Chapter Text
John
Dr. John Watson had had an incredibly long day at the hospital. Most days were long days if he was being honest but there's been an influx in people coming in for a stomach virus and John wasn't entirely sure how many more times he could take being vomited on in a day before he went completely mental. It was days like this that John had to constantly remind himself of why he'd become a doctor in the first place. He'd wanted to help people and he incessantly needed to tell himself that every person he saw with a 24 hour bug needed his help.
The last patient he was seeing was in room 104, John grabbed the chart from the nurse's station and headed there, glancing over the file on his way. It was a John Doe who'd come in a few hours ago and had been moved to an isolated room shortly thereafter because he was aggravating other patients and other doctors.
Lovely. They always gave John these cases, in part because he was the newest on the staff and in part because he seemed to have a way with rowdy, disorderly patients. He took a deep breath and rapped on the door before stepping inside.
"Hello." He said as he came in and closed the door behind himself, "My name is Dr. Watson. What seems to be the trouble, sir?"
It was at that moment he looked up from the chart to see his patient. The man couldn't have been more than 20 or 21, only a few years younger than John himself by the looks of it. He had dark, unruly curly hair and looked quite gangly and underweight, if truth be told. And when he looked up John was completely taken by surprise at the set of eyes that met his. They were a stunning mix of blues and greens and greys that John couldn't begin to label if he tried. His eyes, while they seemed to pierce straight through John, were also dilated and a bit glassy; he was clearly high.
He cleared his throat. "I'm Doctor Watson."
"You've said that already." His patient interrupted him.
John blinked at him, "I suppose I have. Well it's no less true now than it was a few minutes ago." John walked over to the bed and clicked his pen, “What’s your name?”
His patient cleared his throat, “Sherlock.”
John was surprised he’d come out with it so quickly. From the looks of the notes every nurse and doctor in the main part of the hospital had tried to get it out of him and failed. John wondered if it was his high was wearing off.
The patient huffed, “It’s not because the high is wearing off,” he said and John momentarily wondered if he’d said the last bit aloud. “Although the high is in fact wearing off.”
“How did you know that’s what I was thinking about?” John asked curiously.
“Your surprise when I gave you my name was obvious, then the way your eyebrows settled back and the way you nodded just slightly to yourself indicated you had come up with a plausible reason for my acquiescence. You’re a doctor and therefore you deduced I was high and assumed I was having a bad trip earlier on but have started to come out of it. I wasn’t having a bad trip, Doctor, I never do. I know exactly how much to take to simply slow my mind down and escape the tedium of people at University.”
“That was brilliant.” John murmured. Sherlock looked up at him in surprise. “Well, not the taking drugs bit, that is really terrible for your body and someone as clever as you clearly are should know that you don’t control the drugs, the drugs control you. But your inference about what I was thinking was really clever.”
Sherlock wrinkled his nose up, “Do you think so?”
“Yes.” John said with a nod. Then he cleared his throat, “So tell me, Sherlock, what brought you in today if you weren’t having a bad trip.”
The brightness in Sherlock’s eyes dimmed a bit and he looked down at his hands curled around the blanket. John felt his stomach sink, he’d seen that look before, far too many times.
He sat down in the chair beside the bed, “Listen,” he said softly, “Anything you say here is strictly between us, there is nothing you can say here that anyone can make me repeat.”
Sherlock scowled and turned to glare at John, “I don’t need your pity, Doctor. How dull. How boring. And you were doing so well.”
John swallowed back a snarky retort, “Alright, why don’t you tell me what happened and I can treat you and send you on your way, then.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I fell down the stairs.” he said, his voice devoid completely of emotion.
“You expect me to believe that, do you?”
Sherlock shrugged, “I can’t control what you believe, Dr. Watson. But if you examine my injuries you’ll find them to be consistent with injuries sustained from falling down a flight of stairs. And I was high, as you’ll recall.”
John sighed, “Right. Tell me about your injuries, then. Where are they to start?”
“I have a couple of bruised ribs but they aren’t broken, a sprained wrist, and my knee was banged up pretty badly. The paramedic took a look at my knee on the scene he thought it might have been dislocated. He’s an idiot. Although I could use a bit of morphine for the pain.”
“Ha. Ha.” John said, “Not bloody likely, and you know it.”
“Worth a try.” Sherlock mumbled.
“Well, let’s just take a look then, shall we?” John asked as he rose from the chair and went to the sink to wash his hands.
