A.N: Sorry for that last chapter. It was really quite bad, and I realise it was probably 200x worse for somebody who hasn't read the same research. I thought I could use some of the research to help the characters settle their differences. Won't be doing that again. Hope you enjoy this one more than the last!
Chapter 14
The drive back to Baker Street was incredibly tedious. Sherlock was itching for something to do, and as a result, spent a majority of the drive poking and prodding at his scarring. He pulled his phone out of his suit pocket and looked over it. He'd received alerts on one text from Lestrade, two texts from Mycroft and a missed call from Mrs Hudson. Lestrade text to inform Sherlock that John's captor had been sentenced to life. He frowned.
Why weren't we told about the trial? – SH.
The phone beeped a few minutes later.
Didn't want you to be concerned, the reply read. Sherlock tutted loudly and rolled his eyes.
There were no witnesses. We should have been there. – SH
Sherlock replied speedily to the message, pressing the buttons on his phone harder in annoyance. A reply was received in just as much haste.
Didn't need you. We had the photos of John and managed to find one of those videos. And that picture of his eyes. It was enough to convince the jury.
Sherlock didn't bother responding. They were nearing the city, and he was getting increasingly bored. After what seemed like an hour, Sherlock was dropped off at the flat. He swung the suitcase down onto the couch and opened it. After a bit of rummaging, he found a different jacket to replace the rain soaked one he was already wearing. The downpour outside had soaked him through in a matter of minutes. After a quick change, he trotted downstairs and greeted Mrs Hudson, before leaving the flat again to hail a cab.
Meanwhile, John was spending his day walking around his room while Karen watched carefully for any complications.
"You're doing really, really well. Is it hurting at all?" she asked, leaning on the window's edge. John continued his pacing.
"Yeah, a bit actually, but that was expected," he replied.
Karen nodded slowly, "You should really be on crutches".
"Don't need them. I'm doing fine! To be honest, I feel great. How much longer are they keeping me in for?" John queried. He'd been in hospital for quite a long time now, and was nearing the end of his stay.
"You're healing much faster, so it shouldn't be too long. You can walk, too. Probably in the next week or so maybe, depending on how you feel," the nurse shrugged.
John sighed. "If it were up to me, I'd go home today. I'm not exactly top priority anymore," he joked.
Karen chuckled with him, "Actually, you're the most high-profile patient we've got at the moment. So I'd say you're pretty high priority". They both laughed. John didn't really know what to think about being considered a 'high-profile' patient. It was obviously arranged by Sherlock or Mycroft, he figured. At that thought, the door opened slowly. Karen jumped and rushed to John in case another nurse or a doctor had seen their secret physiotherapy sessions.
Instead of a doctor or a nurse, both were incredibly happy to see none other than Sherlock himself walk through the door.
"Mister Holmes! It's wonderful to see you again," Karen smiled wide. Sherlock gave her a curt nod.
"Sherlock, where have you been?" John asked, walking back to his bed and sitting down.
Sherlock raised his eyebrow and sat down on in the chair next to the bed. "I've been busy. You're walking?" he replied. John smiled.
"Yeah, shouldn't be long before I'm out of here, actually," the doctor replied.
"You'll need the cane again. You're limping, quite badly I'm afraid," Sherlock smirked. Karen had left the room to give the men some privacy. John laughed, knowing Sherlock was right.
"How well are you feeling?" Sherlock asked, slightly more serious.
John sighed dramatically and grinned. "That's the first thing everybody asks when they see me. I'm feeling great. To be honest, I'm actually a bit bored. Might start shooting at walls soon. Would be great to go home and have a nice cup of tea," he responded with a laugh.
Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a text message. John raised his own eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak. He was interrupted before he managed to get a word out.
"Mycroft is working on it. Expect a reply very shortly," Sherlock confirmed.
The men talked for a while about cases and how Mrs Hudson is doing. Before too long, a doctor entered the room and nervously approached John.
"Doctor Watson, if you're still feeling up to it, you're eligible for discharge now. You just have to sign some paperwork out in the office. We'll run you through all of the things you need to do," the young doctor said, before leaving the room.
John laughed a bit, "Do you think they're sick of dealing with Mycroft?" he jokingly asked. Sherlock responded in a deep chuckle.
John left the room to fill in said paperwork, whilst Sherlock stayed in the room to gather his blogger's possessions. The two walked slowly out to the main foyer, where a driver was waiting for them. The two sat in near silence for the ride home, thanking the driver once they arrived. It was a bit of a task for John to walk up so many stairs. Sherlock practically carried him up to the flat. John smiled, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of his home. He sat down in his armchair whilst his flatmate made tea.
Sherlock brought out the tea and sat down at the table by the window. He opened up his laptop, touching the dents lightly. John looked around, noticing the suitcase, and a particular item inside it. Hauling himself up, he walked over to the case and pulled on the familiar fabric.
"Sherlock, this is my jumper?" he said, puzzled. Sherlock didn't even look up.
"Yes it is," he responded.
"Why is it in your suitcase? You took it with you?" John asked.
"Yes I did," was the only response. John rolled his eyes and put his hand down to steady himself. Something hard moved beneath his hand, and he silently searched through the case to see what it was. He uncovered a leather bound book, held shut by a strap. It was heavy and full of papers. Figuring that it couldn't hurt to have a look, he undid the strap and opened the front page. The first page was blank, except for a small amount of writing around the top of the book.
"Sherlock's case book…" John read out loud, "Don't touch, Mycroft". Letting out a small laugh, he flipped through a few pages and had a look. A lot of the 'cases' were incredibly simple, like something that a kindergartener would investigate. John flipped through to find a torn notebook page, covered in messy writing.
"Mycroft says I'm too young to go to school with him. That's nonsense. I'm smarter than all of those idiots. I asked Mummy, and she said that I have to be six to go to school," John read aloud, and Sherlock's head snapped to look at him.
"What are you doing?" he demanded. John laughed.
"You were solving cases before you were even six years old? And you had a diary?" he smirked.
Sherlock frowned. "I liked to keep records of what I'd done. Put it down," he responded.
John flipped through another few pages. There were pencil drawings of plants and human anatomy on different pages.
"Wow, you were good at art for a child. Oh, what does this say?" John caught a piece of paper as it fell out. Unfolding it, he read a few lines.
"I was right. School is very easy. The some of the teachers say I'm gifted. I disagree. They're all just idiots. Mycroft built me a safe today. He's the best," John chuckled.
Sherlock threw himself down onto the free space of the couch and curled up into a ball, facing the wall. John frowned a little and placed the book on the coffee table.
"I'm not making fun of you, y'know. You sound incredibly smart for a five year old. I'll put it away if it makes you feel any better," John offered. No response.
With a heavy sigh and a roll of the eyes, John made his way to the door. "I'm going to go upstairs and go to bed".
Sherlock jumped up and walked down the hallway and back again. "Sleep in my bed," he instructed. John raised his eyebrow at his flatmate.
"What?" he stammered. Sherlock walked into the living room.
"I don't need to sleep. You use my bed, saves you from going up and down the stairs," Sherlock responded confusedly, "Didn't you hear me?"
John nodded quickly, "Uhh thanks," he replied, and walked down to Sherlock's room, closing the door behind him. Everything was incredibly tidy, and John noticed a framed poster of the periodic table of the elements hanging up behind the door. He sat down on the bed and leaned his cane against the wall. He removed his shoes and tucked himself up under the covers. The bed was incredibly comfortable, he noticed.
It didn't take a long time before John was drifting off to sleep, the faint sound of a violin playing in another room.