30 minutes ( a sherlock fanfic )

Chapter 6

John returned to find a fretting Sherlock.

"Where did you go?" he demanded.

John frowned. "I told you. To talk to your doctor. I'm sorry if it took too long."

Sherlock scowled at him, like everything bad and annoying in the world at that moment was John's fault. It was a look usually reserved for his brother and John was rather surprised to see it directed at him.

"So?" Sherlock countered.

John shook his head. "Tomorrow."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by a voice from behind John.

"I believe he was talking to me John."

At least that explained the look. It wasn't directed at John, but instead Mycroft.

John threw his hands up. "Oh hello Mycroft. So nice of you to let me know that you were stopping by."

Mycroft stepped around him to stand at the end of the bed and raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't Sherlock tell you?"

Sherlock frowned. "As you may have noticed, although your observational skill are weak at best, John arrived just before you and I did not have a chance to speak with him."

Mycroft sniffed. "You had plenty of time to inform him before he left. I know for a fact that Doctor Watson would not leave you unless you were awake and knew where he was going. And since I sent you a text earlier this morning, there would have been time."

He said 'text' with the disdain of someone speaking about something too revolting to even think about.

Sherlock only scowled at him.

John knew this interaction well. He'd watched Sherlock and Mycroft get in more pissing matches than he could count, all taking the same general form, rarely escalating beyond the occasional shouting and throwing (on Sherlock's part), but this was different. It was more like Sherlock was following along, going through the motions without any clue as to the endgame. Or even the reason Mycroft had stopped by at all.

It was making him uneasy.

"Right. I think you can step out now," John said firmly. He left no room for argument and Mycroft seemed to recognize that.

He nodded briefly and stepped out. He would be waiting there for John.

John turned his attention to Sherlock.

"What the hell is going on with you? Does your head hurt?"

Sherlock looked away, saying nothing.

"Right. We're going to do some tests."

Sherlock groaned.

"I will allow Mycroft back in here if you're not willing to cooperate."

Sherlock turned his head to glare at John, who only shrugged.

"Fine," he sighed.

"Three words. I'm going to ask you to remember them and I'll check later alright?"

Sherlock only looked at him indignantly.

John sighed. "Erm... right. Rat, wedding, bow."

Sherlock rolled his eyes loudly.

"What? Don't like them?"

"They're stupid and mundane. You couldn't have picked anything more intriguing?"

John frowned. "Fine. I'll change them. Homicide, concerto, tea."

Sherlock scoffed. "Easy."

"Well, then you should remember them when I ask you later. I'm going to talk to Mycroft now. Behave. Please," he pleaded.

Sherlock only gave him a look that anyone else would have melted at. John had grown immune and only laughed. "It doesn't work on me. I mean it Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed, and John took that as a reluctant agreement, and headed out the door.

Mycroft was seated in one of the family waiting rooms, practically owning the place.

John sat down next to him, rubbing his face with the heels of his hands.

"Being difficult?" he asked. John could hear the smirk in his voice.

John looked up and smiled. "Not so much more than usual, but there's something... off about him. There's something he's not telling me, whether it's about the case or how he's feeling, but I can tell there is something. Medically he seems to be doing fine. He'll go for another CT today and have a full neuro workup before he gets to go home, but he's lucid and no more confusing than usual."

Mycroft nodded and examined him.

"Was there something you wanted?" John asked. Mycroft didn't usually come for simply social visits. The man always have an ulterior motive, sometimes multiple.

Mycroft sighed and chose his next words carefully. "I was concerned."

John frowned. "You didn't come when he was unconscious. Why would you come now when he can actually express his displeasure that you're here?"

Mycroft stood up. "That's not important. I would like to speak with my brother alone if you don't mind."

John stood up as well. "Yeah, sure. I'll run down to the cafeteria and get some breakfast. If he asks, tell him I'll be back in twenty minutes or so."

Mycroft nodded and headed off, looking confident and official. John watched him go, knowing no one would ever question his business in the hospital. When people looked like they knew what they were doing, no one asked questions. It was one of the reasons Sherlock could get into almost anywhere. He was ridiculously charismatic and self confident. So much so that sometimes it made John sick to watch.

He sighed, shaking his head, and headed to the elevator. He hoped the breakfast options were better than the dinner ones, which he'd only barely managed to choke down, and that Sherlock had only looked at with scorn.