Hi there! Not really much to say except thanks for 6,000 reads!! And also thanks for the comments guys! I would answer them all individually but that would be a giant comment and I don't want to make a bunch of them 'cause I want to keep the 'stats' for this story unaffected by me. But I will say thank you guys so much. And I saw a question about the updating schedule, at first it was around every 3 days, but it's gotten kind of messed up now. I still try to keep it around 3 or 4 days if I can though. :)

Also, I feel the need to say that this story is not rated M, and will not be. Sorry if anyone's disappointed but I'm just not comfortable with writing that stuff yet. Maybe some time in the future but not now. :/

Okay, that's all, thanks again for reading, and here's chapter nineteen!

___________________________________________________

The ride to the hospital had been long and arduous. Sherlock, who had refused to ride in a separate ambulance, had remained sitting beside John while he was lying in the stretcher, one hand pressing something against his forehead to stop his cut from bleeding, the other one gently smoothing down John's hair. John was sure that everyone in the ambulance thought they were a couple, and he couldn't blame them. After all, they had been cuddling in the car when the ambulance came, and he was pretty sure that hair stroking was a bit too intimate a gesture for them to be thought of as 'just friends'. John himself was a bit confused as to why Sherlock was doing it, but it felt nice, so he didn't complain.

In fact, when John found himself lying down on some table getting his leg x-rayed, he'd wished that Sherlock was standing beside him, running his hands over his hair, rather than in a completely different part of the hospital getting the gash in his forehead stitched up.

The next time John saw Sherlock was when he was lying in a hospital bed waiting for a doctor to come and give him the results of his x-ray. He'd heard a soft knocking at the door, and he turned his head to see Sherlock leaning against the door frame. All of the blood had been wiped from his face, and his hair was covering the majority of the stitches, but John could still see the bruising on his cheek. Despite the pain he felt in his chest at seeing Sherlock's face like that, he smiled at him.

"May I come in?" Sherlock asked. John's smile grew and he rolled his eyes.

"Of course you can." Sherlock nodded his head, then came inside, standing at John's bedside. When he was close enough, John reached up towards him. Sherlock looked confused, but bent down enough for John to lightly brush his fingers over the purple marks on his face. He heard someone behind Sherlock clear their throat, and he let his hand fall to his side while Sherlock turned around. Perhaps John was just seeing things, but he could've sworn Sherlock was glaring at the doctor and nurse standing just inside the room, looking down at something on the clipboard in his hands.

"Well, it appears you have a fibular fracture," he said, not looking up. "There's no need to worry, but since you aren't exactly a 'spring chicken' anymore it might take a bit longer to heal than it would for some younger people. I say we get you in a cast, and you'll have to wear it for at least a month." John sighed and nodded his head, and felt Sherlock place his hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The doctor pulled a pen out and held it poised in his hand, ready to write.

"I can prescribe you some medication for the pain, if you'd like," he said, and John told him he'd appreciate it. The doctor nodded his head and began scribbling something down. "Okay, now, would you like crutches or a cane? I'd suggest the crutches but it's your choice."

"Well, I already have a cane at home," John said, looking up at Sherlock, "Maybe I should get the crutches." The doctor began scribbling something down and nodded.

"Very well then. Have they brought your clothes yet?" John shook his head, and the doctor turned to the nurse beside him. "Go find his clothes."

With that they turned and left, leaving Sherlock and John alone again. John sighed and closed his eyes. He felt a cool hand briefly touch his forehead, and he opened his eyes to see Sherlock staring down at him, his facial expression concerned and guilt ridden. That only lasted for a moment before Sherlock's face was completely wiped of any emotion and he brought his hand back to his side. He took in a breath, as if to speak, but John raised a finger to his own lips and shushed him.

"If you're going to apologize again, you keep your mouth shut." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, but closed his mouth and stood silently beside John's bed. After a brief moment he raised his hand to John's forehead again, and began gently brushing his fingers across his hairline.

After several minutes the nurse from before appeared in the doorway holding the bag that contained John's clothes, shoes, and wallet. She gave them a small smile and held up the bag, and Sherlock waved her over with the hand that wasn't playing with John's hair. She placed the clothes on John's bed and smiled.

"Is there anything else I can help you with before you go?"

"Actually, I have a question," Sherlock said, staring down at her. He clasped his hands together in front of himself and tilted his head to the side. "Where is the gift shop?"

"It's on the main floor, right by the welcome desk." Sherlock gave her a tight lipped smile, then turned to John and his smile grew wider.

"I'll be right back." John nodded his head.

"Alright." Sherlock started to walk away, and the nurse smiled down at John.

"Your boyfriend seems really sweet." John chuckled and shook his head as he reached for his shirt.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you anything otherwise, would you?" The nurse just smiled and shook her head, and John found himself smiling as well. He saw a figure moving out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see Sherlock's head poking in through the doorway. John wished he hadn't heard the nurse's comment, and his response, but the smirk on his face told John that he had.

"I was just wondering if you wanted me to get you anything while I was down there. Snack, card, 'Get Well Soon' balloon?" John's entire face was hot and he avoided eye contact with Sherlock as he shook his head. He glanced up in time to see Sherlock smiling at him, then leave. The nurse began to giggle, and if John wasn't so embarrassed he would have joined her.

Thanks to Mycroft, Sherlock was able to avoid any serious repercussions he may have had for crashing the rental car, and the rental company ended up only asking for another car to replace the one that had been crashed. Of course, Mycroft had taken care of that as well, and John couldn't figure out why. For someone who claimed to dislike Sherlock so much, Mycroft seemed to always be willing to help him out. He figured their sibling bond was just stronger than he'd originally thought.

