It's About Time (Sherlock/Casual)

[DR. JOHN WATSON]

Message:

That depends on how quickly I can get things wrapped up here. Friday - at the latest.

SH

Friday. Fantastic. It was Monday. Thank you Sherlock, for being soooo reliable. God, I had half a mind to find a different flatmate. His bipolar moods and his unexpected escapades were giving me huge migraines, and I barely knew the man. I still, however, felt like I was his babysitter, half the time. He liked me enough to text me what he was doing, but I almost thought that was entirely unfortunate...

I was going to reply something snarky, along the lines of what I'd thought not moments before, when I bumped into a wall looking at my phone. I rolled my eyes and sighed, instead deciding to send a much quicker text lest I run into a damn gurney on my way to my next patients room. I shouldn't be texting while on the job, but Sherlock was a patient of mine all on his own--

Wait. I took two steps back. I peered into the room I had just past, but I still couldn't see who was in it. Maybe I was just seeing things. Or... maybe I wasn't.

Two more steps back. I was about to hit the Send button with the message "Ok, whatever" to Sherlock. But then again, I don't think I really needed to.

I could probably just tell him myself, because he was staring right at me. In a hospital bed. Hooked up to machines. Texting.

"What?"

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Well shit.

Sherlock was in a definitely not-good situation.
As was blatantly proven by the shocked (and undoubtedly soon-to-be angry) Doctor now stood in the door to his hospital room.

In general, having a shocked and angry Doctor in one's door was certainly an extremely bad sign. But in Holmes' case, this was far, far worse than just being victim to a particularly bad diagnostic. A small part of him somewhat wished that it had been that instead, even though the consulting detective knew that he was there in the first place for a completely different reason.
He thoroughly hoped the Doctor didn't know that reason.

By unfortunate chance, the medical man staring straight at him was John Watson. Who, as it happened, was Sherlock's flatmate.
He also probably didn't approve of the man's attempt on his life.

The detective slowly lowered his blackberry to rest on the sheets of the hospital bed, but kept his hand firmly covering the device. It almost looked at though he expected John to take the thing away from him (after all, he was fairly sure that they weren't allowed).
In fact, Holmes did expect the man to take it from him.

"Hello," fortunately, he managed to refrain from waving.

[DR. JOHN WATSON]

Hello was right.

My jaw snapped shut. "Hello, Sherlock." I dropped my phone into the pocket of my coat, fingering my clipboard as I ground my teeth. "Fancy seeing you here. In Ohio," I snapped, strolling into the room and tapping my fingertips onto the boards deliberately.

I stopped at the foot of his bed, taking his clipboard and setting mine on the sheets by his feet. "Let's see, what are you in for? Compulsive lying consuming your braincells, perhaps?!"

He obviously hadn't wanted me to know he was here. So I'd take the knowledge that was rightfully mine by force. After all, I was technically the man's doctor. The least he could do is tell me if he has any medical conditions I should be worried about! I glared at him and his highly banned cell phone after glancing up from the clipboard, just before focusing back on the words. "I'll be taking that momentarily, Mr. Holmes."

Finally, I looked for the cause of his "curious case in Ohio."

Oh. Oh... dear... What? What? H-how?

"S-Sherlock..."

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock's expression closely resembled a startled owl - a fact that, if he was aware of, would quite frankly disgust the consulting detective.
He was never startled.

All that Holmes was really able to fully concentrate on as Doctor Watson picked up his clipboard, was how, exactly, he'd be able to get out of what was nearly certain to follow. Fortunately, John didn't start reading it straight away (rather he took the time to make what he was probably sure was a witty remark, and further Sherlock's theory that his mobile wasn't allowed), which gave the detective chance to think up approximately four ways of getting the Doctor out of his room.

But, unfortunately, it seemed the man's timing was a little slower than usual.

Because it was too late, John's head was already down and staring at the words in that god-forsaken page.
Though Holmes used that opportunity to act upon his concern for the safety of his blackberry - and quickly hid the phone beneath the sheets of the the hospital bed.

"Technically, because we know each other, you shouldn't be my Doctor. And so, really, you shouldn't be reading that." Sherlock tried, at least, blatantly ignoring the fact that it was probably far too late already.

[DR. JOHN WATSON]

"Technically, because we know each other, you shouldn't be my Doctor. And so, really, you shouldn't be reading that."

I looked up at him, fingering the slip of paper in my hands where I held it up so I could see the other pages. Other pages. "I'm a concerned medical man, that's all," I tried to say with confidence, but it ended up being entirely too weak for my taste. "And a concerned flatmate. Not to mention how much I hate people lying to me. Patients should never lie to doctors."

I let the sheet fall, and placed the clipboard back where it belonged at the end of the bed. "Of course..." I began, bending my fingers back on the foot board at the end of the bed then swallowing hard. "You could have told me the truth to begin with. But that's beneath you, isn't it Sherlock?"

I sighed, now pressing my knuckles against the board. "I mean I get it, it's your bloody business! I know! But... If... If you had problems, Sherlock, why didn't you just tell me? I'm a doctor, I could... I could help you. I want to help you."

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Then the bloody man just had to begin expressing his opinions on lying!
Honestly, if Holmes had known that this would have been the result of his hard work - he wouldn't have spent so long working up a convincing alibi. In honest truth, it had really only taken five minutes. But nevertheless, five minutes was precious time to waste when Sherlock was attempting to form a plan to be released from the hospital as soon as possible.
Friday - at the latest.
That was too far away, now!

"You could have told me the truth to begin with. But that's beneath you, isn't it Sherlock?"
The consulting detective merely sniffed disapprovingly at the words. It wasn't beneath him (honestly, what sort of man did the Doctor take him for?), but there was simply no suitable opportunity to mention it. Was John expecting him to have casually mentioned it in passing one day whilst chain smoking in the flat?
Oh, by the way, I've tried to kill myself five times in the past and I'm considering trying for a sixth - just thought you should know.
Blimey, was Watson an idiot?

"I mean I get it, it's your bloody business! I know! But... If... If you had problems, Sherlock, why didn't you just tell me? I'm a doctor, I could... I could help you. I want to help you."

Holmes' eyes narrowed suddenly, and he sat up almost imperceptibly straighter (after all, his posture was impeccably straight as it was) in the hospital bed.
"I don't have problems," he spat, showing pure disgust at any mention of the thought.