On the Impulse, Before It's Gone (Sherlock) -FIN-

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

“He very non-discreetly told me he was an amazing lawyer who would sue my ass off if I didn’t shut up, though.”

Sherlock chuckled. It could have been worse for Lestrade though, in the consulting detective's opinion.
"Yes, he does that."
Though he wouldn't admit it, Mycroft was a marvelous lawyer. Holmes briefly wondered whether his elder brother would ever fight for Sherlock if he asked - before deciding that, even under the most extreme of case, he would certainly never turn to the other man for help.
Christ, what a thought.

“I mean, I may have just found someone I can’t stand more than you.”

He immediately stopped laughing, feigning a rather accurate look of hurt at the detective inspector's words. He obviously agreed with the fact that Lestrade considered the other Holmes to be a prick (he most definitely thought the exact same thing of the younger, though, which was a less pleasant thought; he didn't want to be compared in any way to his brother).

"Well that won't do. What will I have to do to be at the top of your list again?" Sherlock frowned, his mind whirring in an honest attempt to conjure a plan that would hopefully culminate in him being considered worse than his brother again.
It was an achievement he was rather proud of.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“Yes, he does that,” Sherlock chuckled, and Lestrade was pleased to know that he was not the only person Mycroft apparently threatened. Not that he hadn’t really deserved it, but.. .God, a lot of lawyers certainly had their god complexes, didn’t they?

However Sherlock unexpectedly stopped laughing as soon as Lestrade expressed his opinion towards the level annoyance the two Holmes caused him, Mycroft winning. He briefly wondered if his offending Mycroft had offended Sherlock, but no, that couldn’t have been it; Sherlock obviously wasn’t exactly a fan of the elder Holmes.

“Well, that won’t do. What will I have to do to be at the top of your list again?” Sherlock frowned. The fact that the question was stated completely honestly was what made Lestrade burst into giggled all over again. This man really was a child, wasn’t he?

“You’d rather be at the top?” Lestrade laughed, grinning. He knew it would probably bother Sherlock but he didn’t mind. “Well, just show up at crime scenes I suppose. You don’t know how much I wanted to punch you that first time you showed up at the museum.” His laughed faltered, before he realized that he’d just given Sherlock permission to show up at his crime scenes, sort of. “Not that you should,” he added quickly, but – ah well, the damage was already done.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Just show up at crime scenes.
Oh, the blessed words.
There, was pure gold.
He now had an excuse for every time Lestrade would tell him to 'piss off' in the future, when he turned up somewhere in the city demanding to see the fresh corpse.

Sherlock barely even heard the next four words that came rolling from the detective inspector's mouth. But even if he had, they wouldn't have had any effect whatsoever on the now positively gleeful consulting detective, who was practically vibrating with excitement as he sat on the hospital bed.
Honestly, he must have looked like such a child.
Holmes found himself not minding in the slightest, though - so it was all alright.

Putting this aside (his mind made a completely new folder, marked in vibrant red with the words: "Reasons Lestrade can't throw me from a crime scene - NOT TO BE DELETED"), the man decided to answer Gregory's earlier question. Which was, as it turned out:
“You’d rather be at the top?”
Did he...
Honestly, Sherlock was rather beginning to doubt whether this was the Detective Inspector he knew (and frequently argued with) at all.
"Being at the top of your list is my life's work, Lestrade." He said it with the air of an Oscar-winner. Which, in turn, did nothing at all but cause the consulting detective to, once again, struggle to stifle a laugh.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Had Lestrade had the ability to, he would have literally gone back in time just to hit himself before he said “Just show up at crime scenes.” Jesus, what was he thinking?! Sherlock looked positively gleeful, not bothering to hide that fact that he was obviously enamored with the fact that Lestrade had just indirectly invited him onto any crime scene he wanted. This would never end, would it? And Sherlock’s eyes were positively shining – Lestrade didn’t think about how rare it was that he made Sherlock this happy until later – with such excitement that Lestrade would have laughed had it not been at his own expense.

“Now hang on a second, I didn’t mean it like that,” he tried, but Sherlock wasn’t listening. Of course he wasn’t. Sherlock would never, ever forget this, would he.

“Being at the top of your list is my life’s work, Lestrade,” Sherlock said with such pride that Lestrade did laugh this time. The consulting detective seemed to be just barely managing not to laugh himself.