John had gotten used to using the crutches, but he still hated hated them. Because of it he didn't leave the flat for a few days once they'd returned from the hospital. He stayed mostly in the living room, and Sherlock had actually let John use his bed so he wouldn't have to go upstairs to his. He cooked breakfast for John every morning, and thankfully he seemed to have improved at cooking quite a bit since the crêpe incident. During the day John would watch television or browse the internet while Sherlock read the newspaper or played violin. At night they would drink tea and talk about what they'd read, or watched in the paper or on TV. Then John would tell Sherlock he was ready for bed, and Sherlock would wash out the teacups while John got ready for bed. Then they would say goodnight, and John would head into Sherlock's room. Though he wished Sherlock would come in and lay down beside him, John figured it was also nice to be able to listen to Sherlock play the violin in the living room until he fell asleep.

Sherlock hadn't taken a case since they'd gotten back either. It was obvious he was itching to get back to work, but for some reason he wouldn't even look at any of the e-mails he got. John suggested that if he was apprehensive to go outside for whatever reason he could just work on the cases from home, and Sherlock had looked at him like he was an idiot. John didn't mention the cases again.

Sherlock's nightmares seemed to persist, if John's hearing wasn't failing him and those really were shouts coming from the living room at night. He'd asked Sherlock if he wanted to try sleeping in his own bed again and they could start up their system once more, but Sherlock had refused. He told him the nightmares 'weren't that bad' and that he could handle them, but John knew otherwise. He wanted to ask Sherlock about them, but he was so afraid of upsetting him that he decided to wait until Sherlock told him he was ready again.

Though as the days went on Sherlock became more and more irritable, most likely due to his lack of sleep. John would wake up and limp into the living room to find Sherlock sulking on the couch. It wasn't often that John found Sherlock like this, though, because almost as soon as he noticed that John was in the room his attitude would change completely. He was always in a good mood around John, smiling and laughing and engaging in playful banter, but every now and then John would catch a hint of something else in his eyes that wasn't happiness or joy, or see that his jaw was clenched and his mouth almost a frown. Yet, these things only lasted for a brief second before Sherlock was smiling at John and offering to make him tea or play a board game.

One evening, while John and Sherlock were in the middle of a rousing game of Guess Who there was a knock at the door. Sherlock went to answer it, and when the door was opened both men were surprised to see Lestrade standing in the doorway. There was a smile on his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. Sherlock stepped to the side and allowed him to enter, and offered for him to take a seat on the sofa.

"No, that's alright," he said, "I won't be here long."

"Alright then," Sherlock said, sitting back down at the table across from John. Lestrade gave them a strange look, then smiled.

"You're playing Guess Who?"

"More like winning," Sherlock said, smirking at John. He turned back to face Lestrade with a serious face. "Why are you here?" Sherlock asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. Lestrade held his hands up and laughed. A sly smirk appeared on his face as he reached into one of his coat pockets. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Sherlock.

"This." Sherlock took it from his hand and began examining the envelope. "No, open it."

Sherlock gave him a strange look and did as he was told. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and began reading it. After a few seconds he made a disgusted face and shook his head.

"No thanks."

"Oh come on," Lestrade said, taking a few steps closer to the table and crossing his arms. John tried to lean forward enough to get a glimpse of what the paper said. When Sherlock noticed him struggling to lift out of his seat without hurting his leg he flipped the paper around so John could read it.

"It's an invitation of some sort." Sherlock said, frowning at the paper when he turned it back around.

"Yes, there's going to be a little 'get together' at my new flat this Saturday and I'd love it if you two could come." Sherlock chuckled and balled the piece of paper up in his fist. He placed the crumpled up invitation on the table next to the game and gave Lestrade a tight lipped smile.

"Thanks, but no thanks," John reached out and grabbed the paper, smoothing it back out. Sherlock sat frozen in place while John turned to Lestrade and gave him a smile.

"We'll be there," he said. Sherlock immediately glared at him.

"What?! You're not serious..."

"I'm very serious." Sherlock kept his glare for a few seconds, then sighed and nodded his head.

"Okay," he said. "Okay fine."

John was surprised he gave in so easily, and from the look on his face Lestrade was as well. His eyebrows were raised and he nodded his head slowly, unfolding his arms and backing towards the door.

"Great!" he said, smiling. "The address and all that is on the invitation. Can't wait to see you guys there. Oh, and it's a bit of a formal event so dress nice." He closed the door behind him, leaving Sherlock and John alone once more.

"There's a nice little shop not too far from here that sells reasonably priced suits," Sherlock said, picking up his violin from the table where it had been resting. John furrowed his brow and stared at him.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Didn't you hear Lestrade? He said it's a formal event, which means you can't go in one of those silly little jumpers you always wear."

"They are not silly!" John said defensively, glaring at Sherlock. The detective merely smirked as he began playing softly, and John sighed heavily. He sat there silently for a few moments, then grabbed his cane and stood up. He limped into Sherlock's room, where he was now keeping some of his clothing, and put on his shoes. He grabbed a jacket and his wallet from the nightstand, then walked back into the living room. Sherlock was still sitting at the table, violin in hand, eyes staring at nothing.

"Do you need anything?" Sherlock shook his head, and so John left the flat. He had barely made it outside before he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. As he climbed into a taxicab he pulled out the device and saw that he'd gotten a text from Sherlock:

Actually yes, bring milk.

SH