Chapter Text
Sherlock had taken his own stitches out of his hand a few days later. John had brought home a removal kit from work and announced his intention to remove them, but Sherlock lifted his hand in the air, not taking his eyes off of his laptop long enough to acknowledge John and simply said "already done" before he went back to work with whatever research he had been doing.
"Right. Okay." John shrugged. He really didn't like it when Sherlock took medical business into his own hands. Mostly he was worried about him ignoring major signs but he supposed a minor thing like hand stitches wasn't that big of a deal so he let it go. "I probably should've given you a tetanus booster. I'll bring one home tomorrow."
"Already done."
"Really?" John said doubtfully. "You've already had a booster? From who then? I thought you didn't have a GP."
"Mycroft."
"Mycroft? What does he ..."
"He didn't deliver the medication. Anthea injected it. Mycroft ordered her to do it. Obviously." He dug a piece of paper that looked an awful lot like a vaccination record out of his pocket and handed it over to John.
John nodded. Everything was definitely in order. "How did Mycroft know you injured your hand?"
"There is very little Mycroft doesn't know."
"And he just took it upon himself to vaccinate you," John said indignantly. "He's not a doctor. Anthea is not a doctor."
Sherlock looked at John with confusion. John noticed Sherlock and decided he had to reign in his anger and stop feeling like it was solely John's responsibility to handle Sherlock's medical care. He supposed Mycroft had probably been handling simple things like this for a long time, given Sherlock's history and the fact Mycroft could probably have access to any sort of vaccine he needed with a simple phone call. Hell, Sherlock was probably vaccinated against Dengue Fever and African sleeping sickness just because Mycroft was over protective that way with his brother. Whatever. It was fine. Sherlock was taken care of. That was what was important.
A month later and John hadn't had to treat Sherlock for any injuries at all. If anything, Sherlock had become more careful than ever. He actually left the tracking down of criminals to Scotland Yard and turned down the chases through back alleys and leaping from roof to roof. It was BORING. He actually stopped bringing toxic substances into the flat altogether. It was an obvious work around for their deal about not letting injuries go without proper treatment.
John thought about Sherlock's issue during his medical exam and then his hand injury. Treating his injuries hadn't been an issue before John found out about the medical kink Sherlock obviously had, but he hadn't really known Sherlock all that long beforehand. He had to chalk up this new-found safety-mindedness to Sherlock's 'problem'. Sherlock was embarrassed and he didn't want to be caught out like that anymore even though he had explained to Sherlock that it was fine--no big deal. Everyone has their things that make them go, but it was another issue to be caught outright. John supposed he understood and it really was none of his business. It's not like their friendship was based completely on Sherlock's gravitation toward danger. Yes, it was boring but he was happy his friend was staying away from danger and away from being injured.
John was already on his way to meet Sherlock at the crime scene when he received a call from Lastrade. The semi-panicked voice made him anxious to get there sooner and he told the cabbie in a very curt voice to "step on it." When he arrived he heard Sherlock yelling "For God's sake" and "idiot" a lot. He was apparently conscious so that was good. The gathered crowd of Yarders parted to allow John through.
"There you are." Lestrade sounded relieved.
John took in the scene quickly. "What happened?" as he knelt down in front of his freind lying flat on the ground with a bloody towel wrapped around his thigh. 'Well, someone knows first aid' he thought as he took in the young, female, apparently new, constable who was holding Sherlock's head tightly telling him he should remain still after such a fall because of possible spinal injury.
"I fell two feet. My legs are obviously working, I'm still breathing and I did not hit my head. Please let go of me and do stop helping your brother study for his medic license." He stopped when he noticed John in his line of sight. "Ah, my doctor is here. Doctor trumps you. John tell her to let go of my head!"
John looked to the young girl. "I think it's okay to let him go. I'll keep his spine safe. Promise."
She huffed and walked away.
"He won't let me call an ambulance, of course, but that leg is bleeding pretty good, right?" Lestrade said kneeling down to talk to John.
"Looks like the bleeding has mostly stopped," John assessed when he removed the cloth to have a look. "No ambulance. I'll treat him at home." He gave Sherlock a knowing wink.
Sherlock thinned his lips in anger. "Wrong!" Sherlock slumped back on the ground once more. "Lestrade, I'll go to A&E"
"What?" Lestrade and John both said at once.
