When Dealing With A Child
"Sherlock, if you don't stop picking your stitches I'm going to have to put the bandages back on!" John scolded as he plonked a mug of tea down on the coffee table beside where his friend was reclining reluctantly on the sofa.
"But they itch." Sherlock protested childishly, pulling his pyjama top down impatiently, and turning to John. "And I'm bored!"
"You need rest!" The doctor implored his friend adamantly, and Sherlock could see that he was beaten, as John went to sit in his own nearby armchair – eyes turned towards the television.
"All this fuss over just a little scratch!" He muttered moodily under his breath.
"Just a little scratch?" Watson turned on his friend more severely now – not noticing the small smile curl the corners of Sherlock's mouth as his words managed to provoke the desired response from his friend - it was always so easy to wind John up. "You were shot Sherlock… I… I thought we might have lost you!"
"Oh, I've had worse cutting myself shaving!"
"Look, I had a hard enough time convincing your consultant to release you into my care in the first place." John explained. "And if you don't start behaving yourself and do as you are told, for once in your life, then I'm going to take you straight back there! Do you understand?" He sighed, holding his head despairingly in his hands.
Sherlock opened his mouth and looked as though he may have been about to say something for a moment, but Watson quickly cut him off, and he closed it again.
"Do you want me to call Mycroft?" He threatened, and Sherlock could see that he was serious.
"No…"
John smiled as he turned his gaze back towards the television, satisfied that this final threat of Mycroft had finally put an end to Sherlock's petulant whinings, and the picking of his wounds which could put him at risk of developing a pretty nasty infection - but the peaceful silence didn't last long.
"Oops…"
John's head swung round instinctively as he heard his friend gasp, and it didn't take him long to spot what Sherlock was complaining about now.
"Oh look at that!" He groaned in his exasperation, observing the fresh patch of blood now seeping through his friend's pyjama top, like ink bleeding through blotting paper. "You've made it bleed! That's it Sherlock, I've had enough of this, I'm putting your bandages back on! Wait here whilst I go and get the first aid kit, and tomorrow morning I'm taking you straight back to the hospital!"