“Is that really necessary? I told you what was wrong, I probably wouldn’t have come in the first place if the paramedics hadn’t dragged me here.”
John dried his hands on a paper towel and tossed it before moving back to the bed. “It’ll be quick and as painless as possible, I promise.”
“Is that what you tell all the boys?” Sherlock snarked.
John froze, completely surprised by Sherlock’s words, he felt the tips of his ears heat up and he cleared his throat.
“Sorry.” Sherlock murmured. “That was a deduction I wasn’t expecting. You really don’t seem bisexual, I’m sure most of the staff thinks you’re straight.”
“Right.” John said, “I’m sorry, how...?”
“You have a bit of product in your hair, you’re well groomed and obviously care about your appearance and even though you’re only wearing scrubs they’re clean and pressed. You’re overly compassionate and gentle for a male. Although those stereotypes obviously don’t fit everyone, it just sort of came out, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
And he really did seem sorry, John thought, “It’s fine.” he said with a bit of a shrug. “Most people don’t seem to notice even when I want them to.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and John felt himself flush further, “Sorry. That was completely unprofessional.” Get it together, Watson . He seethed at himself, this is your job. Be a bloody professional.
“It’s alright.” Sherlock said, a grin tipping up the corner of his lips. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
John rolled his eyes, “Shirt off, please.” John said, gesturing to the black t-shirt he was wearing with the words ‘May the d/dt (mv) be with you.’ printed across the chest. John grinned at him, “Although I do like your shirt.” He reached out and gently prodded Sherlock’s ribs, feeling for any anomalies in the smooth bone. “You’re rather thin.” John commented. “When was the last time you had a decent meal?” Sherlock started to respond but John looked up at him, “And I mean a real meal with real nutrients present. I’m not that far out of Uni myself and I know the kind of shite you eat there.”
Sherlock shrugged, “I don’t really need to eat much.”
“Tell that to your body.” John said. “Deep breath.” He watched Sherlock’s rib cage expand and contract, not missing the way he winced. “Good.”
“Eating slows me down.” Sherlock said. “It makes my brain feel like it’s moving through sludge.”
“But wasn’t that the point of the heroin?” John asked, more to point out the fallacy in Sherlock’s thinking than to reinforce the recreational use of drugs.
Sherlock huffed, “It’s different.”
John hummed, “I wouldn’t know.” he said as he walked around the side of the bed to look at Sherlock’s back. When John reached out Sherlock flinched and after a moment John saw why. His back was covered in bruises at various stages of recovery; some were a deep red-purple whilst others had begun to turn yellow and Sherlock had tiny circular burn marks pressed into his spine. John fought down the urge to wretch or punch someone. “Let me treat those.” he said softly but firmly. He snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and started cleaning out the burns as gently as he could; Sherlock still flinched in spite of John’s attempt at broadcasting his movements.
“What no lecture?” Sherlock asked between gritted teeth.
“Would it help? Would it change anything?” John asked sincerely as he began to apply some ointment to the marks. There were nine of them and John fought to control his outrage at the monster who had done this. Professional Distance. His mind chanted at him.
Sherlock didn’t say anything as John covered them with gauze and John felt compelled to continue, “Look, Sherlock, I’m not judging you.” John said, when Sherlock turned to look at him skeptically, John raised his eyebrows, “I’m really not.” he said sincerely. “You are so bright and you know what this... this....” John exhaled shakily and shook his head. “You know that what is happening to you is wrong, don’t you?”
Sherlock scoffed at him, putting on a brave face but John could see the insecurity in his eyes; he knew what that fear looked like, what it looked like when people had stopped believing in their own worth.
John continued the examination, taking Sherlock’s arm in his hand and checking his wrist. It appeared to be just as Sherlock had said, a sprain and nothing more. “There are options.” John continued as he moved down to Sherlock’s legs, the pants had been cut off at his thigh on his right leg and John gingerly pressed against the swollen flesh surrounding his bruised knee cap.
He reached down and felt for the pulse on the top Sherlock’s foot. Sherlock jerked and then let out a groan of pain as he jostled his knee. John looked up at him, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.” Sherlock said his breath hissing out between his teeth. “I’m ticklish.”
“I just need to check and make sure your pulse is still strong in your foot, there are a lot of bad things that can happen when you hurt your knee.” John said carefully feeling for a pulse. The pulse felt strong and John breathed a sigh of relief.