“It that supposed to be a cheesy pick up line?” Lestrade joked, giving in to the temptation to be the uptight-police-man and deal with the consequences of his words later. “Because I really, really don’t find it very attractive.” He actually kind of did, which made Lestrade laugh all over again. Not in the ‘I want to bring you to bed sort of attractive,’ but the wow, this man is so incredibly childish that it’s uplifting’ sort of way.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

It really was rather odd, to think that barely minutes before Sherlock had been in a positively down mood ('down in the dumps' was a truly terrible phrase that the library of such things in his head unhelpfully provided at the thought) - yet was now laughing possibly the most he had in his life. Typically, the consulting detective never got along very well with Lestrade - so it was a surprise even to him that he was now chuckling with the man over what was usually considered to be 'silly little nothings'.
Or, at least, it would have been a surprise if the sleuth had even noticed his actions.

Holmes seemed to be unfortunate victim of an extremely odd high - probably caused by the shock of Gregory's words (which wouldn't be all that unusual, as considering the fact that the man was rarely shocked, in the event of being such it was probably expressed as triple the intensity that ordinary people would experience).
Or maybe it was just the hospital drugs taking effect.
They did spur an irrational sort of energy in the lanky detective - which was the reason he mostly tried to avoid hospitals and their demon-drugs altogether.

“It that supposed to be a cheesy pick up line?”

"Did it not work?" Sherlock asked through a dramatic pout.

“Because I really, really don’t find it very attractive.”

To that, Holmes cocked his head to the side, before leaning toward Lestrade until he was probably far too close to be comfortable. But, then again, that was the intention. Being very good at dramatic performances, it wasn't difficult for the man to simply put on a face. The 'face' being - in specifics - the one he generally used to get what he wanted from people who obviously expressed the fact that they fancied him. Basically, it was the one that was commonly known to break hearts.
And, to strengthen the effect, Sherlock practically purred his question.

"Well, what do you find attractive, Lestrade?"

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Suddenly Sherlock was really, really close. Too close actually. At least, too close to be comfortable. He was putting on a face that was absolutely terrifying, because of the fact that Lestrade had seen the consulting detective use it at crime scenes before. It was the 'tell me what I want and I'll give you are really good shag,' face, also known as flirting, Sherlock style. Usually it used when Sherlock was trying to charm a woman (or occasionally a man) into giving him more information that she wanted to give. Why it was suddenly aimed towards him, Lestrade really had no reasonable explanation for. His brain supplied the unhelpful suggestion of the drugs coursing through Sherlock’s veins.

"Well what do you find attractive, Lestrade?" Sherlock cooed, and Lestrade had to restrain himself from shivering. He’d always found it unnerving when Sherlock used this method of convincing people to talk. It was a lot different when you were receiving, not just observing it, though. Lestrade was pretty sure Sherlock was asexual – the idea of Sherlock actually shagging someone was actually pretty disturbing – but… God, if he wasn’t? He’d certainly do well in a bar, that’s for sure.

But really, Lestrade didn’t really know what else to do but flush, embarrassed as Sherlock leaned in closer towards him. “Well,” Lestrade said, trying and managing to sound about seventy-five person normal (the other twenty-five… nervous), “If you want me to list your qualities alphabetically…” Lestrade grinned, unable to say anything else. He pulled back from Sherlock’s face just a bit, not to seem offensive, but he was sure Sherlock knew perfectly well what he was doing to Lestrade.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

The detective inspector's reaction was far too obvious for Sherlock not to take immediate joy in the workings of his actions. He hadn't, entirely, thought through the reason for blatantly... well, attempting to seduce Lestrade. But then again, the entire thing had been one of those 'spur of the moment' occasions, anyway. But nevertheless, the consluting detective was immensely pleased with the results.

After all, he had managed to make the other man feel completely uncomfortable.
And he could easily take satisfaction in that.

Of course, Gregory had already seen Holmes use the exact same tactic countless times (in all of which he had been successful - a fact that should be taken into consideration), and so knew quite well what he had been implying. Or, at least, it was almost certain that he knew quite well.
All in good humour, of course.

Sherlock sharply blew a breath of air into Lestrade's face with a quick grin, before practically throwing himself back from the other detective. An action that caused the man to be lying horizontally on the hospital bed, with his head hanging (upside-down, of course) over the edge.
He spoke whilst waving one hand, as if gesturing for Gregory to carry on.

