A/N: Not much to say here that I have not said in the last chapter really. These chapters will be a little slow, especially this one, but it does speed up I think after... chapter 13? Yeah, after that it gets more interesting. This is more so to build that bond that John is well aware of and Sherlock is oblivious(?) of.
You know what I'm going to say: read/fav/follow/review. Enjoy the story, loves.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
Chapter 11: Harmonious
I was dismissing my last patient when Mary knocked on my door.
"Come in," I replied automatically, flipping the papers of the last patient behind the clip to sign the last of the needed signatures. It was the usual: a pain medication that would make having no color easier to bear or a drug to drown out the fact that they have given up their mate. Sighing against the papers and glaring at the assessments of depression and mentally unstable of each paper I signed, I completely forgot about Mary entering my room.
Or even the promise I made her of telling her my "long story".
She tapped me on my shoulder and I jumped, resisting the habitual urge to immediately break into a combat stance or even settle the first move. It was Mary, not some Afghan vigilante. I was in a hospital, not a camp in the middle of the arid. Telling myself this was becoming a mantra that I half expected would conjure some message telling me I was dreaming and I was still there.
Of course, that would never happen. I hope not anyhow.
"John?" I blinked and Mary was in front of me, worry and annoyance on her face. I didn't know if it was because of me or due to an unacceptable patient or health care worker. Considering she was glaring at me pointedly and then my injuries from last night, I assumed it was myself.
She was probably annoyed that I didn't tell her what happened during lunch like I promised. It seemed a patient took longer than expected and I missed it. It wasn't like I was trying to avoid the topic. That would hint at fear which I clearly am not feeling while being scrutinized by this very motherly woman.
Involuntarily, my hand rubbed against my knee, trying to smother the pain that pulsed through each heartbeat. Mary caught it and rose her brow in my direction.
"Well?" She asked with a stern voice. "What happened? Was it that man from earlier? Did he get you hurt? Wait, did he hurt you? I swear I will-"
"Mary!" I interrupted. She was always like this when she was trying to figure certain things on her own. She jumped to conclusions too quickly and rarely listened to the input of the actual individual she thinks she is protecting. "It wasn't his fault. Ah, well, never mind. I would be lying then. I suppose in some roundabout way it was his doing that I even got these, but he was not the one responsible for inflicting them. That would be myself and before you even began to slate me on how I should know better, let me just say that I knew what I was doing when I followed that man. I knew I would be entering danger and despite my "passive" nature now, I do not regret it."
Mary was speechless, but not at all surprised. She looked exhausted and worried. After a moment, a breath escaped her lips slowly, the tension in the room finally rising, and shook her head.
"Fine. I won't say anything. But let me say that I don't think that man you are following is a good influence on you. Mate or not." She led me back to the cot where the previous patient was and stripped the thin paper off of it, throwing it along with her gloves into the waste bin. Snapping on new gloves and placing a new coat of paper on the cot, she forced me to sit.
I was about to protest but one glare made my choke my words down forcefully.
"Let me see it."
I stared at her like I didn't know what she was talking about but then rationality and reasonability interfered and I rolled up my scrubs to reveal my very swollen and discolored knee. Mary tightened her lips into a thin line and glared at me. I met her gaze steadily.
"And what, may I ask, did you do to get this? This isn't a simply injury, John. It's not severe either, but you have clearly ignored all procedure to come and get this checked immediately and now look at it. It's swollen and I doubt it will heal properly knowing the stress you probably placed on it." She huffed and placed her hands on her hips, glaring at me. She wanted an answer and I owed her one I suppose.
I considered what I was going to tell her. I couldn't say that I was fighting a bloke to get into a warehouse. God only knows how she would react to that. I wouldn't lie to her, but perhaps telling her the whole truth wouldn't be the best either.
"A bloke managed to kick me in the knee," I stated simply. It was a little too simple, too vague. Mary didn't seem pleased with the answer either for her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Kneeling in front of my knee, she stretched it out and carefully prodded it with skilled hands. Remembered how I stated I only knew enough proficient doctors who knew how to suture correctly on one hand? Mary was one of them which was a mystery since she has never had to do any of the line of that line of work in her zones. I never questioned it and didn't pursue it now it mild concern that it would backfire with a question.
"Why did this man kick you, hm?"
I pursed my lips, contemplating how to pursue with this, "I may have bumped into him on accident. I didn't think much of it but he appeared really offended by such acts. He was a little odd considering, though." Truth hidden with a veil of lies. Sherlock would be oh so proud of me.
Mary hummed in response, shaking her head while placing her index finger and thumb on the sides of my knee cap and moving it. I flinched violently in response and she nodded.
"I haven't the slightest idea just how this man kicked you, but it seems like he may have dislocated you patella. I'm amazed you were able to walk on it this long. Weren't you in pain from the beginning?" Mary questioned and I nodded.
"I assumed it was just bruised, but your theory makes some sense."
Mary grinned at me, "Of course it makes sense. I am a doctor you know."
