Five minutes later they were both dressed and on their way to the clinic.
Ten minutes after that, John was greeting Sarah and Sherlock was pouting in a chair.
"I don't see why you have to wait like everyone else," Sherlock muttered as John sat down next to him. The waiting room was filled with sneezing and sniffling people of all ages. Sherlock loathed sick people. Except for John of course. He never loathed John.
"It's not urgent Sherlock. I can wait just fine. Besides, I told you that you didn't have to come."
Sherlock snorted. "Right, and wait for you to come home and not tell me anything."
John shrugged. "No complaining then."
Sherlock was silent for a minute, scanning the room.
"Bored," he declared.
John put down the magazine he was attempting to read, and failing. He groaned. "Sherlock, please."
Sherlock scanned the room again before pointing things out.
"The woman over there," he began, gesturing to one half of an elderly couple, "Is having an affair."
"No way..." John muttered.
Sherlock smirked at him.
"And that woman," he said, pointing to a woman who looked rather ill, almost green. "Is pregnant, but not with his child," he finished, pointing to the man next to him. "In fact," he continued, spying a man across the room, also sitting next to an ill looking woman. "He's the father. And she's pregnant too."
John looked impressed. "Is it his baby, or..." he gestured towards the other man.
Sherlock smirked. "Yes, it's probably his. But the one he's with is looking to get an abortion."
"And the other?"
"Doesn't know she's pregnant. Thinks it's the flu."
John snickered. "And the rest of them?"
"It is the flu. Or something else viral."
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the room in general.
"It's all viral," he declared loudly. Everyone turned to look at him, except for the elderly man. (Mostly deaf.)
"Excuse me?" a woman said, her daughter's head perched in her lap.
Sherlock scanned her. Single mother, works full time as a secretary, her mother watches her child while she's at work, but she's got dementia that no one's noticed yet. The child's been getting into things that she hasn't noticed.
"Paracetamol overdose for her."
"What?" she trilled.
"From your aging mother. She has dementia. Get her tested."
She gaped at him, but thankfully, she was called next. Or perhaps Sarah had taken pity on her. Either way, she left and Sherlock had to move on to the rest of the waiting room.
"Viral!" he declared once again.
"Shut up," John hissed.
"Why?" he retorted.
"Sherlock," John hissed. "I will call Mrs Hudson right now and get her to dispose of whatever the hell that thing is that's on the counter growing mould!"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh yeah?" John smirked. "Try me."
Sherlock was silent after that, taking turns between glaring at people and loudly flipping through magazines.
Finally it was their turn, Sarah leading them to a room, John wishing he could sink into the ground as Sherlock trailed behind them, scowling and stomping like a five year old.