"You heard me, call an ambulance. I'm going to A&E. John, text my brother and tell him not to come. You know if me and an ambulance are within 30 yards of one another he shows up."
Lestrade shrugged and went to call an ambulance. John knelt next to Sherlock's head and started to examine Sherlock while trying to talk to the man discreetly.
"Look, the nature of your injury is very close to ... well let's just say it might be a bit embarrasing when they start to examine you."
Sherlock huffed and turned his head away from John in an obvious sulk.
Thankfully, Sherlock had the forsight to remove his own coat before the ambulance showed up. They did cut away any clothing that was in the way of doing a proper assessment of his wounds and also to started an IV in his arm. Sherlock was annoyed they wouldn't allow him to remove his favorite purple shirt because of the "spine precautions". That young, new constable looked smug when they loaded Sherlock onto a gurney with a full neck brace and back board. John helped them load Sherlock into the back of the ambulance and told Sherlock he'd meet him at A&E.
"No, you're not going anywhere. Get up here and ride with me. You don't leave my side," Sherlock demanded.
"All right, all right." John turned to the medic, glanced at the woman's name badge and smiled at her, "Maggie, he gets car sick. Violently car sick. Curls up into fetal position at the mention of any four-wheeled vehicle."
"Especially ones with sirens," Sherlock added helpfully.
"Mind if I ride along then?"
Maggie rolled her eyes. "You only had to ask. Get in."
John was surprised that Sherlock's 'problem' hadn't surfaced at all. The medics had to cut away his trousers all the way up to his groin to get the material out of the way. They had manhandled him and examined him thoroughly.
Once the vehicle was moving, Sherlock looked directly at John but asked, "Maggie, how is the bleeding? Perhaps you should move the bandage and have a look."
"No, we don't remove the bandage because it might break up the clot that's already formed and start it bleeding again. We'll see about it when we get to hospital."
"Hmm... I'm feeling a bit short of breath." Sherlock gave a shallow cough to add to the effect. John knew he was bullshitting but wondered what the hell he was playing at.
Of course, Maggie got out her stethoscope and opened Sherlock's shirt, placing the diaghragm of the instrument here and there on his chest. Then she tugged at more buttons and pulled the material apart completely, searching Sherlock's torso for injury, adding sticky electrode pads to his chest and hooking him up to the cardiac monitor.
When Maggie was turned toward the EKG machine, John mouthed "what are you doing?" to Sherlock.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "John, I'm so hot, can you please remove the blanket from my legs."
While Maggie was busy yammering on about fever and risk for sepsis, John rolled his eyes and removed the blanket. Sherlock motioned toward his trousers with a flourish in an obvious effort to prove his point to John.
In the hustle from ambulance to A&E, John had a moment to ask, "Sherlock, what the hell was that about? You are fine, right?"
"Of course, I'm fine. I'm proving a point to you." He lifted his blanket once more.
John took the edge of the blanket and put it back into place. "Yes, fine. I got it but that's not ... obviously it wasn't an issue." John shook his head. "Nevermind all that. Let's just finish this and get home, all right?"
"What do you mean it wasn't an issue? Do you think I have a medical kink or not? Was that not proof that I don't?"
John looked around anxiously. "Shh ... jeezus christ. Sherlock, we are in the wrong place for you to prove that to me and besides, it doesn't matter. I told you ... we're fine. It's all fine. There's no need for all this."
"It does matter and we're in the perfect place. Tell me why that didn't count."
John took a breath, looked at the ceiling and then back at Sherlock. "Well, you are gay, right?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "So I have a purely homosexual kink. You obviously have something to base this scientific deduction on, I'm sure. Please enlighten me."
"Sherlock. Seriously, not here. Really, not here. We'll go home and talk about it if you want. We don't have to, but apparently you want to, so lets go home."
In a flury, Sherlock was whisked away with John trailing behind. Clothing was removed, xrays taken, morphine was given, labs drawn until finally the two were the only ones left in the room besides the handsome young doctor.
"We're going to go ahead and remove the neck brace and roll you off of the back board and then I'llgive you a good once over and stitch you up. Sound okay?" The doctor asked.
"Yes, thank you, Doctor." Once he was off of the dreadful board, Dr Humphrey adjusted the head of the gurney and Sherlock was able to see the entire room. John furrowed his brow when he noticed Sherlock had a look of challenge on his face. He knew Sherlock and he knew this was definitely going to be a bit not good.
