Naturally Sherlock was awake until almost six in the morning. He couldn't say that he was surprised; that wasn't terribly far off of his estimated time, five thirty. He had hoped, though... well, that only went to show how far that took a person.
Mrs Johnston woke him up at nine, when she woke everyone else up. Breakfast was a quiet affair, for him, of course. Sherlock would not be considered talkative at the best of times, and in his still rather exhausted state, he couldn't bring himself to do much more than nod politely when asked a question. Maybe he didn't need much sleep, but this was pushing it, even for him.
They headed to the hospital after breakfast. Cassidy's doctor had told Mrs Johnston that Cass and Mycroft could probably go home that morning if all went well overnight, so Mrs Johnston was ready to get going as soon as possible to see if they would be released, hurrying them along to finish breakfast and get ready. Sherlock didn't mind all the rushing, though. He would be glad to see John again.
He wasn't sure whether he would be glad to see Mycroft, of course - it was his fault they were all in this predicament - but he would deal with that when it came to that.
Cassidy was still asleep when they arrived ("Lazy bones," whispered Mrs Johnston affectionately), so Michael was more than happy to take Sherlock to see John. He could've found the right room himself, of course, but the last time he had tried wandering about the hospital by himself some pesky nurse had warned him against doing that again, and he felt sure that Mrs Johnston would be rather disappointed if she saw him escorted back to the right room again in shame (not that he cared, he reminded himself. It was time to let go of whatever silly attachment he might have had for her). Besides, Charlie and Rob wanted to come too, and babysitting, Sherlock felt, was best left to people who were not named Sherlock Holmes.
"Sherlock?" John called, as soon as he saw him through his window. His grin lit up his face. "And all of you too!"
"All but Cass, Mycroft, and Mom," Charlie said.
"Where are they?" John asked.
"Cass is going to be checked out this morning, but she's still asleep, so we're letting her rest a little while longer, and Mycroft is supposed to be checked out this morning too, so I think mom's gone to visit him and see if he's all right," Charlie said. John nodded.
"What's it like to spend the night in the hospital?" Michael asked him.
"Haven't you ever done it?" said Rob. Michael shook his head.
"Never in my life," he said solemnly. "The worst injury I ever had was twisting my ankle back when I played soccer -"
"You played soccer?" Charlie interrupted. "How long did you play?"
"Not long," said Michael. "I wasn't very good at it, and like I said, I twisted my ankle playing it - that was near the end of the year - so I only played one season."
"Oh," John said, disappointed. "You know, we have enough people in our family to make a whole soccer team. I was thinking you could be the goalie, Cass and Mrs Johnston could be the defenders, Mycroft could be the midfielder, and all the rest of us could be the forwards." Rob laughed, the first noise Sherlock had heard him make since he woke up.
"Me as a forward? Maybe Cass and I could trade. I'm not athletic at all," he said, and they all laughed.
"Well, maybe you're right," said John. "Nothing is really set in stone I guess."
They decided to go visit Mycroft after that, and reluctantly Sherlock decided to go with them. If it was horrible, he could always hang back in the doorway until he convinced Michael to leave, or at worst just leave and go back to John's room. It would b the first time Sherlock had seen him since the crash - he hadn't gone to see him yesterday.
John was disappointed to see them go, but he told Sherlock to bring back a full report on how Mycroft was.
"I just wish they'd let me see him for a few minutes," he said, grumpy. "I haven't seen him since before we all got into ambulances. It's not fair."
"Life isn't fair," Sherlock told John. He didn't look consoled.
Sherlock's plan did not quite go to fruition, however. Mycroft's reaction upon seeing him was much the same as John's, although backwards, since instead of leading the way Sherlock was in the back of the pack. Sherlock was surprised to see what appeared to be genuine concern on his brother's face.
"Sherlock! Are you okay? Why on earth didn't you come and visit yesterday?!" he demanded. Michael all but pushed Sherlock over to the bed, and Mycroft grabbed his sleeve. "Did you miss the part where we all were in a car accident?! And hearing that you're okay from everyone else is not the same as seeing you!" Sherlock glared at him.
"What do you care?" he said, defensive. "And let go of my sleeve!" He yanked his arm away from Mycroft's grasp. Mycroft stared at him in disbelief.
"What kind of stupid question is that?" he demanded. "You're my brother, of course I care! Did you honestly believe that just avoiding me was a good solution? I know you're mad at me for... for this," he gesticulated towards the others, "no offense to all of you of course - and I am sure that you blame me for this," he turned back to Sherlock and gestured vaguely around the hospital room,"but Sherlock!" He stopped and took a breath. After a moment, Sherlock felt the need to continue -
"Yes, Mycroft?" he said in his coldest voice -
"We are in a hospital room, Sherlock, and I am in a hospital bed! Do I really need to continue?!"
"Maybe not," said Sherlock sullenly. Mycroft had certainly not made his point clear, but at this point Sherlock was just ready for him to be done. Mycroft continued nonetheless.
"You're my brother, you idiot. I care about you." Sherlock stared at him. "I literally could not say this in plainer terms. Use your supposedly ridiculously large brain to figure it out." Mycroft turned away in disgust, then suddenly turned back and enveloped Sherlock in a hug. Sherlock resisted at first, of course, but eventually - he didn't hug him back, but he submitted to the hug.
"Aww," said Michael. "You two are finally making up. Now maybe we'll be able to eat a meal together without you shooting dagger-eyed glares across the table at him." Everyone laughed, and Mycroft let go of Sherlock, who moved away and sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of the room. He grabbed his chart as he walked past the foot of the bed - John had asked for a full report, after all - and began to read it, carefully ignoring them all.