limit, and I was two minutes late as it was."
"I know, Seb told me."
"Which means we're likely to be in trouble at some point."
"yeah, still, we usually are." John winced as he sat up properly.
"Fair point." Sherlock watched John closely, his head tilted to one side.
"I really am sorry I didn't get to you sooner. My mind was a little... addled." John's mind immediately leapt to conclusions and he feared the worst, but he tried not to show it.
"that's okay, I survived."
"That was the point of me rushing around London, yes." John shook his head and pressed the button for more morphine.
"isn't it a little strange how easy it was for you?" Sherlock stiffened. While staring at his shoe, he muttered,
"My mind was so addled, I required... assistance..."
"from who?" He gave John a look.
"Who organised that whole ridiculous game?"
"really? Moriarty helped... you? that's new..." John was pretending that he hadn't seen the videos, jut in case there was a good reason. He had to hope, anyway.
"I needed the help," he muttered.
"I was having trouble thinking clearly a lot of the time, John." Sherlock's hands curled into fists.
"Especially when he started showing off pictures and video clips of you trapped in various places and injured."
"Yeah, I remember... Seb filming that..."
"I can't say that it was the best moment of my life."
"no, nor mine..." Sherlock sighed shortly.
"And I'd like to say 'Thank goodness it's over', but it's not. Damn Moriarty."
"yeah, but its still...better than shooting ...the wall."
"The wall had it coming. So does Moriarty." John shook his head in mock despair.
"how long am I ...supposed to stay here?"
"I don't know, you'll have to ask a doctor when one comes in." Sherlock seemed relieved to be off the topic of his inability to help John as much as he wanted to.
"no, lets just leave." John pulled back the sheets to reveal himself fully dressed with shoes on. he swung his legs round so he was sitting on the bed and reached forwards for a crutch, balanced against the basin. Sherlock took hold of John's elbow in a gentle but firm grip.
"Only if you're well enough," he said sternly.
"I'm fine Sherlock." he stood, leaning on the crutch,
"lets go, before they notice." Sherlock smirked and stood as well.
"In that case, I'm more than happy to leave. God, you don't know how boring it was, waiting around for you to wake up."
"you didn't have to..."
"Of course I did," Sherlock said. He paused. He'd spoken before he'd thought. But he was being honest.
"come on then, lets get going...Mrs Hudson is going to... worry." John tapped him playfully with the crutch.
"Indeed she is. No doubt she'll come up with some sort of idea for that as well." Sherlock headed towards the doors, John keeping up surprisingly well: he was well experienced with using a crutch.
"Let me know if it gets to be too much," Sherlock said, repeating himself from when he found John.
"Sherlock, I'm not disabled."
"No, but you were. Afghanistan, remember?"
"yeah, I got shot."
"Obviously." Sherlock chuckled. "And now look at you. Admittedly, it's not a walking stick, but it's close enough. The wheel turns again."
"we both know I ...didn't need that stick."
"I knew before you did, John," Sherlock replied in a slightly sing-song voice.
"No, I knew I wasn't ...shot in the leg, I just didn't ...mention it..." John was grumbling as usual.
"But you didn't admit that you didn't need it." Sherlock was enjoying teasing John; it was like normal again. John couldn't think how to respond, so he just carried on walking until they were out of the hospital, where he summoned a cab. Sherlock opened the door for him in an unusually kind gesture. It wasn't mocking like when he did it for Jim, it was just simply... nice. Oh dear God, Sherlock thought with a grimace. I'm acting like a normal person. God help me.
John climbed in and made room for Sherlock, who took his seat and shut the door. He raised an eyebrow as John's winced but said nothing, setting his gaze on John after giving the cabbie their address.
"What are we going to tell Mrs. Hudson this time?
"Not sure, I got... run over?"
"Sounds realistic." Sherlock chuckled to take the sting out of his tease.
"Well what do... you think?"
"Well, we certainly can't tell her the truth, and no doubt you'll deem anything I come up with 'too creative'."
"yeah, but tell...me anyway."
"You were out minding your own business, doing whatever normal people do, when you were attacked. I heard of this and attempted to find you, but by the time I tracked you down your assailant had vanished. You went to hospital while I tried to track him down. That should account for the entirety of the time we've spent in the game."
"you were right, too creative. she'd just think we... were lying."
"That's why I leave dealing with people to you."
"fair enough, or we could just tell... her we had an argument and... I stormed of, straight under a bus... or something." Sherlock chuckled again.
"Seems likely."
" a little domestic..." John looked mischievously at Sherlock, who smirked.
"Mrs. Hudson seems determined to force us into a relationship."
"huh, yeah..." Sherlock huffed and tucked his chin into his jacket.
"You remember when we first moved into 221B, she was encouraging it."
"oh yeah, that was new..."
"That's Mrs. Hudson for you."
"yep, pretty much sums her up." As cab slowed and then halted outside 221b John awkwardly got out, leaving the door open for Sherlock.
"Thanks." Sherlock got out, paid the cabbie and then headed up to the door.
"No doubt she'll scold us for having a 'little domestic' resulting in your being hospitalised."John quoted Sherlock's "obviously" and leaned against the rail, breathing heavily. Sherlock looked at John.
"You alright with the steps?" John nodded, a chagrined smile on his face.
"Come on then." Sherlock leaped up them two at a time and headed inside. John went after him and started to climb the steps, trying to catch up, but as he got near the top his crutch slipped on something, causing it to slip out of his hand. He fell backwards, tumbling down the steps until he landed in a heap at the bottom. Sherlock turned on the spot as the sound of crash met his ears. When he saw the complete lack of John on the stairs behind him, it was obvious what had happened. He ran back down the stairs, jumped the last three and landed crouching like a cat beside John.
"Where are you hurt?" he demanded. John couldn't answer: he was unconscious.