"A doctor in the Sanctuary and Coping Zones," I countered though I chuckled nonetheless.
"Oh shush it you," she scolded before dropping the humor, "I'm going to set it. It's going to be quick since it wasn't a full dislocation, but nonetheless it will hurt."
"Mary, I do know what a dislocation is and how it is to be fixed. You know this better than most I would think." I rolled my eyes but still steadied myself and started taking deep breaths.
Scoffing at me, she shook her head before jerking her hands. A distinct pop occurred followed by pain emanating from the base of the injury. I clenched my teeth but it quickly fell away to mild throbs and I found it distinctively easier to bend and twist.
"Thank you," I spoke, getting of the cot. "I really should be going though. As is, I have stayed here a little longer than I expected." I sighed, knowing that Sherlock probably wouldn't be home. No doubt he is out chasing some other bloke from another mysterious organization that I have not known of. Even thinking of the chase was making me envious of the man, along with the borderline concern following it.
Danger prone. Accident magnet. A bloody idiot. All of these followed after him. He was a complete fool sometimes, even more oblivious than he claims me to be, but he would never admit or see that. That would deplete him of his pride and god forbid he actually do that.
While rustling my hair in thought of the bothersome detective, I reached out for the door handle. When I was about to grasp it, it opened on its own. I jumped back, fully aware that it couldn't be a doctor since no one knocked as procedure went.
That shock plummeted to irritation as I gazed at Sherlock. He didn't look a twinge out of breath, but every part of him expressed his chase. The scarf around his neck wrapped uncomfortably across his neck from the wind and even his Belstaff coat was off its usual meticulous posture. His face and body, physically, however, was perfectly fine. His face wasn't darkened from the activity and even his breathing was normal.
"John," he nodded to Mary next to me before grabbing me by the forearm (the spark accompanying it being a jolt to my system) and pulling me out of the room. I gave a quick wave to Mary and followed him. When we were on the first floor, I ripped my arm from his grip and stopped him. He gave me a look of exasperation but I shook my head.
"I would love to follow you on your endeavors, Sherlock, but I was under the impression that you would be gone until the evening."
"As I was. Have you not checked the time, yet?" I followed what he said and checked the time on my phone, surprised when it read 8:56 pm. I looked up and Sherlock was texting someone. It was quick and I caught the last glimpse of S.H. on his phone when he sent it and put his phone away.
"As I was saying before, I require your services."
"Another case?" I asked and he nodded.
"Yes, another case though certainly by the same man that we encountered last night. Apparently he didn't go to J.M. as planned, or if he did this anonymous individual is closer than expected. Much closer."
"That still doesn't explain why you need me," I reminded and he sighed and started walking. I took this as his clue to get moving and quickly matched his step as he spoke.
"Murder. I need you to see a murder."
"A murder?" I cried and then regained my composure. "A murder of whom? Also, I am a clinical doctor, not a mortician. I cannot secure a valid description-"
"But," he interrupted, unaware of my glare, "You were an army doctor before this as you love to point out it appears. That being said, I am sure you have seen plenty of blood and murders in your vocation. It would be infrequent if you hadn't seen such ordeals occur and quite the lie, wouldn't you say?"
Opening the door, he held it to me as I walked out, waving at all the curious nurses and doctors following us.
"So, doctor, saying you are only a simple clinical doctor would be like saying that compositions from Bach or Beethoven were just pressing a few little keys. You are certainly fit for diagnosing bodies. You have seen numerous bodies from common bullet wounds to suicides. Do you not miss the rush it gives to be at the front of these corpses and being able to tell what happened to them?"
I kept silent and hailed a cab. Ignoring that his hand slid from my forearm to my wrist.
"Don't you miss knowing what happened to them? Knowing why their blood stopped in their veins? No, wait, you are not like that, are you John? You like to know who did it to them and replace justice, don't you?"
I thinned my lips and traced the roads for the familiar black cabs, spotting one in the distance.
Sherlock chuckled and I broke my concentration with the street to meet him in the eye. What was amusing to him now? I certainly wasn't amused with how accurate he was being. Definitely not. Impressed? Maybe. But definitely not amused.
"What?" A cab pulled up to the curb soon after my reply and the driver motioned for us to enter.
"You didn't have to say a word for me to be certain of my assumptions. Your actions revealed everything. First of all, ever since I have mentioned this to you, you have not visibly denied it or even turned back to go inside. You haven't abandoned my approach or even volunteered to change it. You miss it John. I can tell. I haven't the faintest idea why you would try to mask such fancies in front of a person of my standard or even of my occupation."
With that, he stepped into the cab. I stood there for a moment, thinking over what he said. Annoyance, irritation, and utter fascination overwhelmed me. To think, this man was going to be my mate. To think that such a bloke would actually suit my standards.
It… didn't seem so far off now.
But neither were his remarks.
"Damn it," I cursed, giving a heavy sigh and releasing a smile before entering the cab.