And Together We Fell (prev. "Teenlock") - An AU Sherlock/Johnlock Fanfic

Chapter 26

Monitors beeped either side of the unmoving body of Greg Lestrade.  His chest rose slightly, the bandages moving a tad every time.

The stark white room was stereotypical; white curtains, white walls, white machines. He had yet to be moved to his own room.

John sat in the corner sleeping, his head on the arm rest and his body led sideways, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around his knees.

The incident had happened a mere three hours ago, and it was now 6pm. The A&E was a little quieter than normal.

"I need to go in... No... You-- you need to let me through... Oh for God's sake--" John awoke at the frustrated yell, and after shaking his head a few times, through a small parting in the curtains he saw Sherlock trying to get past a nurse who was shaking her head and holding her arms out to prevent him from coming through.

John's heart lifted, and he struggled to get up, wincing slightly at the jagged pain in his head and the searing agony in his left leg that all came back as soon as his centre of gravity shifted. He clutched a hand to his head, and in one arm swing he pushed the curtains apart.

"Let him through, it's okay," John told the nurse as calmly as he could, gritting his teeth, and she looked dubiously at Sherlock as he looked exasperatedly at the nurse, before she let him through. Sherlock looked at John for a second, his face impossible to judge, and then he stood forward and wrapped his arms around John tightly. Immediately, John collapsed into his thin frame, allowing it to envelop him and somehow letting him release a slight edge from the pain racking his body. It still hurt a hell of a lot, though.

"Hey." John heard Sherlock mumble into his hair, and he breathed a little more calmly. He felt Sherlock lean back and study him. "... You're hurt. Why are you hurt?"

"It's nothing, I just..." John didn't want to upset Sherlock any further, but he knew solidly that Sherlock wouldn't let this drop. "I fell down some stairs. I'm fine." He said brusquely, but he couldn't fail to miss that sudden flicker of a change in Sherlock's stare, and the way the grip on his arms tightened a tad.

"You... fell down some stairs. I'm fairly certain that doesn't qualify as "fine", John."

"Well..."

"Well what?"

Looking uneasily around Sherlock, he clumsily stood back beside Greg, Sherlock in step, and shut the curtains. "I didn't fall. Well, actually, I mean I did fall, but I didn't do it myself." He lowered his voice. "Greg pushed me."

John watched Sherlock process the information. "I... really?  Greg? I..." He trailed off speechless, and now looked at the 16 (or was it 17?) year old boy lying soundly on the bed, his eyes hollow and his lips cracked, and John saw Sherlock lean backwards slightly, regarding Greg with slight betrayal in his eyes.

"Hey. You. Don't go jumping to conclusions." John punched Sherlock on the arm to get his attention, the length of his hand protesting and flaring up in pain. Sherlock jumped, and his glance and focus swivelled onto John, who was now clutching his injured hand with the other.

"What do you mean?"

John looked up sharply at Sherlock, and realised that Sherlock was under the impression that Greg Lestrade, one of the very, very few that he'd decided to trust, was now someone different.

"Listen, I don't think Greg did it. Or rather, I don't think that he meant to do it. Look, I--"

"Where is he? Where? Tell me right now, where the hell is Greg Lestrade?!"

John stopped talking immediately, and both boys turned to look around, just as the curtains burst open and a figure stumbled in, his hands gripping on the curtains like a life line.