"I feel that alphabetically would require far too much unnecessary effort. Order of importance would do just fine."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

It was obvious to Lestrade that Sherlock was taking joy in this. As uncomfortable as it was, it was admittedly amusing, and so he decided to let Sherlock continue with his… flirting. Lestrade tried not to squirm as Sherlock breathed out so closely to his face, quick and fast before suddenly throwing himself into a quite comical position across the hospital bed, grinning all the while.

“I feel that alphabetically would require far too much unnecessary effort,” Sherlock said, sounding full of imperious glee, basking in a bit of his own high and glory. “Order of importance would do just fine.”

Lestrade laughed at the man’s self-indulgence (it was far easier to now that Sherlock’s face wasn’t close enough to lick without moving). “I’m not sure I have the brain cells to do that very efficiently,” Lestrade said cheerfully, casually aluding to the fact that Sherlock called him an idiot on a regular basis (and well, with a brain like Sherlock’s, he supposed everyone probably did sound sadly stupid to the consulting detective). And then on a whim: “Though of course, you do have beautiful eyes Mr. Holmes.”

It came out how Lestrade had wanted it – jokingly seductive – but he hoped it didn’t sound too creepy. Then again, Lestrade didn’t actually romantically fancy Sherlock and Sherlock didn’t romantically fancy, well, anyone, so he supposed it would be alright. He thought about what he’d just said, and though the comment wasn’t untrue, he suddenly thought of something Sherlock would appreciate much more than the comment on his eyes.

“Though I have to say, your mind is the most beautiful thing of all.” Lestrade smiled, assuming the compliment would be prized.

OOC:…I like how you wrote “consluting detective…<laughs>

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

“Though of course, you do have beautiful eyes Mr. Holmes.”
Sherlock smirked, surprisingly (even to himself) pleased at the fact that the Detective Inspector was acting along. Honestly, being stuck in a hospital room meant that this was the most fun the consulting detective could have.
How dreadful.

“Though I have to say, your mind is the most beautiful thing of all.”
Though he still lay across the bed (it was, despite probably seeming quite the contrary, extremely comfortable), the man's head snapped up again to pin Gregory immediately with a bright-eyed stare. After a moment's pause, Holmes simply 'tutted' his reaction.

Another moment (and once his head had once again dropped to loll limply over the edge) and he began to talk.
"Don't be silly, Lestrade," Sherlock chuckled along with the words, before falling utterly silent for a brief second.
"My mind is brilliant, perhaps, but not beautiful." Despite still sounding cheerful (he really rather was, which was another surprising fact of the moment), the last word was said with quite a large amount of disdain. And, just in case the idea hadn't been firmly put forth in the first place, was accompanied shortly with a disapproving sniff.

"And you're a terrible actor,"
The consulting detective heaved out a great breath, his skinny chest rising and falling perhaps a little bit too much to not be overdramatic, before rolling onto his front with a slight sigh.
It took a little bit of shuffling, and one extremely undignified moment where he almost lost all balance completely, and nearly toppled head-first from the hospital bed, until Sherlock was once again sat upright, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Naturally, the man didn't take any notice of the fact that he was now facing the wrong way around - his back to the plain wall he had previously been apparently attempting to bore a hole in with a pointed glare.

Holmes let his head roll back, so that he was instead fixing a subtly interested gaze on the ceiling above.
"I'm bored now, I need to get out."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“Don’t be silly, Lestrade,” Sherlock clucked, before pausing for a second. “My mind is brilliant, perhaps, but not beautiful.” The amount of disdain in the man’s voice was positively hilarious, because it had implied that what Lestrade had said was absolutely ridiculous. And it had been, surely, but the whole conversation had been, so Lestrade couldn’t really see the problem with more craziness. Lestrade leaned back slightly in the plastic chair, slightly amused. “And you’re a terrible actor,” Sherlock added with a huff, before dramatically rolling onto his stomach. And then very gracefully not-falling out of bed.

“No I’m not,” Lestrade laughed, receiving a pointed glare from Sherlock. The man was such a child, it was really barely an expression of comparison, but the truth by definition. After all, children were moody, bipolar, unreasonable show offs and easily disinterested in everything. The description fit the world’s only consulting detective quite well.

