Sherlock decided he would come down for lunch. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before and while he normally wouldn't care, he wanted his ankle to heal quickly and without a trace, which meant he needed to eat. At least a little.
Before he went down, he checked the wrappings. His left foot was looking slightly darker than the right. Obviously the bruises had come into full bloom. He pulled the bandage a little tighter, then pulled on a pair of thick socks to hide it.
Lunch was a simple affair of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, plain peanut butter for Mycroft, who didn't like jelly, that was over quickly. Sherlock was relieved to be the first one to finish. He brought his plate and glass over to the sink and rinsed them off and then made his escape into the living room and up the stairs.
Except, he didn't make it up the stairs. Halfway up the stairs, he must have stepped the wrong way or on the wrong spot, or maybe his ankle just didn't feel like cooperating, but just as he set his foot down it twinged particularly painfully and Sherlock was sent tumbling down the stairs.
"Sherlock!"
"Are you okay?"
"Did you hit your head when you fell?"
Everyone rushed into the living room, where Sherlock was laying half upside down at the foot of the stairs. He rolled himself around to be right side up again, an embarrassed flush painting his cheeks red.
"I'm fine," he growled.
"Let me see, dear," said Mrs. Hudson. He scowled.
"I'm fine," he repeated, but she didn't listen to him. She took his hand and pulled him to his feet, then looked over him top to bottom with an appraising eye. He waited impatiently for her to finish.
"And you're sure you didn't hit your head on the way down?" she asked him at last. He nodded. "Let me help you walk upstairs to your room. I assume that's where you were going?"
"I don't need help," he said. "I can manage myself. I'mfine."
"Let's go," she said, completely ignoring his statement. "Boys, go finish your lunch."
As he walked, he couldn't help but limp. His ankle hurt much worse than it had before he'd fallen and he really hoped he hadn't injured it worse. Mrs Hudson noted his limp, but she didn't say anything as they walked.
Up in his room was a different matter. She helped him sit down on his bed, but instead of making to leave as he'd hoped she would, she sat down on the end of his bed and looked at him. He refused to look back, instead eyeing his still unpacked duffle bag, which sat on the floor a few feet from the foot of the bed.
"How are you, Sherlock? Don't say you're fine. We can tell you aren't. John is worried about you," she said. He made no reply.
"Is there anything you want to talk about? Or anything we can do to help you get settled in?" she asked. He shrugged; there was nothing he wanted to tell her.
"All right, if you're sure. Let me have a look at that ankle then."
"It's the right one," he said. She raised a brow.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure," he muttered.
"I'll look at both of them, then," she said.
"The other one is fine," he said. She nodded.
"Then it won't hurt to have it looked over, will it?" He sighed. He knew the game was up.
"Let me take my socks off myself," he said. He took the right off first, revealing his perfectly fine ankle. She nodded. The left one was not so nice looking. Swollen and blue, it was stretching out the wrappings it was in, and the bruising looked terrible. He bit his lip.
"Oh, Sherlock. That's definitely at least a bad sprain. How long has it been since you bandaged it like that?" she asked, a note of worry in her voice.
"A couple hours," he muttered, again refusing to look her in the eye.
"It's cutting off circulation to your foot, dear. I'm going to take it off. Also, I assume you wrapped it yourself?" He nodded. "This is gauze, not a bandage. You see how thin it is?" He made no reply. "How did this happen?" He shrugged. "I need to know," she told him.
"I..." he started, trailing off, then with a sudden burst of defiant anger, both with her and with himself, "I leapt off the balcony. I was trying to reach that tree, but I missed." She didn't even answer him, only turned his foot over with her hands and examined it closely.
"We're going to have to take this to the doctor," she said absentmindedly, more to herself than to him. He scowled harder.