“Alright, I want to have some scans done.” John said, “I want to have an X-ray done of your ribs, I want one of your wrist, and I want one of your knee.”
“Unnecessary.” Sherlock said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Oy.” John said, “Which one of us is the doctor around here?” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John continued, “I worked very hard for that little M.D. attached to the end of my name, so you’re bloody well going to listen to me and have those scans so I can be sure nothing is seriously wrong when I send you home, yes?”
Sherlock nodded once. “Fine.”
“Good.” John said with a nod. “I’ll go and get the tests ordered, then. Are you going to be completely unreasonable if I have one of the nurses take you to have the scans done?”
“I’m not unreasonable!” Sherlock protested.
“That’s not what your chart says.” John said with a grin. “They were all completely traumatized by you.”
Sherlock huffed, “Well if they don’t want other people to know who is having affairs with whom they shouldn’t make it so bloody obvious.”
John laughed, “You’ll find no argument from me.” He sighed and glanced down at his watch. His shift was supposed to have been over two hours ago. “Alright, let me go see how long it’ll be to get you in and I’ll be back. Don’t upset my nurses in the meantime, yes?”
Sherlock nodded and John headed out and up to radiology, shouting to the nurse on duty in the station across from Sherlock’s room, “Lucy, who’s on in radiology tonight? Please say Stamford.”
Lucy looked at a chart, “Ummmm. Yes, looks like Stamford.”
“Perfect.” John said with a grin. He sprinted up the stairs and into radiology. “Stamford!” he called out, startling the man running the machines.
“Fuck!” he shouted and John laughed.
“How long of a wait is there to have some x-rays run?” John asked.
Stamford turned and looked at John over the top of his glasses, “It’s 6, John. I was supposed to stop an hour ago. She’s the last one I have before I go home for the night.”
“Can you run one more patient?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on, Mike. Please? It’s important.” John pleaded.
Mike shook his head, “No, John.” he turned back to taking scans of the woman in the MRI. “They’re all important. And I’m supposed to be going on a date at 7 and I have to go home and shower first.” he said.
“It’s the victim of an abusive relationship.” John said quietly. “I don’t think he’s going to stay the night and I doubt he’d come back in the morning if I asked him to. I’ll owe you one. First round’s on me the next time we go out?”
Mike sighed, but John knew he had won; Mike was a softie, it’s why he was still here on a Friday night an hour after his shift was supposed to have ended. “Fine, but the whole tab is on you when we go out.”
“Deal.” John said, patting Mike on the shoulder. “You’re the best, I’ll bring him up.”
John headed back downstairs and knew there was trouble before he even got to the room. One of his nurses, Lucy, was shouting something. John couldn’t quite make out the words but she didn’t sound happy.
“What is going on in here?!” John asked.
Lucy turned and glared at John, “He sits here, so high and mighty judging everyone else but he’s just some stupid drug addict, Uni kid.”
“That’s enough.” John said softly, but his voice brooked no argument. “You’re relieved of your obligation to check in on Sherlock. He’ll be under my direct care for the rest of his stay here. Thank you.”
She huffed and stomped out of the room, John turned to Sherlock, “I asked for one thing.” he said, exasperated. “All I asked for when I left was that you didn’t upset my nurses.” He grabbed the wheelchair in the corner and wheeled it over to Sherlock’s bed, “And Lucy is the worst one to piss off. She’ll be fuming for days.” he said. “But you probably knew that already.”
Sherlock huffed as John helped him onto the edge of the bed, “No weight on that knee, do you understand me?” John asked. “We’ll get you turned around and in this chair and then we’ll head up to Radiology.”
“Yes, sir.” Sherlock muttered sarcastically.
John didn’t give him much of a choice in the way he got into the chair using John’s support, Sherlock didn’t weigh very much and John all but picked him up.
“So why didn’t you join the army?” Sherlock asked casually as John started wheeling him toward the elevator.
“Stop it!” John said, completely shocked.
Sherlock’s head ducked down, his shoulders curling in on themselves.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” John said as he pushed the button to summon the elevator. “I just meant there is no way you could have guessed I was going to be in the military. Someone had to have told you.”
The elevator arrived with a ding and John pushed Sherlock in, Sherlock straightened his shoulders, “I don’t guess .” he looked over at John.
“Well go on then. Impress me. Again.”