Holmes lolled his head back, staring at the white ceiling fixedly. “I’m bored now, I need to get out,” Sherlock said, and Lestrade noted that his did sound rather miserable. No wonder, of course. For a man who was used to spending the days dramatically running around the streets of New York without any restraint, sitting in a hospital bed was inevitably beyond dull. Especially for Sherlock, who was so easily bored that it was a bit disturbing.

“I’m sure they won’t keep you in here too much longer,” Lestrade said, giving him a softer look. It was one of sympathy really, but it wasn’t the kind of sympathy that everybody hated and therefore received. It was more of a ‘the hospital’s really shit isn’t it, but you’re just going to have to grin and bear it,’ sort of look. “Besides, you’re English. Stiff upper lip and all.” The reference to the rather ridiculous phrase was accompanied by a slight eye roll, as Lestrade knew fair well that most sayings were completely pointless in both he and Sherlock’s minds.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Hospitals had always been the palaces of boredom for Sherlock Holmes, and so it was completely unsurprising that over the years he had accumulated ways and means of making sure that he was never confined within one - and, if on the off occasion that he happened to be, there would always be some sort of plan ready to formulate in his mind on demand. So far, this had proved to be useful many times. And, so far, the consulting detective was almost never in the dreaded things when he didn't want to be (which was, as it happened, constantly).

It took around thirty six and a half seconds of catatonia for Sherlock to realise that his extensive knowledge of Hospital floors plans and weak leaks in the nursing staff were only applicable in London.

He was, currently, in a building he knew not the name of with nurses who were oh-so much more difficult to manipulate when they believed solely what his charts told them - rather than the 'facts' he wanted them to. Though it must be understood that this was only so due to the fact that he had not yet had the opportunity to 'win them over' (more or less) with a 'charming' smile and a few well-placed lies.

Which meant...
Oh hell. He didn't have a back-up plan.

Holmes was already restless enough, without the dreading thought of 'not having a way out' flooding his overloaded brain with irritation. The lanky man leapt (literally, leapt) into action, quickly yet still somehow carefully tearing the hateful wires (leading to whatever it was they'd decided he needed this time) from his arm without so much as batting an eyelid.
Fortunately, excessive arguing and shouting had granted Sherlock with his dressing gown (how on Earth it had arrived there from his flat - he had no idea), and so there was no undignified moment when the consulting detective began to pace around the room.

“I’m sure they won’t keep you in here too much longer,”
The man scoffed, still pacing in an attempt to set the cogs of his brain into use. Lestrade had said something after those words, that he was vaguely aware of, but had absolutely no interest into what that was.

Sherlock finally stopped, facing the other detective with a look of pure revelation on his face.
"You," he pointed, before smirking in a self-satisfied manner, "You've got to help me."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Suddenly Sherlock went a bit manic, which is when Lestrade stopped being amused and remembered that Sherlock was actually a crazy sociopath who cared little about anything except himself. The man jumped up to pace rapidly, and tore the wires from his arm. Lestrade jumped up himself, ready to yell at Sherlock, but Sherlock suddenly pointed one long, thin finger directly at him and said, “You. You’ve got to help me.” And he was smirking.

“What?” Lestrade asked, shocked. “No! No way! And – get back it bed! You can’t just…”

Lestrade was a bit distracted staring at the way Sherlock’s arm was bleeding now, due to the fact that he’d ripped his IVs out, which was an incredibly stupid move, especially if he wanted to be let out earlier rather than later. Lestrade knew all about the number of infections one could get from tearing wires out of your skin and then, for example, falling into the Thames, which then resulted in more hospitalization and more embarrassing therapy that was completely a waste of time. Yeah, escaping from the hospital was not a good idea.

“I am not helping you,” he said strictly, in a manner that reminded him a little too much of the way he usually spoke to his daughter when she’d done something particularly bad. “Get back in bed, now. Don’t argue with me Sherlock Holmes! Now.” Lestrade wouldn’t have admitted it if he’d been asked – though if anybody actually had knowledge of this evening he might die a little inside – but if he’d known Sherlock’s middle name, he would have said that too.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

After setting across his demand, Sherlock dropped the arm that had been previously pointing directly toward the other man in the hospital room, immediately assuming that he would comply. After all, the man was hardly able to help catch a murderer from inside some ridiculous ward, was he?And besides, it wasn't as if it was the first time he had needed to get out of the hospital only hours after being taken in.
It shouldn't be too difficult, as long as he acquired Lestrade's help-

“I am not helping you,”
What?
“Get back in bed, now. Don’t argue with me Sherlock Holmes! Now.”

