Johnlock; Rehab

Curveballs

SHERLOCK

John insisted that I had to trawl pointlessly after him to work the following morning to let Doctor Morris know the change in arrangements. I tried my best to disguise my exhaustion and the occasional tremors which shot through my cold fingers. We visited her office in the morning before John's long shift. It was a small office and very plain. It had been decorated with a few plants and photographs but it was mainly medical documents and posters that littered the room. The smell inside was less overwhelming than the rest of the clinic, and a slightly ajar window let a fresh breeze circulate lazily around the room.

Doctor Morris listened carefully as John explained the situation. At every moment, I could she her gazing eyes weighting up each of John's points. I could tell she liked him, a lot in fact, and respected his medical expertise immensely. She was about 41 years old and a very intelligent woman. She didn't have a family herself- but she owned a dog and spent a lot of time with her young niece. As soon as we entered the room, I knew she would allow John to continue with my treatment but I happily listened to John's voice as he rambled on.

When John's speech had finally concluded, Doctor Morris turned her attention to me. "Are you happy with this arrangement?" She asked, seeking confirmation.

"Absolutely." I confirmed, breathing in.

"Well, I don't know if any counter argument I could make would change the way you two are handling this situation." She mused. "It seems I have no choice but to agree. As long as the pair of you can keep to one weekly appointment on a Tuesday morning, you're free to go."

"Thank you!" John exclaimed, reaching across the desk to over enthusiastically shake his boss's unexpecting hand.

I turned my coat collar up to shelter myself from prying eyes and followed the buzzing army doctor outside. Just then, I received a message from Mycroft. Immediately I deleted it, wondering why I hadn't already blocked his number. Curiously, John had also received a text message signed MH. He showed me the message, puzzled how my brother had found his phone number. Sighing, I called Mycroft to ask what kind of game he was trying to play with me.

"Sherlock?" My pretentious brother barked down the phone.

"What, Mycroft?" I replied snappily.

"I hope you're feeling better, I have a job for you." My interested perked immensely at this statement. Perhaps many would be repelled by such a request but as key member of the British governments, the favours my brother asked of me occasionally held some proportion of excitement. "We have received intelligence of a planned Russian terrorist attack in the heart of London. We need your help to track them."

This was an offer I couldn't refuse, but I tried to play down my excitement. "What about MI6. Isn't that what you pay them for?"

I delighted in my own smugness as I sensed Mycroft's frustration through the phone. "Sherlock! This is a matter of national security!"

"Mhm, where have I heard that before?" I teased, before eventually agreeing to help.

"Thank you. Meet myself and Lestrade at Scotland Yard in an hour's time." Mycroft hung up the phone and left me to deal with John's exasperated stare.

"Are you kidding?" John exclaimed, waving in arms pointlessly in the direction of the hospital we had just left.

"Of course not, John." I smirked. "Now come on!"