Dr. Humphrey finished examining Sherlock and then turned toward John. "I'll have to expose him a bit in order to do the stitching. You might want to step out for this."
"Oh no, John has seen me naked many times. He can stay." Sherlock announced loud enough for everyone in the department to hear.
"Jeezus christ, Sherlock." John straightened his posture, lifted his head and puffed his chest. "Yep, loads of times. Many many sorts of time I've seen him naked. Doesn't bother me a bit."
Dr. Humphrey looked at Sherlock and then at John again. "Right. Got it," and proceeded to treat Sherlock's wound. "I'm going to put some morphine into your IV. Do you have someone to look after you at home tonight? I don't want to send you home with this stuff in your system if you live alone. I could admit you for observation for the night." The doctor pushed the medication into Sherlock's IV.
"John and I live together," Sherlock helpfully explained.
John let out a long sigh.
"Bully for you, mate," the doctor said.
"Oh, nononono ... John's not gay. Right John? Do not, under any circumstances confuse him with being attracted to men. He just won't stand for it. Right John?"
"He's my flatmate," John explained and apparently we're having a bit of a row. Sorry about all this."
"Yes, John is just my flatmate and my doctor. Not my boyfriend. Don't confuse him with my boyfriend at all," Sherlock slurred. "We should probably have that announced overhead, just to be on the safe side."
John produced his NHS ID card. "I am his doctor. I would be happy to finish him up and take him home if you'd like." John looked at Sherlock who was snoring softly.
Dr. Humphrey gave John's card a good looking at. "Where do you work?"
"I'm a GP in Westminster, near Regent's Park."
"You can do stitches?"
"I was a combat physician in Kandahaar before this job."
Dr. Humphrey nodded approvingly. "It's a bit irregular, but," he snapped his gloves off, "all right. I have another trauma coming in any minute and it doesn't look like he'll notice the difference," he motioned toward Sherlock.
"Probably not." John agreed.
"I'll leave you to it then." Dr Humphrey left John with the supplies he would need as another gurney was wheeled in through the ambulance bay.
John was sipping his morning tea when he finally heard Sherlock moving about in his room. He moved toward him quickly before Sherlock did something to knock his stitches loose.
"Good morning, sunshine," John said too loudly.
"Good God, get that smile off of your face. It is way too loud." Sherlock tried to move out of bed but it seemed as though his limbs were not working properly. "I'm completely naked. Why in the hell am I naked?"
"That was your doing. I'm pretty sure that was the reason Mycroft left though."
"Mycroft?!"
"Yep."
"Didn't you text him?"
"Yep, but he showed up just as we were leaving and had his driver bring us home."
"Ow, shit!" Sherlock went to grab at the source of pain in his thigh and then remembered what he had said yesterday in A&E. He face-palmed and shook his head. "They gave me morphine."
"Yes. Lots of it."
"John, I ... I,"
"It's fine. No harm done."
"Except that I ..."
"Like I said no harm done. We're fine."
Sherlock nodded in response.
"Except, I just don't understand the point of it all. I ended up stitching you up anyway which I could have done just as well here."
Sherlock sighed resignedly. "Can I shower with this?" he motioned toward his thigh.
John crossed his arms, saying nothing for a moment. Apparently Sherlock was going to be just as forthcoming with answers today as he was yesterday. Fine. "Yes," he moved toward Sherlock and pulled back the blanket. "I'll take off the dressing and you can shower. I need to check the stitches anyway." He pulled back the tape as gently as he could trying not to remove all of Sherlock's leg hair. He winced in sympathy as he felt it pull the hair out no matter how careful he tried to be. Finally he just ripped it off, better to get it over with. "Sorry."
Sherlock nodded curtly, biting his lip.
John assessed the area, noted the stitches were still well placed, the skin knitting back together nicely, no increased bruising to the area and then he noticed Sherlock's penis becoming thicker and thicker by the second. It was hard to miss. It had been laying there lazily on Sherlock's thigh just a couple inches away from the wound. John looked up toward Sherlock's face, surprise evident.
Sherlock grabbed his sheet quickly and made a hasty retreat to the bathroom.
"Oh my God, I'm an idiot." John told himself