Recovery

Rushing onto the scene of the crime, John looked around frantically, running his hands through his hair for the nth time, the strands sticking up wildly, reflecting his emotional state quite well. Lestrade ran up behind him seconds later, panting heavily, eyes scanning the scene along with John’s.

Where is he, where is he, please God tell me that he’s okay, where is he?

John’s heart started picking up speed in his chest when he couldn’t spot that familiar head of brown curls, the long flowing coat that belonged to his flatmate.

No no no no, he was supposed to be here, why isn’t he here? Where is-

John’s inner thoughts were interrupted when Lestrade swore loudly and bolted towards an alley and the skip just on the inside of it. That’s when John saw him, his unconscious detective stashed behind the skip, just barely visible. John let out his own string of curses and ran forward, gripping Sherlock firmly by the arms to pull him out, gasping when he saw his right leg.

Sherlock’s right knee was a mess. It was clear to him that whoever had taken Sherlock knew what they were doing when they messed up his knee. The healing process would be long and tedious, and even then it would never completely heal. Sherlock was bound to have a bit of a limp on good days, and maybe even be stuck in the flat on the bad ones, unable to put much weight at all on it. John turned to Greg, asked him to call an ambulance (Greg was already on that, they were on their way), and John faced Sherlock once more, stroking his cheek softly and sighing. “I’m sorry ‘Lock, this isn’t going to be easy,” he muttered.

The ambulance pulled up minutes later, and carted them both off to the hospital.

.

John was right. It wasn’t easy for John, and even less so for Sherlock.

“I need a case!” Sherlock shouted, tapping his fingers restlessly against the arms of his chair. “A case, a distraction, something!” Sherlock was frustrated, and John was trying to be a calming presence, offering Sherlock a fresh cup of tea. Sherlock only scoffed and turned his head away, tapping the foot on his good leg repeatedly. John sighed and placed the tea on the table in the living room, sitting down in his respective chair across from Sherlock.

“Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you?” John asked, happy to do anything that would stop all of Sherlock’s whining and complaining. Scoffing once again, Sherlock whipped his gaze to John and narrowed his eyes.

“You could kill me,” Sherlock said, his voice monotone and all together uninterested in everything. John gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Sherlock continued. “You’re obviously getting annoyed with me, so if you kill me, both of our problems are solved, easy as that. Although-”

“Would you just shut up, Sherlock?”

“Well, you asked, and I answered, isn’t that-”

“Christ Sherlock, have a little sympathy!” John shouted, pushing himself angrily out of his chair. “I’ve nearly lost you so many times, I thought I was going to lose you because of that stupid case we just had! I do not want to sit here and listen to you ask me to kill you! And quite frankly, I don’t care if you meant it as a joke, because this is not the time to joke about me killing you!” Sherlock’s lip curled up into a sneer.

“Oh, you shut up yourself, John you clearly don’t-” Sherlock seemed to realize what he was saying and snapped his mouth shut, some of the color draining from his face. John just inched closer, his eyebrows knitted together in anger.

“I don’t what, Sherlock? What, were you gonna say that I don’t understand?” His question was met with silence from Sherlock, and John took a deep breath and a few steps back. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t start that sentence because I know that this is just the stress and lack of mental stimulation getting to you. But never forget Sherlock, I understand. In fact, I think I’m allowed to say that my recovery was much more difficult than yours will be. Okay?” John asked, earning a nod from Sherlock. He had the decency to look guilty.

“I’m sorry, John,” Sherlock muttered, meeting John’s eyes. “I- you’re right. It is all getting to me.” John nodded and kneeled in front of Sherlock, pressing his hands comfortingly to Sherlock’s arms.

“I know, but we’ll get through it together.”

They did get through it together. Sherlock walked with a cane from then on, but found he didn’t care too much as long as he had John by his side.