Sherlock practically preened, “Your hair, for starters, it’s grown out a bit now but you can tell you aren’t used to it being the length it is. You keep brushing it back off your forehead and you run your hands through your hair much more often than someone used to wearing product in their hair would. Then there’s your mannerisms; you’re brusque and to the point but it’s obviously a trait which you’ve been trained to have, since you tend to ramble when you’re feeling sentimental or having an emotional reaction to something. In addition to the blunt way you speak, you issue commands the way someone used to receiving commands would. Deduction; you were trained to go into the military, most likely to pay for your schooling, but have backed out. That’s the most likely reason you’ve picked up the extra shifts here, to make up the difference to pay back your loans. Additionally, that’s the reason you’ve stayed so late to help me; the extra bit of money from overtime doesn’t hurt.”
“That’s amazing.” John watched as a flush colored Sherlock’s cheeks at the praise.
“Do you think so?” Sherlock asked.
“Yes. It’s completely extraordinary.” John said matter of factly.
“That isn’t what people normally say.” Sherlock said.
“What do people normally say?” John asked.
“Some variation of piss off.” Sherlock said, a grin tipping up at the corner of his mouth as though he felt he was sharing a joke with John.
John snorted, and thought perhaps he might have been as he felt a matching grin fall into place on his own face. “You weren’t completely right, though.” John said.
“What did I miss?” Sherlock asked.
They stopped at the 3rd floor and John pushed the wheelchair out of the door, “I’m not here because I want the overtime. I’m here because you need someone to care about you and I want to be that person, even if it’s only for the next few hours.”
Sherlock looked over his shoulder at him, speechless for a moment; his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to decide whether John was being sincere or not. John let him look his fill.
“So why didn’t you go into the army?” Sherlock asked again after a pause.
“What, you can’t deduce it?” John teased. “My mom got sick.” he confessed. “She has cancer and she’s dying. I just couldn’t go overseas and risk never seeing her again.”
“I’m sorry.” Sherlock said again and John couldn't help thinking that he was incredibly polite for someone whom everyone though had no manners.
John hit the button that opened the door to the machines they would use to run scans on Sherlock’s body. “It’s just the way life goes sometimes. Besides, I probably would have gotten myself shot over there, anyway.”
He helped Sherlock up onto the table, “Listen, I just need to finish up a couple of charts while Mike does the scans, alright? I’ll be back before you’re done.” John wasn’t quite sure whom he was trying harder to reassure, Sherlock or himself, but for some reason he was determined to make Sherlock understand that he was someone he could rely on.
Sherlock nodded, and in that moment he looked so young and frail, and John felt his heart clench painfully. A moment later, Sherlock straightened his spine and attempted to put a mask of indifference on his face; it was clearly something he’d had a fair bit of practice with and John wished with all his heart that he hadn’t.
“I’ll be back. I promise.” John said once more before turning and heading out of the room and next door to where Mike was. “I need scans of his ribs, his wrist, and his knee.” he told Mike. “I just have to finish up some charts and I’ll be back up. If you’re done before I get back up here, page me.”
“Righto.” Mike said as he headed in to get the machines set up around Sherlock.
John headed back downstairs to finish filling out his charts and found the head of trauma standing there finishing hers as well. “What are you still doing here, John?” she asked looking down at her watch. “Weren’t you supposed to have left two and a half hours ago?”
John nodded as he pulled out a couple of files to write some notes in, “Yeah but there’ve been so many people in with that 24 hour bug, then there was the MVA that came in, and I’m just finishing up with my last patient. He’s up having some scans done.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a busy day.” Sarah commented.
John shrugged and filled in a couple of charts, “We all have.” When he finished he glanced down at his watch, he probably still had a few minutes before Mike finished with the scans. “Right, well have a good night, Sarah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night, John.” she replied.
John went down to the cafeteria and convinced the cook to make him a couple of omelets to go. When he'd finished packaging up the food for John, John asked, “Can I have a couple of oranges, too?” John asked. The cook glared at him but handed them over. “Thanks, Sam.” John said, “You’re the best.”
John’s pager went off a moment later and he looked down and saw it was Mike’s code. “Sorry, I’ve got to run. Thanks again.”
A few minutes later he was back upstairs and he all but ran into Mike’s girlfriend. “Hi, Emily.” John said leaning in to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault he’s running late, I really needed these scans.”
She rolled her eyes and opened the door for John, “I’m starting to worry if he’ll even remember what I look like. The hours you keep here, honestly.” she tutted.
