Chapter 6

Day six of John's recovery brought another visitor to 221B. While Greg had stopped by a couple of times since the accident, it was always a flying visit as he was usually on his way back to the office. Today, though, was his day off and he decided to spend an hour or two with John, and at the same time allow Sherlock to get out of the flat should he so choose.

Greg knew that Sherlock's heart was in the right place when he'd stated he'd be the one to care for John during his recovery. The policeman had been witness over the years to the subtle kindness that Sherlock was capable of showing; but Greg was no fool either. He understood, perhaps better than John, that when a puzzle arose the lanky Consulting Detective would forget everything on his quest to solve the mystery. Greg just didn't want John to be the thing forgotten.

The D.I. grabbed his coat and the item that he'd located the previous day. It was a gift for John; one that he knew the smaller man would appreciate.

A knock on the front door of 221B, a brief greeting to Mrs. Hudson and soon Greg was making his way up the 17 steps that led to the men's flat. He stashed his gift beside the small barrister's bookcase that sat on the landing and entered 221B.

"Ah, Lestrade," said Sherlock, as he looked up from the Forensics Magazine he was reading. John was propped upright on the sofa and was thumbing through a back issue of the BMJ.

"Good afternoon, John, Sherlock. Just though I'd stop by to see how you two are getting on."

"Have a seat," said John with a smile as he indicated an overstuffed chair that was now position near the sofa. It had appeared out of nowhere the previous morning.

"Thanks, John. So, how's the recovery going?"

"Quite well," responded John as he put down his journal and turned slightly in order to be able to see Greg without straining his neck. His grimace of pain quickly caused Greg to stand and shift the chair slightly so it was in John's line of sight. A nod of thanks and John continued, "There have been some definite improvements with both my shoulder and my ribs, so that's good news. My knee is still extremely sore and my ankle protests at the least amount of weight, but all in all – I can't complain."

Watching the two men interact for a moment, Sherlock wondered about the reason for Lestrade's visit. Closing his magazine and placing it on his chair after he stood, he said, "Lestrade, I can see from your garments that you are off work today and intend to spend some time entertaining John. Afraid he's already bored with me, hmm?"

"Not at all," said Lestrade. "I find it difficult to believe that anyone would be bored with you around! But, you're right. I'm off duty so I figured today would be the perfect day to spend some time with you, John – assuming you don't already have other plans."

Before John could speak, Sherlock said, "Don't be an idiot, Lestrade. What plans could John possibly have? He's still housebound."

John quirked his eyebrow at Sherlock, but other than frown slightly he made no comment. After all, Sherlock was right … he was stuck indoors for the foreseeable future and any sort of distraction would be greatly appreciated.

"You know Sherlock, now that Greg's here and has already stated his plan to spend the afternoon, why don't you take advantage of the opportunity and go down to see Molly at the morgue, or check in with your homeless network? Get out of the house for a bit; it will do you good," said John.

"Oh, um … well," said Sherlock, trying not to look upset but failing miserably.

Knowing that his friend often had difficulties navigating relationships, John smiled and said, "You don't have to leave if you don't want to; I'm not trying to get rid of you. You've been absolutely aces at taking care of me for the past few days, but I thought maybe you'd appreciate the change of scenery. I'll be fine and Greg's here, so there's nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried," snapped Sherlock, but both John and Greg could see that the younger man truly was concerned about his friend. "Still, you do have a point, John. I should speak with Molly about the Garabaldi autopsy and while I'm out, I'll pick up your new prescription."

Slipping on his beloved Belstaff and draping his scarf around his neck, Sherlock said, "I've got my phone so if you need anything, text me. Greg, I'm leaving John in your care while I'm out. I shouldn't be more than two hours. Make him some tea; he likes a cup around this time of day."

"Yes sir," responded Greg with a salute to Sherlock's back as the other whirled out of the doorway and down the stairs. A loud thud of the front door closing heralded his departure from the building.

"So," said Greg with a grin. "Tea?"

John groaned and said, "God no. If I drink any more tea today, I'll float away. So, how're things at Scotland Yard?"

