For John Watson

[howdull]

[Sherlock is still finding pieces of the melted laptop in the carpet.

It had actually been quite an ingenious booby trap to be devised by a fourteen year old boy with only household chemicals to work with but, as Sherlock surmised, rather overkill to keep his mother from finding his extensive porn collection. Not one of their more illustrious cases, but it had been quite entertaining to watch both the boy and mother's faces as he revealed that he did know the how and why. He lost interest after the mother started shouting and John started shouting and the whole thing turned tedious.

He rather thinks John won't actually be doing a full write-up of this one on his blog.

It's been two days since their last case and he's beginning to get more than a little antsy. Lestrade has sent him nothing, just a boring hit and run that he refused to even leave the flat for, and nobody interesting has appeared through the blog. Said blog he is currently scrolling through on John's laptop, having borrowed it again.

He did ask, it's not his fault John hadn't been in the room at the time.]

Bored, John.

[He doesn't even know if his flatmate is even in, but that's hardly a necessity for him to actually speak to John. Frustrated, he throws the laptop across the room to hit the wall, where it summarily breaks. Which is where he can be found whenever John appears, sulking amidst pieces of laptop, both from the melted one of their last case and John's poor broken one.]

Comments

[jumpthegun]

[For the moment he'll be here. Physically, anyway. John doesn't lay down again, but he does stay, staring ahead at the door blankly. It doesn't register for him that Lestrade's left until the door opens again for the doctor. How long has he been sitting here?

He's not sure, but his eyes search for the clock, ignoring the doctor for the time being. They're here to do... something. Skin cultures. They can get that with him sitting up. John eventually reaches toward his phone to check the time on that. He's not actually trying to be rude to the doctor who's stepped in, they just don't seem to be wholly there. Or he's not wholly there.

John's not nearly as argumentative as he had been with the nurse, at least.]

[gallowshumour]

[It's already on his notes that he might be suffering from some sort of psychosis or paranoia with the way he's been ranting about people after him, or people with bombs, or-- well, all sorts. This new almost catatonia doesn't help him shake that impression and the doctor, after taking a skin culture gently from his back, goes off to consult with the psychiatric team to arrange an evaluation.

John is left alone.

Or, at least, he's left alone until around four in the morning, when all but the necessary lights for working have been dimmed and most of the other patients are asleep, when Molly pads into his room. She's wearing bunny rabbit patterned pyjamas with bunny slippers (which also have a design of oddly sharp teeth), and is holding her cast protectively to her chest.]

John?

[Quiet, tentative.]

Are you awake?

[jumpthegun]

[At some point he lies down and drifts off to sleep. At the sound of a familiar voice, he rouses, though, and looks over at her. Bunnies. His brow furrows.]

You like cats.

[Why does she have bunnies? They're cute, but that detail sticks out to him as odd.]

[gallowshumour]

Huh?

[She looks confused for a moment, before glancing down at her pyjamas and realising what he means. Or what she thinks he must mean.]

Oh, um-- Greg went out and bought me these from the Primark down the road because I didn't have anything with me. I think the slippers are meant to be Monty Python, that's why they have teeth.

[She shuffles a bit closer and takes a seat next to the bed.]

I heard you were admitted.

[jumpthegun]

Just skin cultures. I'm fine. [He still can't help searching for everything wrong with this. She shouldn't be out of her ward in the middle of the night. Shouldn't she be hopped up on pain killers? He's not dreaming, is he? John sits up slowly, carefully. There's pain, but he's been in pain in his dreams before.]

What did Lestrade tell you? Has Sherlock been back?

[gallowshumour]

[Lestrade had actually been ranting about John's paranoia in between going out and getting her some pyjamas, which is sort of why she's here. Not that she says as much, that'll just put his back up and end in an argument.

She knows people like John, she's watched him, he does better when he can be the strong one, the useful one. So she lets some of her own vulnerability shine through.]

I couldn't sleep.

[It's not an answer to his questions, more a timid sort of confession.]

