IN THE HOSPITAL, PART 2

'Why didn't you let me answer her question?' Sherlock gave John an investigative look while his friend was trying to put his shirt back on. Doctor Finkly had just left the room to get John some painkillers.

John ignored Sherlock's question, but the detective didn't leave it alone:

'You are curious. I know you are! Why don't you want to know the answer?'

'It was an unprofessional thing to ask, Sherlock.'

'She asked me and I didn't mind answering.'

'Well I minded.' John said abruptly. 'Help me with the buttons.'

Sherlock stepped closer but didn't help. Instead he gazed at John.

'You don't want to know because you are afraid. Afraid that the answer might put things in a different perspective. You worry that if I am gay the things you did for me and I did for you have meant something else. You will start to wonder if I had any feelings when you helped me in the shower the other day.'

John evaded his eyes, but Sherlock continued . 'Or when you massaged my back. Or every night you let me sleep in your bed. Or when you comforted me. And you would especially wonder…' Sherlock lingered in front of John, making it impossible to avoid his stare, '…about that time I put my hand down your pants and touched your…'

Suddenly someone near the door cleared his throat and John and Sherlock looked up.

'I don't want to hear the end of that sentence!' Detective Inspector Lestrade said.

John's face was burning. This day could not get any worse! What was it with people walking in at the wrong moment these days?! The doctor was too embarrassed to speak, but Sherlock didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable.

'Ah detective inspector, did you catch the shooter?'

'Yes we did actually…'

At that moment Doctor Finkly came back in. 'Good evening. It is getting rather crowded in here.'

She smiled at John. John smiled back.

Lestrade looked from John eyeing Doctor Finkly, to her beaming back, to Sherlock glaring at the two.

'Let's step outside, shall we?' He said to Sherlock.

'Why?' The detective answered, but Lestrade was already walking out of the room.

'We give those two some privacy.' The DI said while standing in the hallway.

'Privacy to do what?' Sherlock spat.

'To have a conversation without you embarrassing him.'

Sherlock made a face. 'I can assure you that John does not need me for that.'

'Give it a rest Sherlock. I see how defensive you get when any woman gets near John.'

'I most certainly do not get "defensive".'

'You are afraid he will leave you for someone who is actually nice to him.'

'You know, for a detective inspector your instincts are alarmingly far off!' Sherlock snapped at him.

'Oh really?' Lestrade asked, mockingly, 'so you don't mind at all that she is giving him her number right now?'

Sherlock quickly turned around and saw through the windows of the doors how Doctor Finkly gave John a piece of paper that was clearly torn off from one of her documents. It had something scribbled on it. It was not a prescription.

Lestrade cleared his throat again. 'You were saying?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'John can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants. I couldn't care less.'

'Of course you couldn't.' Lestrade answered sarcastically.

Ten minutes later Sherlock and John were walking out of the hospital. Lestrade had quickly briefed them and then left. He had offered them a ride, but Sherlock had declined for the both of them.

When they stepped into the cold, crisp night Sherlock turned his coat collar up. 'So, are you going to call her?'

'Who?'

'Don't be dense, John. Doctor Finkly of course.'

'How do you know she gave me…? Oh never mind!' John tied his scarf around his neck.

'Well?' Sherlock pushed.

'I don't know, maybe.'

They walked in silence for a while, then John suddenly said: 'I know the answer, you know.'

'What answer?'

'To Doctor Finkly's question. I know you're gay. Or bisexual, at least.'

Sherlock quickly glanced at his friend. 'Why do you think you know that?'

John took a deep breath. 'During our first dinner, when you thought I was coming on to you...'

'You were coming on to me.'

'I was not!'

'Was too!'

John clenched his fists. 'Anyway. You said you were flattered by my interested but you were not really looking for anything.'

Sherlock was silent, so John continued: 'A straight bloke might have said the first part, but definitely not the second, because of what it implicates. So…'

Sherlock glimpsed at the doctor again. John looked back. It was only a second, then they continued walking.

After almost a block, the detective suddenly spoke again: 'A straight bloke might have let his flat mate sleep on his bed, but he would definitely not invite him to sleep in it, because of what it implicates. So…'

John smiled. 'Shut up, Sherlock.'

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