'Sherlock, stop that bloody pacing and sit down!' John snapped at his friend.

'I hate hospitals.' Sherlock responded while he walked agitated up and down the small examination room.

'No one likes hospitals, especially not if you are actually injured, like me.'

Sherlock snorted. 'Injured? It is a scratch.'

'It is a bullet wound! Coming from a bullet that was meant for you, I might add.'

'Your own fault!' Sherlock waived it away. 'Don't be so bloody noble next time!'

John took a deep breath and counted till ten, than he grunted: 'You're welcome.'

Sherlock was right that it was not a very deep wound. A few stitches would suffice. Sherlock had offered to do it ('Wonderful! All that practicing on pigs will finally pay off!') but John had respectfully declined and insisted they go to a hospital. Sherlock went with him, but he hadn't stopped complaining since they got there, nor had he stood still for a second.

'You can leave if you want, you know.' John was getting annoyed.

'I probably will!' Sherlock bit back.

At that moment the door opened: 'Good evening, John Hamish Watson?'

John and Sherlock looked up. The woman who just walked in was… absolutely stunning. She was young, had blonde hair, blue, sparkling eyes and curvy hips. She smiled at John.

'Hi, I'm Doctor Finkly. You can call me Grace.'

'H..hi Grace, I'm John.'

She grinned. 'I knew that.'

Right, John thought, stupid!

'And you are…?' Grace turned to Sherlock, but John answered before he could say anything: 'He was just leaving, right Sherlock?'

But Sherlock, finally standing still and staring at Doctor Finkly, said: 'No, I changed my mind. I'll stay.' And he sat down on one of the chairs. After all his pacing he now looked like a statue; pale and motionless, staring at Doctor Finkly.

Grace started examining the wound.

'It is not very deep. You are lucky, mister Watson.'

'Doctor', Sherlock corrected.

Grace looked up. 'Sorry?'

'It's Doctor Watson.' Sherlock repeated.

'Really?' Grace looked at John, who blushed and avoided her eyes.

'Yeah, sort of…' He murmured.

'And how did you get this bullet wound, Doctor Watson?' Grace asked.

'Accident at the shooting ranch.' Sherlock responded before John could say anything. He gave his friend a look. 'Sherlock…'

'Don't be embarrassed, John,' the detective continued, 'it can happened to anyone.'

John glanced at him. Sherlock stared back.

Grace looked from one to the other. Of course she could tell something was wrong. 'Hmm, I have to go get some things and then I'll come back to stitch that up.'

She smiled at John again before she left the room.

John burst out as soon as the door closed: 'What the hell was that, Sherlock? Why can't we tell her the true?'

'Why? So you look like a hero?' Sherlock mocked.

'No, so we are being honest.'

'Whatever for? So you can ask her out on a date? Let me tell you something about her, John: she is in a long standing relationship, possibly even engagement, but she flirts with patients because she gets a kick out of it. She will never go out with you, so you might as well-'

'Enough!' John snapped at him. 'That is enough, Sherlock! We are just going to be honest with Grace! Not because I want to date her, but because we have nothing to hide.'

'Or else?'

John sighed. 'Don't be so childish, Sherlock!'

But the detective didn't move.

John stared at him. 'Or else I will tell Mycroft about the breakdown you had after the child-killer-case.'

'Go ahead, he doesn't care!'

'I will tell Lestrade!'

'Pff, same thing!'

'I will….' John thought for a second, 'I will never massage your back again!'

Sherlock squinted at him.

'Fine.' Sherlock spat, just when Doctor Finkly came back in.

'So, what's going on here?' She asked cheerfully.

Sherlock turned and gave her one of his fake smiles. 'Nothing much. Doctor Watson was just blackmailing me into telling you that he actually got that bullet wound while we were chasing a criminal through London. I didn't think you needed to know this, but John threatened tell my brother Mycroft and Detective Inspector Lestrade about the time we shared a bed after a particularly vicious murder. When that didn't work he threatened to stop massaging my back in the shower.'

Grace stared at him.

John was shocked. 'Jesus Sherlock!'

'What? You said we had to be honest.' Sherlock whispered to him.

'You…ehm, you share a shower?' Grace asked. Sherlock immediately responded: 'On occasion. But we are not having intercourse, because, as John is dying to tell you, he is not gay.'

'But you are?' Grace asked the detective.

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but John had heard enough: 'For God's sake, just shut up, Sherlock!'

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