I was scared he might come back, and my arm hurts, so-- I thought I'd feel safer if I came to sit with you. You don't mind, do you?

[jumpthegun]

[Her fear helps to push aside John's own concerns. He blinks a few times, focus returning more fully.]

Yeah. Yeah, of course it's okay, Molls. You can lie down here if you'd like.

[He motions to the bed.]

I can stand watch.

[Because god knows he still doesn't know if he can trust all of the police.]

[gallowshumour]

[There we go, there's a little of the sharpness she's used to. She offers him a tremulous sort of smile.]

No, it's okay, you can keep your bed, I'm okay in the chair. I feel better just knowing a friend is here.

[See? It's not so bad being in the hospital, right?]

I'm sorry if I woke you, though.

[jumpthegun]

[It's terrible and he hates it. Sherlock's not here. Which means Sherlock might be getting kidnapped. Or murdered. But that push and pull of wanting the man and wanting to protect him is too much to mentally deal with. John reaches for his mobile at that thought and finds it's nearly drained for the battery. He shoots off a quick text to Sherlock as he talks to Molly.]

TO: SHERLOCK
FROM: JOHN
Still alive, you arse?

[It's the middle of the night, but Sherlock might still answer.]

It's fine. I don't need much sleep.

[He needs far more of it than he gets.]

I'll be out of here in the morning as soon as they come back with the skin cultures. When are they letting you go? I can stay close, see you to the Station, if you need me to.

[Molly going home for anything other than grabbing some clothes and basic supplies isn't an option in John's mind. She needs to be put in a safe house or something like it. Somewhere Jim and Caroline can't find her.]

[howdull]

I don't want to go to the station.

[Molly's jaw firms a bit, a mixture of nerves about being rejected and determination to get her way.]

I'd rather come back with you and Sherlock. I know I wasn't useful before, but I'll be more careful this time, and you both need someone to help look after you while this is going on.

[She glances down at John's phone as it beeps, heaving a sigh but falling silent.]

TO: JOHN
FROM: SHERLOCK

Obviously. You're late, hurry up.
SH.

[jumpthegun]

Molly, you've been one of the most useful people throughout this entire thing. Sherlock would be dead without you, and I'd be... well. Probably running around London without shoes.

[He's refocusing on her, which makes things easier. So very much easier.]

Sherlock needs us to meet him. [His eyes flick to the time on his phone. It's the middle of the night. More like wee hours of the morning.] I can leave a number for them, have them phone me with the results.

[John's considering that. No. Maybe... he was going to go off on his own. Except that doesn't seem nearly as sensible as it had when he'd been panicking at Lestrade. John rubs his eyes.]

I'm gonna call the nurse, see if they have my results, yet. Want to hide... somewhere?

[He's not sure if he's allowed 4 AM visitors, really. Once Molly's hidden herself away somewhere, John punches the call button. When the nurse arrives, John does his best 'doctor needing an answer' firm tone.]

I'd like to know if the results of my skin biopsy are available. I have an appointment I need to be discharged for within the next hour.

[Not really, but...]

[gallowshumour]

[Molly isn't too keen on having John discharged in the middle of the night, when Sherlock likely doesn't want him for anything more important than gloating about how he got discharged so quickly. But she knows there are some battles that can't be won, and so she hides away behind the curtains of the next bed, conveniently empty, and doesn't make any objections.]

Oh, honey.

[The nurse chuckles as if he's said something funny.]

All the technicians have gone home, there won't be any results and there won't be anyone to sign off on a release until morning. Get some sleep, your appointment will just have to be rescheduled.

[As if any but the emergency doctors would work overnight on the wards.]

[jumpthegun]

[John unconsciously bristles at being spoken to like that. He keeps his cool for the moment, though. Getting what you want is easier when you're not waving your temper in someone's face. His lips quirk up in a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.]

I'm sure there are a few doctors in the emergency room who could sign off on a release in the next few minutes.

[gallowshumour]

They're emergency doctors for a reason, and they don't have time to look over any results to make sure they can sign off on a release.