Sherlock was back in the wheelchair, looking completely exhausted if John was honest and Mike was packing up his things. “Emily, my sweet,” he said hurriedly, tucking things away into his bag, “You’re early.”
“And you’re late.” she said with a smile.
Mike pressed a kiss to her lips then turned to John, “Your scans were sent to the technician, they’ll be done in an hour or so.”
“Thanks, Mike.” John said, patting his shoulder, “Well you two get out of here, enjoy your evening.”
When Emily was out the door, Sherlock called out to Mike, startling them all, “She’ll say yes.” he said, softly enough that Emily couldn’t hear but Mike could.
Mike stared at him before a grin broke out across his face, “Bloody hell.” he muttered. He pointed at Sherlock then turned and rushed out after Emily.
“He’s proposing?” John asked as he handed the food to Sherlock and started to push them back to Sherlock’s room. “How did you know?”
“He was nervous, he kept talking about his girlfriend and what she was like. He might have been practicing the words he was going to use as descriptors, come to think of it. Then there was the obvious bulge of a ring box in his pocket that he kept fiddling with. He’s clearly smitten with her, as she is with him.”
“You really are the most brilliant person I’ve ever met.” John said as he rolled Sherlock into the elevator.
Sherlock blushed and looked down at his lap, clearly unused to being given compliments. John’s heart positively ached for this man.
When they got back to the room John helped Sherlock back into the bed and pulled over the tray before taking out the containers of food. He opened one of the omelet containers and placed it in front of Sherlock, “Omelets are literally the only passable food Sam can make.” John said grinning as he handed Sherlock a fork.
Sherlock took a bite and hummed approvingly as John sat down and opened his box. “So what are you studying at Uni?” John asked taking a bite of his eggs.
“Chemistry.” Sherlock replied, “But it’s terribly dull. I really thought by this point we would have learned something harder. I thought that was the point of University.”
John poured them both a cup of coffee, “Do you take sugar?” John asked, realizing he’d grabbed neither cream nor sugar from the cafeteria.
Sherlock nodded.
“Sorry, hold that thought, I’ll be right back.” John said as he dashed toward the nurses station and grabbed the sugar and creamer packets they kept behind the desk for when they brought coffee upstairs. He handed Sherlock the sugar and cream packets and watched in amusement as Sherlock proceeded to dump six packets of sugar into his coffee cup. “Not one for bitter drinks, I see.”
Sherlock looked up, a flash of insecurity in his eyes. John just grinned at him, “It’s fine. Dr. Welle can’t stand the taste of coffee either, I’ve never seen a man put that much sugar in his drink and he’s 55.”
Sherlock took a sip of his coffee and his nose wrinkled a bit, “Hospital coffee really is terrible.”
“This is the good stuff, believe it or not. It’s the stuff the cooks make in the kitchen just for themselves.” John said.
“Does everyone owe you favors or something? Or are you just that well like by everyone?” Sherlock asked.
John shrugged and said around a bit of egg, “I try to have good relationships with my coworkers and people like me overall.”
Sherlock nodded, “I can see why.” he said softly before looking back at his eggs.
John felt his chest warm with the praise. “Well, I’m sure you have all sorts of friends at Uni. You’re so clever, I’m sure you could have friends anywhere, be friends with anyone you wanted to be.”
Sherlock snorted. “Hardly.”
John felt his heart sink. Sherlock waved him off, taking a bite of his toast before saying, “It’s fine, Dr. Watson. Whatever you’re going to say about them being jealous or them just not understanding me, or whatever rubbish you were going to spout off there’s no need. I’ve heard every placation imaginable from people whom my parents paid to test me and paid to care.”
“I wasn’t going to placate you.” John said taking another bite.
“Mmmm. That’s not quite true.” Sherlock said.
“I wasn’t!” John protested. “I just don’t understand it, is all.”
“Well, you’ve seen people’s reactions to me first hand, Dr. Watson. Your whole staff thinks I’m mental.” Sherlock said. John could hear the way Sherlock was trying to sound aloof and as though he didn’t really care but he wasn’t quite as good at hiding his emotions as he believed himself to be.
“Well, I don’t think you’re mental. I think you can be a bit rude and brutally honest, but I think the world needs a little more honesty.”
Sherlock snorted, “You only think that because you don’t have any secrets you don’t want people to know.”
John shook his head, “I wouldn’t say that’s true.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he tried to deduce John once more, trying to find his secret. His brow furrowed, “What is it?” he asked.
