ihadabadday | Into the Night - AU - Locked to seaweed

"You have nothing to apologize for, John." He said, simply.

John swallowed and then nodded. He ran his fingers over Sherlock's hand, watching their connected hands for a moment. He then brought it to his lips and kissed the back of it.

Sherlock hissed lightly, grimacing in pain and pulling his hand away. "I apologize. My hands are a bit sore from yesterday." He frowned, hating that it was painful to even hold John's hand.

He sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm going to be pretty useless for a while." He admitted with a frown on his face.

John swallowed and then nodded. "Alright. Do you need me to get you anything?" He asked softly. He wanted to help him, to do something, but he was worried he wouldn't be able to.

Sherlock's eyes were still closed when he shook his head. "Unless you can get me out of here faster, I don't think so." He sighed again.

"I don't think they are going to keep me much longer. They put me on a concussion protocol, despite me insisting that I didn't hit my head going down. That's evident by the injuries on my hands. Idiots." he growled the last word.

John laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "Mmm. Most people are idiots. You and I are included on that."

He kissed his cheek and then settled back against the chair.

Sherlock frowned, in a very put upon pout. "I am most certainly not an idiot!" He complained, though there was no venom to it.

John laughed and then kissed him. "I love you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but again, there was no venom in it, just good natured humor.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He was still tired despite the drugs that they had been giving him. Thankfully, he was no longer dosed up with anything powerful, he could already feel the affects fading away and knew that he was most likely going to have a bit of withdrawal. He just had to try to not take it out on John.

There were things he still didn't know about Sherlock's past.

John reached out and stroked Sherlock's hair. "Would you like me to stay here?"

They all had secrets. Hidden things. He had things he kept in his past, buried deep.

Sherlock, his eyes still closed, nodded his head. "Of course. Why wouldn't I want you to?" The idea of him not staying just seemed ridiculous.

"I'm still waiting for the doctor to come in and clear me to leave. I'm going to have to be on crutches for a couple of weeks. It will be intolerable." He frowned and opened his eyes, looking straight at John.

"Just asking." He clarified. Sometimes his partner's mood was ever changing.

"At least it's not a cast. Or worse." He said stubbornly. John knew that might mean both of them were to be celebate during this time.

Lovely.

Sherlock huffed in frustration and threw his head back onto the pillow, where he had been looking up and over at John. This was all intolerable, the waiting for what seemed like an eternity when all he wanted to do was go home.

He shrugged noncommittally at John. He wasn't mad at him, he was just made at this whole damnable situation.

Soon enough the doctor did come and release Sherlock.

John was glad that they could get out of the hospital. But he was able to hail them a cab and then helped the man into the cab. He slid into him and looked at Sherlock. He let out a sigh and smiled softly. "I can have Mrs. Hudson make you those scones you like."

There was a tiny... TINY part of Sherlock that was glad that it was hospital policy to be wheeled to the exit. He wasn't sure if he could have endured, physically or mentally, maneuvering all the way there on crutches.

He held the damnable things across his lap as he was wheeled out to the entrance, where a line of cabs was always waiting to take people away. He awkwardly maneuvered his way into the cab, pulling those damn crutches after him, and waited for John to get in, giving the cabby the address.

He was beyond pissed right now. He was fucking helpless, embarrassed, humiliated. The great detective was a useless invalid.

He grumbled something incoherent towards John, keeping his eyes focused on London as it whizzed past them.

"If you're going to be this grumpy while you're on crutches. I'm going to tie you to a chair and leave you be." John snapped at Sherlock. He didn't know if he could handle a cranky detective. But he would try his best. He knew Sherlock was upset and mad.

He wanted to be there for the detective.

Sherlock made a 'harrumph' sort of noise and very dramatically rolled his eyes, looking enough towards John that he would see it, before looking out the window again.

It was a rather awkward, quiet trip to Baker Street. When they arrived, Sherlock got himself out of the taxi and awkwardly got up the curb to the door, leaving John to lay the fare.

He frowned and looked at the straightened knocker, unstraightening it again. "Damnit." he grumbled. "Mycroft is here."

John paid the fare without a complaint and slipped out of the cab. He watched Sherlock for a moment and then stepped over to open the door. "Well, we cannot stay here on the sidewalk all day. We either go inside and up to the flat. Or we hide out somewhere in the city."

The soldier in John was starting to leak out, spread and take over, replace the other facet of John. He was tired, having spent the time worried about Sherlock and hardly sleeping.

He shot John a look. He was not going to cower from his brother like some little wretch. He turned back to the door and managed to get it open.

It was very very slow going up the stairs. He almost lost his balance a couple of times. By the time he was at the top, he was sweating and panting and was in an even worse mood than before.

Sherlock 'kicked' open the door with one of his crutches, startling both Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson, who was serving him tea.

John looked at the two in the flat. "It might be best if both of you come back at a later date." There was something in his voice that indicated that he really should be listened to.

Captain Watson was making an appearance after a while hidden away.

He was tired, he was cranky and he just wanted some peace without the bickering of the Holmes brothers.

Mrs. Hudson quickly made herself scarce after pouring the tea, she could feel the anxiousness in the room.

Mycroft took a sip of his tea, then set it down on the saucer. "Where are your manners, Doctor Watson?" He asked. "I just started my tea." And to emphasize the point, he took another sip, then put it to the side, standing up.

"What I have to say will be brief." He ignored John and looked over to John. "I have spoken with Detective Inspector Lestrade." He said to Sherlock. "I have informed him that until he is advised otherwise, that he is forbidden to ask you to assist him on any cases. You can bully and cajole him all you want, but he has been warned, on pain of his career, that he is to obey my commands."

Sherlock silently fumed, making his way over to his chair and collapsing down.

"Well, I should be off. Good day." He said to neither of them in particular, and then he was off.

"Will you be fine on your own for say an hour?" John asked looking at Sherlock.

He was fidgeting and antsy. There was a lot of pent up energy and aggression in John Watson. He needed to go for a run, find a punching bag at a gym or have a good fuck. Since his partner was currently injured, he would probably do one of the first two options.

John didn't want to be here with him, that was painfully obvious to Sherlock from how the man was acting.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of my self, John. I am not a child." He said dismissively, waving his hands. "Go do whatever it is you need to do."

He made a spectacle of picking up a newspaper and putting it in front of his face so John couldn't see it any more.

John did something that Sherlock may not have seen, or possibly suspected from him. He slammed his fist hard enough against the wall to crack the plaster. He stood there staring at Sherlock.

"Are you going to sulk over a god damn twisted ankle? You'll be fine. For fuck's sake. Is this because I told you how I felt? I thought you might feel the same. But if you're going to act like you don't want me anymore. Please, just tell me."

That made Sherlock jerk the paper down to search for the noise, which in this case was obviously from John. He really didn't care about how Mrs. Hudson was going to be pissed at the plaster right now, he was staring into the irate man's face.

He looked for a moment at John like he had two heads. "Obviously you have no idea how important The work is to me. And now I am going to be practically helpless for two weeks, and you expect me to be all sunshine and rainbows that it takes me half a bloody hour to get up the steps. I have to plan to go to the loo, because even that is a chore, and I haven't decided the best way to tackle a shower yet. "

"But, no, sulking about losing my source of income and my passion is obviously such a terrible disservice to you! Well, don't let me inconvenience you any more than I have to. Go. I'll be fine."

It was the most undignified retreat he had ever made, painfully and slowly getting to his feet, donning his crutches, and limping into the bedroom, slamming the door after him.

Into the Night - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

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