Hospitals and Lestrade

                                    

                                          
John's POV
                          
The doctors finished wrapping the wound just as Lestrade finished questioning me. An intern handed me a huge stack of medical papers that needed to be signed. "Is there any way that this can be taken home? I was an army doctor and I know that they don't usually do that, but is there any way?" I asked, exhausted.
                          
It was past midnight and I desperately needed sleep. We'd been working on the case since dawn, running around trying to catch him. He'd switched locations on us a few times, meaning it had been a particularly exhausting day. The intern looked at me with pity.
                          
"Um, ask for his medical files up front, they should let you take it." The young intern replied, tucking her mousy brown hair behind her ears nervously. I thanked her and went and found said desk. They told me it'd be a minute but I could wait if I so wished. I saw that Sherlock was still being questioned by Lestrade so I nodded quietly and took a seat.
                          
Lestrade had questioned me while Sherlock was being tended to by the doctors. I had told him everything, including how Sherlock had run at the bloke. Lestrade hadn't looked surprised when I told him this and had just looked away, sighing sadly.
                          
I still couldn't believe he did that. It was like he didn't care about his life, I mean, Sherlock was always reckless, but this was plain stupid. God, I was in love with the dark haired blue eyed moron but this didn't make sense. Sherlock is the most intelligent man I've ever met but I didn't have any explanation. There was no logical explanation for him just running at a man with a gun. Sherlock was much, much cleverer than that. I watched him through the examination rooms window. The blinds were drawn but I could still see through them.
                          
Sherlock's dark chocolate curls fell into his face, obscuring his expression, but I could tell he was animated. He flung his hands in front of him, gesturing largely. I gave a small smile, that had to mean Sherlock was alright.
                          
I felt my heart melt a tad, just looking at him. I quickly turned away and cleared my throat. Sherlock would never love me, I knew that. But for whatever reason, I still felt compelled to tell him my feelings. I owed him that, I couldn't keep lying to him. He was my best mate, I shouldn't be keeping secrets from him. The more logical side of me told me exactly how bad of an idea that would be, imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios of rejection, ranging from a rift in our friendship to Sherlock kicking me out. I shook my head to clear my thoughts when I heard the familiar annoying click of Donovan's shoes. That woman never let off my case, no matter how much I told her off.
                          
"I told you the freak was a psychopath, didn't I?" She said in a very smug but exhausted manner. I shook my head and looked up at her. The anger she caused me always boiled my blood, but tonight, it spilled over. I snapped, the final straw was gone and I yelled.
                          
"He's not a freak! Why do you INSIST on calling him that?! Is it simply because you can't understand him? You don't understand him, so why do you think you can call him that?! He is so much more complex than just 'a freak.' He is just as human as you or me, he could've died tonight!" I yelled angrily at her, meaning every word. I was out of breath, anger raising every hair on my body. My fists were clenched, and I shot daggers at her with my eyes.
                          
"Oh, and you understand him?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest. I rested my face in my hands. I let out a long, angry sigh.
                          
"More than you do." I couldn't think straight. (AN: well you're not, so idk what you expected John) I felt my body tremble with anger, and I just desperately wished she would go away. Donovan stayed where she was, not saying a word. "Leave," I hissed out, but she didn't budge.
                          
"It's what he is, a freak. He's not human, I'd get away from him as fast as I possibly could. If you knew what was good for you, you would."
                          
"Leave," I repeated, but she still didn't move.
                          
"I can't think of why you, a normal person, would ever put up with him, he's a psychopath. You aren't him, you aren't a psychopath. Take up another hobby, anything to get you away from him." She stood there for another minute before sighing and walking away, the click of her shoes fading. I sat with my head in my hands until they called me up to the desk.
                          
Not long after I received his medical files, Lestrade walked up to me. "Are they discharging him?" I asked, still upset from my conversation with Donovan. My eyes were watering, from exhaustion or stress or sadness, I didn't know.
                          
"They're doing some final examinations right now but then yeah," he answered, just as exhausted. He sat down next to me and paused for a moment. "Listen, John, there are some things you'll see in his medical files, that are, um, different than you probably expected." I looked at him, confused.
                          
"What do you mean?" I asked, turning my body to face him. He ran a hand over his face while he replied.
                          
"Look, I don't know how to explain this, but you'll see," he said finally. I nodded, still confused. "I think you should look at them tonight before Sherlock will get to them." He sighed out, running his hands through his hair.
                          
"Before Sherlock gets to them? Greg, what's happening?" I asked and he gave me a sad, sympathetic look. "Just trust me okay?" With that, he got up, wished me a good night, and left promptly.
                          
I was still confused at Lestrade's words, and furious with Donovan when Sherlock was finally discharged, around 12:30 am. Lestrade, I could tell, was upset about Sherlock injuring himself, just as I was. Something else seemed to trouble him, but he just shook his head. Sherlock had his torso wrapped in gauze, under his clothing.
                          
I ragged on him as we waited for a cabbie. "You could've died Sherlock!" I exclaimed. Sherlock simply shrugged. "Oh hush, I'm fine." He answered, rolling his eyes. The cab had arrived, and we both stepped in out of the chilly November weather. I seethed in silence but also wondered what Lestrade had meant about Sherlocks medical files.
                          
AN: OMG Season 4 premieres today! I am so excited, and so scared! Sorry for another shorter chapter, the next few will be about this long, but the chapters will get longer I promise!