The consulting detective's face dropped, his expression one of obvious disappointment. Perhaps it had been rash to decide in advance that Greg would assist him in leaving the hospital. It would work, if only the man would bloody well help him.

Sherlock sank onto the hospital bed, sighing heavily as he did so.
He hated hospitals. The detective couldn't just expect him to sit there and wait to be released! That wasn't... well, it wasn't fair. If he had to resort to childish reactions, then so be it.

"Why won't you help me?" his voice was almost a whisper, the fingers of his left hand tapping out a continuous yet unrecognizable rhythm against his leg as the man grew more uncomfortable by the minute. Confided spaces were certainly not his natural habitat. Holmes was far more used to bounding around open streets and rooftops in his spare time - and it showed.
He simply didn't function well within walls.

"Lestrade, I need to get out of here. Please," speaking sincerely, honestly, and maintaining as much eye contact as possible, Sherlock could only hope that it would work.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Sherlock looked completely sad and dejected as he flopped back onto the hospital bed, frowning. "Why won't you help me?"

Sherlock's voice was quiet, a little pathetic really, and Lestrade truley felt for him. After all, he felt it was safe to assume no one in their right mind enjoyed being holed up in a hospital issue bed, he and most definately Sherlock, who needed constant stimulation, were included.

"Lestrade, I need to get out of here. Please." 

Oh god. Sherlock was looking at him so pleedingly, almost innocently, and he'd said please. This was Sherlock bloody Holmes, he didn't say please! Not unelss he was desperate (or trying to weasel his way with a case, though that wasn't exactly earnest). Lestrade felt like he was letting Sherlock down if he continued to deny the man escape. It was as painful as denying his kid something, when there were tears and begging, and Sherlock was far from crying.

Lestrade made a strangled noise, trying not to give in. But it was so hard, and if it weren't illegal, he'd have Sherlock out in a heart beat. And maybe he owed Sherlock that much, too.

Would a compromise work?

"Can't I just… bring you out for tonight before anyone notices?" Lestrade asked, looking worried. He didn't really want to break the rules, but Sherlock was… Sherlock. And in a way, Lestrade would probably break the rules for him. "And I can try to get the hospital to release you sooner Maybe bring you some cold cases?"

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

After sending the same, pleading look at the Detective Inspector for a few seconds longer than entirely necessary, Sherlock seemed to almost slide into a half-sitting position. It simply wouldn't do for the man to reject his request for help, considering that he never even considered asking another person for such a thing on a bad day, usually.
Damn it, he wouldn't even need this if he was back in London.
He missed London.

"Can't I just… bring you out for tonight before anyone notices? And I can try to get the hospital to release you sooner. Maybe bring you some cold cases?"

It could only truthfully be told that the next expression to appear on Holmes' face was that of complete and utter undisguised shock. It was the simple fact that Lestrade was concerned that sent the consulting detective's mind whirring into a sort-pf frenzy of confusion. Which, considering the fact that mental disorientation itself was something rare to come across in the man, had an added effective in this particular instance.

So much so that it was a further few moments before he was able to process the offering.

In all fairness, even having the man break him out of the hospital for just a few hours was considerably tempting as it was. Perhaps if he were to simply (and literally) run around the city ceaselessly for an extended period of time he would be far too exhausted to have an opinion on where, exactly, he was going to kip for a while. And by the time he had woken up... well, by then he was sure that the trustworthy and respected DI Lestrade would have found some way to lawfully get him out soon-ish.

If he were to accept, then, it would definitely have it's benefits.

But there seemed to be one evident, raging disadvantage that Sherlock simple couldn't ignore enough to go ahead with Gregory's plan.

It was all legal.

And following the rules was simply something that Sherlock Holmes did not do.

After thinking for barely a few seconds over these notable points, Holmes decided to put forth his own idea. It wasn't as though the man wouldn't suspect anything if he were to immediately agree, after all. Best to put forth his own plans.

"What if you were to 'take me out for some fresh air', and I happen to 'mysteriously' disappear?" the consulting detective sat up, a familiar glint of anticipation in his eye.