ScopesMonkey and AGirloftheSouth
John felt a drop of condensation from the ice pack trail down his ear. He didn't bother to wipe it away - what would be the point? He sighed and looked back up at the officer standing in front of him.
"Mr. Watson," he started and John interrupted him.
The officer continued to stare at John, "Doctor Watson," he said, thoroughly unimpressed with the change in salutation. "Mr. Humphrey is still being treated for his injuries, so I need to get a statement from you in case he decides to press charges."
"I've already told you. The bloke in the Chelsea jersey, Mr. Humphrey, pushed the bloke in the suit," John paused and the officer supplied the name of Mr. Harrison. John nodded. "Mr. Humphrey pushed Mr. Harrison into me, spilling my pint. I stood up and we hit each other."
The officer continued to stare, pen poised over the little notebook. John was certain that he hadn't actually written anything down yet. The officer shifted his weight from one foot to the other and turned his head to the side. "The other witnesses have said that it was actually you, Mr. Watson, who hit him."
"Yeah," John lifted the ice pack and turned his head so that the officer could see the cut and swelling that he knew must be present on the side of his head. He hadn't actually seen it yet. He hadn't been seen by a doctor yet. "Obviously, I've been hit too. Hence why I said, 'We hit each other.' And it's Doctor Watson, Doctor."
"There's not need to get testy Doctor Watson. I'm just trying to get an accurate timeline of the events."
"Fucking ridiculous," John said under his breath as he replaced the ice pack. He was unable to contain a wince as the cold, the bruise, and the wound met again. It only took a moment for the ice to work its magic, numbing some of the pain. If he could make the throbbing in his brain stop he might have felt more like a human and less like a giant ass.
"Doctor Watson, you've already had an ASBO…"
"Oh fuck all, get out, now." John pointed at the door but the officer didn't move. "Get out now, I'm done answering your questions. My sister is a solicitor, if you need to ask me any more questions you can speak to her."
"GET THE FUCK OUT," he repeated. His voice was too loud, resonating through his head. He groaned and leaned forward. "Get out," he repeated quietly. He didn't look up, but heard the footsteps as the officer headed to the door.
"I'll be in touch," he said and John heard the door close. He didn't care. He just wanted the ache to stop.
He took the ice pack away and looked at it. He didn't remember exactly where it came from, but obviously not from the hospital staff or the paramedics. It was an old towel wrapped around a sandwich bag filled with what must have been ice at some point during the evening. It was soaked through and disgusting but had served its purpose.
John reached around and gently put pressure along his temple. He winced, feeling the cut gingerly, knowing the man must have been wearing a ring. He moved his fingers across the frontal and sphenoid bones easily able to determine that at least they weren't fractured, horribly bruised but not broken. It was the only positive on the day's events.
There was a quiet knock on the door and he rolled his eyes. "Come in," he said, completely expecting it to be the officer again. He was too realistic to believe that it was a doctor yet. It was Friday night and his possible minor concussion hardly rated amid the stabbing victims and alcohol poisonings. The only reason he'd been granted a room was because he was a doctor, some unspoken professional courtesy.
He realised with a sudden moment of panic that it might be Sherlock, but as the door opened he realised just as suddenly that his husband wouldn't have knocked. He looked up to see his sister walk through the door. She was tired and had dressed in haste. She frowned as she let the door close behind her and her face contorted as her eyes focused on the side of his face.
"Oh god, John," she closed the distance and settled a hand on one of his knees. "What the hell happened?"