John chuckled and took a sip of his coffee, “Maybe people just need to get better at hiding their secrets, maybe that’s why they don’t like you; it shows them their weakness.”
Sherlock scowled and John tossed him an orange. Sherlock caught it but set it down on the tray almost immediately. “What am I missing?” he mused. Folding his hands under his chin as though he was praying while staring intently at John.
John grinned at him and popped a piece of orange into his mouth. After a few minutes of Sherlock’s staring John realized he wasn’t going to speak to him, it seemed like he was more looking through him than at him. “Sherlock?” John asked, when there was no response John shrugged and wrote it off as an eccentricity before grabbing a medical journal from his bag and reading.
Sherlock came out of his state a few minutes later and glared at John, “What is it?” he asked again.
John chuckled, “It doesn’t matter.”
Sherlock stared at him and opened his mouth to speak but before he could there was a knock on the door and Bill, the technician who printed the x-rays came in carrying a file, “Hey, Dr. Watson.” he said with a grin, “Here’re those scans you ordered.”
“Thanks, Bill.” John said, taking the file from him with a grin. “Have a good night.” John said with a wave as he opened the file to look at the pictures.
“Right.” John said, flipping through the scans, “Everything looks pretty good, your wrist is sprained, which you deduced. Your knee, on a skeletal level looks fine; rest, ice, compression, and elevation for both your knee and your wrist. I’ll get you a bandage to wrap your knee and a wrap for your wrist before you go.”
He pulled out the picture of Sherlock’s ribs. He moved the empty container off the tray and laid the scans in front of Sherlock, “These are more concerning.” he said. He pointed at the shadowy lines on Sherlock’s third and fourth ribs on the left side of his chest. “It looks like you’ve fractured your ribs. You’re going to have to be very careful with them, there isn’t really much I can do to treat broken ribs. Get lots of rest and avoid aggravating them further and they should heal on their own. But they will be pretty painful for a while, breathing too deeply with probably hurt, laughing, sneezing, coughing, stretching the wrong way, any of those things can cause pain and that’s to be expected.”
John opened a drawer in the room and pulled out two different sized elastic bandages, “So you probably already know how to do this but I’m going to show you how to wrap your knee and how to wrap your wrist.”
John bound his wrist and knee carefully, making sure it was tight enough to help stabilize but not so tight as to cut off blood flow. “Feel alright?” he asked.
Sherlock nodded, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They stared at each other for a moment before John cleared his throat. “Right, well, I suppose you’re free to go.”
“Yes. Of course.” Sherlock said, “Thank you for your assistance.” he stood out of bed and wobbled slightly on his knee.
John reached out and steadied him, “Come on, let me get you a cab, yes? You can’t walk home.”
“I could.” Sherlock grumbled.
“As your doctor I say you can’t. Now, let’s go.” John pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialed the number for the cab company he had in his phone for instances exactly like this.
“Yes, hello.” John said when someone answered the phone, “I need a cab at Addenbrooke’s hospital.”
“That’ll be about 5 minutes.” the man at the other end of the phone replied.
“Cheers.” John said before hanging up. They made their way to the lobby, John carefully supporting Sherlock along the way. When they got there John glanced down at his watch, “Just a couple of minutes and they’ll be here.” he said.
Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement but John knew his mind was a million miles from where they were.
“Here.” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, on the back he scribbled down his mobile number, “This is my number, if you ever need anything.” John said.
“What could I possibly need?” Sherlock asked but took the card none the less.
“Dunno.” John said with a shrug, feeling his cheeks heat slightly under Sherlock’s gaze. “If you need someone to talk to, or you want to know about the options I’d mentioned earlier, or if you just want to have a cup of tea; you know how to get ahold of me.”
“Dr. Watson... I don’t know how....”
“John.” he said. “My name is John.”
“John.” Sherlock said softly, rolling the word around in his mouth. “Thank you. This is... I truly....”
He swallowed and John smiled at him, “You’re welcome.”
The cab pulled up a moment later and John bundled Sherlock in and handed the driver some money. “Be careful with those ribs, yes?”
“I’ll do my best.” Sherlock replied.
“See that you do.”
“Goodbye, Dr. Watson.” Sherlock paused and looked up at him, “Goodbye, John.”
“Bye, Sherlock.”
He closed the door and the cab pulled away but John stood watching the cab go until it was long out of sight and John felt there was nothing left he could do.