John looked instantly worried, instantly put out, and instantly afraid. "How? Sherlock... Sherlock, how?" This wasn't some joke. This wasn't some play between friends. Sherlock didn't do those sorts of things and it would have been in really poor taste considering what John had been through at Moriarty's hands at the pool. He'd rarely been more terrified in his life.

Setting aside the coffee, the doctor arrived at Sherlock's side, fingers separating the curls to gaze at the stitch job. Fine. Good even. Probably better than he could do. The surgeon had had steady hands and the sutures were small.

He took a step back, out of Sherlock's space.

"Is Mycroft trying to find him?" He didn't ask how Sherlock had been let go. He didn't ask why he didn't remember what happened. It wasn't for the blog. Moriarty was a fantasy name that scared some and confused others. They couldn't have this getting out. "Because we have another few days of snow. It should be starting up any time now and we might get another-- Sherlock. Listen to me. We aren't going after him. Not yet. You know I want to but it's too dangerous like this."