The two friends spent the next ten minutes or so chatting. Greg duly passed on various good wishes for a speedy recovery from several members of his team, including Donovan, and also relayed the latest gossip that was making the rounds of the Met.

Suddenly Greg sat up and said, "I almost forgot. I've brought you something." Rising from his seat, he stepped out to the landing and returned seconds later holding a long narrow box in his hand. Reclaiming his chair, he carefully placed the box on John's lap and said, "This is for you."

Looking rather surprised, John lifted the lid off the box and stared at the contents. Contained in the box was a cane. No, not a cane; a true Victorian-style walking stick made of what looked to be cherry wood. It had sturdy shaft and a carved wooden handle burnished to a shine from years of use.

John stared at the gift, his mouth open and his eyes wide. He lifted it out of the box and turned it over in his hands. It was beautiful!

"I'm pretty sure it will be the right height for you," said Greg as he watched John examine the cane closely. "My Pap was just about your height, and he had it slightly modified to suit him. It will be much more impressive than those aluminium things the NHS hands out. It also has a secret," he said.

John glanced over at Greg and, seeing the glint in the older man's eye, returned his attention to the cane. "Is it … it is! It's a tippling stick, isn't it?" he asked with glee.

"Yep! The vial is big enough to hold about 2 ounces of whatever you desire. In fact, I've already filled it with The Macallan 18-year-old scotch. You know, for when Sherlock gets to be a bit much to deal with and you feel the need for a little nip. I mean, Sherlock is a great friend, but I can't imagine he's proving to be the most helpful person right at the moment. Are you sure you don't want to stay at mine for a bit?"

John looked at Greg, a bit upset at the comments about Sherlock, but he knew that the D.I. was only concerned about him. "Greg," he said, "Thank you so much for the cane. It is exquisite, though I won't be using it for a while. I'm still stuck with the crutch for a little bit longer."

John leaned the cane against the side of the sofa and continued, "You know, Sherlock's been great. Really. He's given me his room for the duration. He's even removed the various body parts from the fridge and is keeping his experiments to ones that don't involve toxic chemicals, potential fire hazards or noxious aromas. And, he's become extremely adept at assisting with the strapping around my ribs and getting my knee brace properly positioned. I honestly don't know what I'd do if he wasn't here to help. He's even put a list on the fridge that includes not only the names of the medications I've got, but also any potential side-effects."

Greg listened to John and the more the ex-Army doctor spoke, the more amazed the D.I. became. "Sherlock?" he asked. "The same man who once arrived at a crime scene in his pyjamas?"

John giggled and then winced. "Oh, Lord, don't make me laugh," he said has he placed his right arm across his chest.

"Oh, God, John. I'm so sorry," said a slightly panicked Greg. "Are you okay?"

Catching his breath, John said, "I'm fine Greg. Don't worry."

"Well," said Greg, "if it is as you say and Sherlock is taking such care with you, I am impressed."

The rest of the afternoon was spent watching football on the telly, Greg with a beer and John with glass of orange juice. At half-time, Greg turned to his friend and said, "I happened to notice the list you mentioned earlier on the fridge. Isn't it about time for one of your medications? Can I get it for you?"

Looking over at the time flashing on the DVD player, John said, "Yeah, it is; but don't bother. The anti inflammatories I was prescribed were doing a number on my stomach. Sherlock figured out the problem even before I did, so he raised hell and got me a new prescription. In fact, he's going to pick it up for me on his way home. Thanks for the offer, though. Hey, look, game's starting up again."

Greg leaned back in his seat, watching the game while at the same time ruminating over everything John had told him. It seemed he'd completely underestimated Sherlock's capabilities, and he couldn't have been more pleased to have been proven wrong. Pulling his attention from his thoughts, he turned to his friend.

"John, remember I once told you that if we were very lucky, one day Sherlock would prove to be a good man?"

"Yeah, I remember," said John confusedly, wondering where his friend was going with this line of conversation.

Greg smiled at his friend. "I think that day has come," he said.