Pairing: Implied Sherlock/Lestrade
Summary: A twist on the hospital bedside trope. I'm not entirely sure where this odd little thing came from, but I like playing with Sally.
He was cold, so cold, and that was odd, because his brain was telling him his hands were somewhere warm, and wet, why were they wet, he needed a towel, and why was he holding his neck, he could feel his pulse under his fingers, it didn't make sense, had someone told him to, it seemed like it but he couldn't remember...
...and now there were other fingers over his, and the pressure of a bundled scarf against what might have been a wound, and voices yelling, or one voice, close by, but it seemed so far away, and he was so tired...
Lestrade opened his eyes, painfully. A blurry room swam into view, and it felt like his eyelashes had been glued together. He swallowed with difficulty, trying to lessen the acrid taste in his mouth and blinked a few more times, until the watery shades resolved into the faintly depressing shapes of a hospital sideroom. And a wholly unexpected figure sitting in the chair by the bed, ensconced in a book.
He moistened his lips, and hoped the croak he suspected he was about to produce would be audible, because he wasn't sure he had the strength to call out twice.
She looked up at her name, and smiled in slight surprise. "Welcome back sir," she said quietly, putting down the book. He could feel himself frowning as she leaned over to press the nursecall button.
"How do you feel?"
"Like some bastard shot me." He coughed, wincing, as the recollection seemed to notify his body of the fact it should immediately start hurting all over.
"You're going to be fine."
"What are you - " he tailed off as she raised her eyebrows enquiringly. But of the people he might have expected to find at his bedside - and it was a short list - she hadn't exactly been near the top.
"You're not secretly in love with me or something awkward are you?" he asked, finally.
"You wish." She smiled down at him, and he smiled back, faintly puzzled.
"Freak was causing a nuisance, so - " she spread her hands. "Here I am."
"Sherlock?" He'd been here? The thought sent an odd spike of warmth through him, then the rest of Donovan's words filtered through. "Are you on guard?" he asked, somewhat incredulously.
But she laughed. "No. He wouldn't leave. And he was starting to pass out through lack of sleep, and arguing with the nurses. So they tried to throw him out but he refused to go unless someone stayed with you." She sighed. "So I volunteered."
"Thank you." He meant it.
"I haven't even put it down as overtime," she grinned.
The door opened to admit a nurse, who started fussing round Lestrade's monitor and asking him questions. Sally got to her feet and dug her phone out of her pocket.
"I'll go out and let him know you're awake."
"That's good of you," he said, mildly surprised at this apparent thawing between them.
"Are you kidding? He's going to be so pissed you woke up on my shift." She paused at the door and looked back. "Good to have you back with us, sir."
He smiled, slowly. "Good to still be here Sergeant. Good to still be here."