[What if they're needed for an emergency? That's the whole point of them.]

[jumpthegun]

I think we both know I'm not gonna drop dead in the next twelve hours, whether I'm up and about or not. You can just phone me with the results and I'll come back in if it's needed. If there's a form I need to sign that says I'm leaving against medical advice, please just bring it to me.

[gallowshumour]

[Her earlier good humour is all but gone now, and she looks a mix of irritated and concerned.]

I really can't advise that, I'm sure whoever your appointment is with will understand, these are exceptional circumstances.

[jumpthegun]

I know you can't advise it, which is why I'm requesting a form. You people seem very concerned with keeping me here for something that isn't life-threatening. [Okay. Dial it back. John squares his jaw.] I didn't even want to stay. And the nurse who wheeled me up here explicitly said I wasn't being kept. I'd prefer not to have a debate. I'm a doctor. I know the risks. Thank you.

[gallowshumour]

Alright, fine, if you're absolutely sure.

[She doesn't look at all pleased about it, but she does retreat from the room to go and fetch a form with bad grace. Molly pokes her head through the curtains for the next bed over, frown of concern at her brow.]

Did Sherlock say he needed us that urgently? I mean, um-- obviously not us, you. Did he say he needed you that urgently?

[Sherlock never needs her urgently at all.]

[jumpthegun]

He said we need to hurry up. [A pause before he offers her a tight smile, pulling himself out of the combative mindset from the nurse.] The both of us. Are you feeling well enough to be discharged?

[gallowshumour]

Yeah!

[No, not really. She still feels fuzzy, and she's sure that her arm will hurt a lot without strong painkillers, but she's not being left behind.]

I guess I shouldn't just disappear, huh? I'll go and discharge myself, don't go without me, okay?

[jumpthegun]

I won't. With the way things are running around here, you might get out before I do, anyway. I think one of the staff must fancy me. [What with wanting to trap him here! But look at that good humor about it. He can joke.

As long as he gets out.

Once Molly's headed off, John looks at his clothes and sighs softly. Getting into them is going to hurt. Getting out of them had hurt. Everything hurts. Maybe he can get the nurse to give him more ibuprofen on the way out.]

[gallowshumour]

[Molly doesn't suffer much for trying to get herself discharged, except for it being so late, and she's already down in the lobby by the time John gets down there to meet her. He will not be given any ibuprofen for the road, but the nurse will try to persuade him to stay again for his troubles.

Molly is still dressed in pyjamas and bunny slippers in the lobby, chewing her fingernails a bit nervously, but with a determined set to her jaw. She's scared, but she's not backing down from wanting to help out.]

...there you are, I was about to send out a search party.

[jumpthegun]

[Seeing her again is a relief, as is actually leaving the damn hospital with permission for once. He considers texting Lestrade about it, but it's late... early. He'll text Lestrade at a more reasonable hour. John stayed here for a while, even past what Sherlock did. That has to count for the spirit of their agreement, if nothing else.]

Oh, they took your clothes for forensics. [John hadn't even thought about that.] Uh... d'you have money for a cab?

[Otherwise... well, otherwise John is going to maybe going to have to call someone else. Mike? No, well, Mike's not that close. Sarah never wants to talk to him again, he can't ask Clara for more help. Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Turner might own a car.]

[gallowshumour]

Oh. Um, no, not exactly.

[She pats ineffectually at the sides of the pyjama bottoms as if she'll somehow magically be able to produce money if she does that.]

Do you think Sherlock would pay when we got to Baker Street? I could always repay him when I get my purse back.

[jumpthegun]

Right. We'll do that, yeah. And you don't... there's no need to repay him. We should be repaying you.

[That makes far more sense than what he was considering. The final alternative had been... walking.]

He's not at Baker Street, though. At least he shouldn't be. Just a mo. Let me find out where we're actually going.

[John pulls out his mobile as they move slowly toward the exit of the hospital, getting side-eyed by the night staff.]

FROM: JOHN
TO: SHERLOCK
Where are you? With Molly. We need you to pay for cab when arrived.