AN: ok so I want to say thank you again to my Sole reviewer, Alicia. It's nice to hear from people and again, if you have any prompts don't hesitate to click the little grey , hehe that was a comment from my guinea pig. He also enjoys Sherlock. Especially since that's his name. yes I am insane. Anyway enjoy!

'John! Look out!' I heard Sherlock shout. Yet again, we were chasing a suspect across London, Sherlock's leg was better, he was off the crutches and the plaster had come off resulting in a burst of activity that flew in the face of his usually sloth like demeanour, and the idiot had run into the traffic on Tower Bridge and after dodging several cars I had managed to grab the sleeve of his jacket and hang on.

Unfortunately, in all the excitement of the chase I did not see the ten tonne lorry coming up from behind until it was far too late. The suspect struggled free in the nick of time but I had only managed to pull my arm back half way. The predictable happened and I was sent reeling and retching back against the barrier. The lorry screeched to a halt as Sherlock came limping speedily up. When he grabbed my shoulders with panic in his eyes I, foolishly perhaps, thought that he was concerned for me. Really, having lived with him for over a year, I had no right to be surprised when he said

'Did you get him?'

I gaped at him. He shook me slightly

'Well, John?'

I pulled away, massaging my wrist, 'Bastard' I muttered. At which point the lorry driver came jogging up and said

'Gosh, what a silly thing to do Sir.' Of course, our hard-driving, hard-drinking London lorry driver did not strut confidently into the middle of the road and tell me what a silly man I am, but most of what he in fact did say is unprintable and, despite nearly 20 years as a soldier, I can't spell it anyway, so 'silly man' it is. He then continued with

'You are an extraordinarily foolish man, I have absolutely no idea why you did that, you rogue, you want to get yourself down to a certified psychologist at once…' he continued vehemently

'John what's wrong with your wrist?' asked Sherlock, looking vaguely interested. I answered with a strangled whine and clutched his elbow. By this time the lorry driver had disappeared mumbling darkly about his insurance policy.

Now, Sherlock was looking really worried

'John? Do you want to go to hospital?' he asked anxiously, leading me away from the road. I nodded, gritting my teeth. He nodded gravely and took out a safety pin from his inside pocket. He gently pinned up one side of my jacket to make a sling for my bad arm and stepped back looking so proud I didn't have the heart to tell him he'd made it too loose and it wasn't in fact doing anything.

When we reached the crowds at the bottom of Tower Bridge, he took my hand and helped me though the crush of people to find a cab while biting his lip. It really would have been sweet, had he not spoiled it in true Sherlock fashion, by participating in a brief phone call with Lestrade and ceasing to look worried following the information that they'd found the suspect. When we eventually did find a cab, he helped me in and the delighted cabby took one look at my face before saying gleefully to Sherlock,

'Don't worry if 'e frows up mate, I always wanted to be an Ambulance driver.' Before happily doing an axel-screeching wheelie, causing Sherlock to grab me and throw us both flat. A few embarrassed and terrifying minutes later, I hastily wrote down the number of the London District Paramedic officer and threw it through the cab window, as Sherlock yanked me painfully through the doors at UCLH A and E.

About an hour later we were still sitting waiting and I, having had no pain relief, was just about ready to bite through my own arm. An increasingly agitated Sherlock was having a furious, if quiet, argument with the pretty blonde desk nurse, who, despite the fact that she was finding time to file her nails and flick idly through a copy of Hello! Was telling patients that they could not possibly see a doctor as they were all 'rushed off their feet.'

Contrary to Sherlock's, rather low, expectations she was also giving him some rather sharp and intelligent retorts.

'You do realise that your job title is Health Care Professional?' he seethed 'thus implying that an element of care is in fact included in the job?'

'And you do realise yours is patient?' she said smoothly, giving him a blistering look 'and I do advise that you are. Sit down Mr Holmes.'

Apparently driven to desperate measures Sherlock tensed his jaw, he snatched her magazine and silkily rattled off,

'You're a student here, putting yourself through nursing college by shagging one of the older consultants, ah I see he's asked you to marry him, shame about his divorce. How do I know? Well, from here I can see your shoes have Christian Louboutin's distinctive red leather sole, you can't have bought them yourself, you're a nurse besides which your tag says Student Nurse Louise Wilton, they could be a gift from your parents, but the rest of what you're wearing is fairly cheap. If they could afford to give you Louboutins you'd be dressed nicely all over, friends don't spend that kind of money and no boyfriend is going to buy you expensive shoes unless he's getting something out of it. A lover then, but you're wearing an engagement ring, so engaged. The fact that you're fully made up despite your tactile job and wearing his ring and the Louboutins suggests that he's here in the hospital. About fifteen minutes ago, you walked into the break room at the same time as an older man and came back out with your lipstick smudged, during the time leading up to that encounter and the additional half an hour I've been sitting here, no one else has walked in or out of that room. After you exited the break room, your fiancée exited and I saw that he was wearing a badge with the words 'Mr W. Jacobs' Doctors generally don't bother with 'Dr' post consultant level. How do I know about his divorce? You yourself on the phone told a friend that 'William's ex-wife is becoming unbearable'. I would be careful Miss Wilton. A man who marries his mistress creates a job vacancy, now for the last time, Can. I. See. A. Doctor?'

Throughout the exchange I and the rest of the waiting room had fallen into deadly silence. We had been thoroughly entertained as the young woman went an increasingly dark shade of puce as Sherlock rattled off his deductions. I suddenly realised that the debacle in front of me had made me forget the burning pain in my wrist, now however; it came back with a vengeance as the blotchy faced and rapid swelling teenager next to me dug me in the ribs and hissed 'Well, would you look at that. Dinner and a show.'

I smiled as Sherlock flopped down beside me and informed me that we would be seeing the doctor in the next few minutes. I glanced across at the pale and teary nurse frantically tapping at her iPhone and smiled through my pain.

'Thank you for deducing someone to tears for me Sherlock.'

He smirked back and said 'Piece of cake. Anyway isn't that what friends do?'

I moaned internally. Oh crap. He'd said the magic words. What else could go wrong?

AN: sorry, a terribly rushed chapter. Oh well. I was absolutely sadistic to that poor nurse, although I occasionally wish I could Sherlock scan them to get them to tend to patients quicker. REVIEW!