Sherlock didn't get the memo, because a nurse phoned him at 6am, informing him that Sherlock was threatening to leave AMA, and could he please come and talk some sense into him before he falls out of bed and breaks the other leg?
John sighed, and shrugged on a jumper.
Sherlock was much more lucid when he arrived, lucid and grumpy, much like a toddler.
"I want to go home John," he pouted.
"I want to go on vacation," he replied.
Sherlock scowled at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were listing things we wanted but weren't going to happen any time soon."
"I took you to Dartmoor," he grumbled.
John raised an eyebrow. "For a case. That was not a vacation, especially considering you drugged me and we almost died. More than once."
Sherlock frowned, but didn't say anything.
John groaned. "Oh god, don't tell me that is your idea of a vacation!"
Sherlock looked away and fiddled with the bed covers.
"I don't even know you," he muttered.
That day was spent attempting to blog and keep Sherlock distracted, doing anything but devising ways to remove his cast, the most persistent being dripping water on it for hours.
"For god's sake Sherlock, you'll be getting a lighter one tomorrow! Just stop that," John scolded, swatting Sherlock's hand away and wiping up the water, feeling ever so much like a mother.
Sherlock scowled. "I want an ice lolly!" he declared. "Also, I'm bored."
John sighed and headed to the cafeteria, fingers crossed that they had lollies, and then stopped off at the paediatric floor to grab a puzzle.
"Really John?" Sherlock scoffed. "500 pieces? And grape? No one likes grape." Sherlock ignored the ice lolly completely, leaving it to melt into a purple puddle, and focused on the puzzle, finishing it in less than an hour and bemoaning the missing pieces.
John took that chance to step out and phone Mrs Hudson, begging her to stop by a toy store and get a puzzle with the most possible pieces. It would be the only way he was going to make it to tomorrow.
"Crutches... Dull," Sherlock had declared.
John had been amused to watch him struggle with them for a full five minutes with the physical therapist's help, teetering around like a newborn giraffe. It was only when Sherlock started muttering facts about him under his breath that John decided to step in.
"I'll take it from here, thanks."
He nodded at him thankfully and wished them luck, scurrying out before John could change his mind.
"Haven't you used crutches before? I'm sure you've sprained an ankle, or a knee before. I'm assuming you didn't just run around on that?"
"Of course not," Sherlock snapped. "I've broken my ankle before too you know. I suppose I've... deleted how to work these," he growled, waving the crutches around.
"Perhaps it would be best to just not be climbing around on rooftops anymore, thereby reducing the likelihood you will break something."
"Dull!" Sherlock declared, getting halfway down the hall before collapsing into a pile of limbs, lime green cast, and dressing gown.
"You alright?" John called.
"Bruised," Sherlock muttered, not bothering to try and get up. Instead, he lifted a hand in the air and waited.
"What's bruised?" John asked, heaving Sherlock to his feet, careful of his leg.
"Just my dignity," Sherlock replied, spinning and heading back the other way, more carefully this time, making it into the room before crashing into the bed.
"About bloody time," John muttered, following him. He didn't need Sherlock breaking another bone before leaving the hospital.