Chapter 17
On the third day of Sherlock's stay in the hospital, most of which had been spent sleeping, Mycroft came to visit again, Lestrade following him closely. "Hello, brother dear, feeling better? Good, then you should have a word with Detective Inspector Lestrade here. I'll be here listening. For safety reasons, of course," he said immediately in a smooth, business-like tone.
Sherlock considered bestowing his usual greeting on his brother, but something about Mycroft's presence intrigued him. "Right," he just mumbled. Best get this over with.
Mycroft quietly sat down next to a rather sleepy looking John, but Lestrade closed the door behind him and kept standing in front of the bed. "You do feel up for it to tell me everything, right, Sherlock?" he asked, looking from Mycroft to John and Sherlock with hesitation in his eyes.
Sherlock nodded and reached for the ever-present glass of water. His throat was still sore, but it was tolerable to speak.
"Alright. Can you tell me what exactly has happened? And where is Harris now? Take your time," Lestrade said, trying not to look too impatient.
Sherlock snorted. "He's probably home. He's gotten away with this kind of thing before, after all, so he'll likely not even be worried." Then he sighed and tried to explain, leaving out the reason why he had not followed his original plan. "I first approached him at the shop, just to get a reading. Then after his work, I followed him to the local pub, where I observed him getting inebriated and pestering a small group of women. When they left, he followed one of them, so I followed him. I lost sight of them however, and I was about to call John when he jumped me. Guess I wasn't as discrete as I thought." Sherlock smirked.
"You should have called me," John said quietly.
"What is worse, is that Harris knew exactly where he would be safe for the CCTV footage," Mycroft said. "Otherwise it would have been a lot simpler to find Sherlock. You should have minded where you were walking, little brother."
Sherlock ignored Mycroft and turned to John. "I was trying to call you," he said. Then he frowned. "My phone must still be there. I lost it, but I remember hearing it before I was found."
John took his hand again, giving a short nod.
"Well, of course I certainly don't approve of the way in which it happened, but well. If Sherlock testifies against him, there should more than enough proof against Harris, I think," Lestrade said.
Sherlock smiled. "Once that's done, I'll see what I can do about getting in touch with his ex-wife."
"But for now, you're going nowhere," John said firmly. "Doctor's orders."
Sherlock smiled fondly at him. "Guess I don't really have a choice then, do I?"
"No."
Mycroft cleared his throat and got to his feet."Speaking of doctors. You can go home tonight, after a last examination,"
Sherlock looked at him, biting back a grateful remark. Then he turned back to John. "Ready to take care of me?" he asked. "I plan on being quite the baby for the next couple of weeks."
"Yeah, I know how you are," John rolled his eyes. "But it's my job, I guess."
"Alright, John, good luck," Lestrade grinned.
"We'll leave you to it," Mycroft nodded.
They were sent home with a mass of bandages, compresses and antiseptics. John slowly helped Sherlock up the stairs to their flat, then brought him to his bed to rest again. "I'll come to have a look at your wounds in a minute, I'll just put everything in place again first." He had hardly been home in the last few days.
Sherlock made himself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances and waited for John, impatiently.
After clearing everything away, John sat down on his knees on the bed, next to Sherlock. He dumped the compresses on the nightstand and gently began to loosen the old ones, looking at the colourful bruises on Sherlock's face. "Does it hurt?" he asked softly.
"Nothing I can't handle," Sherlock answered through clenched teeth.
John ran his finger along the edge of a cut, looking if it was healing well, before he cleansed and covered it again. "I'm glad I can still do this," he said quietly after a while.
"You're glad I'm hurt?" Sherlock asked, not quite masking the teasing tone of his voice.
"Shut up." John carefully poked his shoulder - it was more stroking, if he was honest, but battered as he was even light touches could hurt the detective. "You know exactly what I mean."
Sherlock winced a little at the touch. Then he smiled. "Yes, I know. I'm glad too."
"Never do that again," John said calmly while he straightened the tape that held the compress above Sherlock's brow.
Sherlock snorted. "Believe me, I did not plan this."
"No, of course not. You had probably never even thought of the possibility that anyone could get to you," John said with a sigh, starting to open Sherlock's shirt so he could change the bandages of his ribs. "Turn over a bit, please. Sorry. But what I mean is," he continued when he had Sherlock in the position where he could reach him well enough, "never leave me in the dark again. I thought everything was fine because you always ignore me. It wasn't safe. What if no-one had found you?" He swallowed, once again filled with fear at the thought.
Sherlock bit his lip. He knew what John was asking, but he didn't know if it was a promise he could make. "I'll try..." he said.
"You'd better," John said, adjusting the last bits a bit too firmly.
"Ouch!" Sherlock pulled away. "No need to punish me in advance, you know."
John laughed. "Not so sure of that. Sorry." He bent to give Sherlock a light kiss and finished his work.
Sherlock chuckled and watched him. When he was done, he reached up and lay a hand on John's cheek. "I am so so sorry," he said, looking him in the eyes.
"I know," John sighed. He put everything on the bedside table and lay down on his back next to Sherlock, taking his hand.
"John?" Sherlock said after a while.
"Hmm?" He felt more relaxed than he had in days and had been drifting off, the lack of sleep demanding its toll.
"I'd really like to kiss you, but I'm afraid that if I move right now, something will hurt and it will distract me. And not in a good way." He laughed at his own helplessness. "Could you...?"
"Oh dear, and thus the ordering about has begun," John chuckled, pushing himself up on his elbow to lean over Sherlock. He gave him a soft kiss.
"You might as well get used to it. The demands will be endless," Sherlock smirked and then with his good hand pulled John down for a deeper kiss.
John hummed and relaxed further. God, he had missed this. In the hospital it had been a few quick stolen kisses and small touches, and of course they couldn't go much further now, but it was a world of difference.
Sherlock sighed against John's lips and gently licked them. What he really wanted to do was throw the man down on his back and snog him till he couldn't breathe, but for now this would have to do.
After a long while of kissing, John carefully pulled back. "We should really get some sleep, love."
Sherlock groaned. "I've gotten enough sleep for the next month while I was in the hospital."
"I haven't," John said, arranging himself next to Sherlock again.
Sherlock huffed. "Tedious," he commented, before wrapping his good arm around John, pulling him a little closer.
"Hmm." John rested his face against Sherlock's shoulder, careful not to put too much pressure on his bruises. Then he remembered something important and opened his eyes again. "If you need anything tonight, wake me up, alright? Whatever it is. I don't want you to try and get up yourself. And I - don't want to wake up alone. Got that?"
"I promise," sherlock smiled. "Now, get some sleep."
John nodded. "G'night."
"Sleep well, love."
John immediately let exhaustion take over, feeling safe now he was lying in Sherlock's arms again.
