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

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

The look of shock on Sherlock's face was something new, and rarely seen. It was odd on all accounts, not only because Lestrade wasn't quite sure why Sherlock looked so confused - maybe he seemed too much of a stickler to rules at work enough so that Sherlock thought he never took chances? - but because it wasn't anything close to one of Sherlock's usual faces. He'd seen the "bribing" face and the "seductive" face and the "I'm ignoring you" face, and the "fuck you go away" one already today, and he knew those. He was used to those. He wasn't used to this.

"What if you were to 'take me out for some fresh air', and I happen to 'mysteriously' disappear?" Sherlock sat up, his eyes wild with some sort of excitement, vivacious to the point of frightening. And what would happen if Sherlock were to disappear? Would that be alright?

"NO." Lestrade said firmly. He would sneak Sherlock out, bribe nurses, but one thing he was NOT going to do was break the rules to that extent. It wasn't good for either of their reputations, it was irresponsible, and there were so many things that could go wrong. There was a reason Sherlock wasn't already out of the hospital, a good one, and while he seemed perfectly fine, he had hurt himself, and there was no reason to exercise a wound so excitedly.

"I'll agree to bringing you out for a few hours but not that. If you're going to run away, we're not even leaving," Lestrade said crossly. Softening his expression, he added, "But if you promise not to, then we can go."

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

When Lestrade downright refused to accept his (perfectly reasonable) offer, Sherlock sent a positively horrific glare directly to the Detective Inspector. It was probably not surprising how quickly his expression could change from one of shock, to almost excitement, to unprecedented hate.

"I'll agree to bringing you out for a few hours but not that. If you're going to run away, we're not even leaving,"
There was a tiny question that even Holmes knew he shouldn't ask niggling a very important part of his brain. How could the man trust that he wouldn't just leg it as soon as they were out of the hospital?
"But if you promise not to, then we can go."

Right.
Because his promises could be trusted.

It was all he could do not to laugh.

Then again, it was likely that Greg would immediately follow, should Sherlock choose to sprint off. And though the consulting detective presumed that he was probably a faster runner than the Detective Inspector on an ordinary day (likely it was his lanky legs to thank for that), he couldn't predict how well he'd do so soon after... Well.

Thus, Holmes was faced with somewhat of a predicament.
If he stayed there any longer it was very likely that he would soon attempt to throw himself out of the window. But if (after having been free from the place for a few hours) Lestrade dragged him back here later to suffer in the damned room again, it was very likely that he would - well, attempt to throw himself out of the window.

He resigned himself to a churlish pout, before standing slowly.
"Fine."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

After a rather long moment of what looked like intense contemplation on the part of Sherlock, the man finally stood and said quite imperiously, "Fine."

Lestrade smiled. "Right," he beamed, and saw that Sherlock was already wearing almost a full outfit under his thin, blue bathrobe. "Right," he repeated, "Put this on, then. Ah-" he moved his arms to shrug his jacket off. Sherlock would need it more than him. "You can wear mine."

He turned to look out the window to glance at the cars racing bellow. Suddenly he was hit with the realization that he had no idea what they were doing. What he was doing. Where were they supposed to go, anyway? Hell? Probably. Fucking shit, why did he even suggest this in the first place? He kind of wanted to take back his words now, though he knew there was no escaping them now. "Ready to go?" He asked nervously, looking back at Sherlock curiously.

He had never been one to break the rules, not really. Well, that wasn't true, not never. He certainly broke them enough as a kid. But once he got a job, that was when the compulsive rule-following came into his life, and since then, he'd not really been one to break the rules. The fact that was definitely was now unnerved him a bit. And yet, he could almost feel himself... excited.

Perhaps it was simply an impulse he was all to hastily following under the influence that was Sherlock Holmes, but still. He wanted to act on it before it was gone.