Recovery

John clutched onto his bedsheets, his gaze shakily on Sherlock's feet. He couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze. He could already feel Sherlock's analyzing eyes graze against his body. He didn't like it. Though, he was expecting a scoff, or a witty remark about what had happened. Oddly enough...it never came.

Sherlock's dull gray-blue eyes stared at John as he stood at the door. Lestrade was easy to deduce. His suit was wrinkled and had obviously been worn overnight. His hair was messy and his eyes had bags under them. He was tired, and had stayed overnight with John. But John was in the hospital gown. Not only did less clothing make it harder to analyze someone, but he couldn't process what had happened. He gazed upon the 5'7 male, trying to deduce what had happened.

The side of his face was patched up, showing that his face had been beaten up in some way. His wrists had slight burn marks, possibly from a zip tie, which showed he'd been restrained. But even with all this information, he just couldn't place it.

The 5'11 Greg sighed at Sherlock and stood up, walking over and standing less than a few inches away from him as he looked down. "Sherlock, I know what you're thinking, but for god's sake don't be an arsehole. If he wants to tell you, he will. But don't pester him about it, or pester him to tell you. This isn't the time and place to ask anything." he muttered under his breath so only Sherlock could hear.

Sherlock paused and gazed down at the male, sighing quietly with a silent nod. He slowly walked over, placing the bag with clothes on a table as he examined John's body. The closer he got, the worse the injuries seemed. His wrists were red and bruised. His shoulders and neck were also badly bruised, along with scratch marks along his arms and collarbone. Who knows where else he was injured. The hospital gown covered more than he thought.

John trembled lightly, his gaze still on the floor. He didn't want to face Sherlock. Though, he eventually let himself slowly look up, his gaze now on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock stared at him with a serious, blank and harsh look, his eyes cold and dull. He seemed...angry. No, not at John. But at whoever put him in this hospital. John being injured was bad enough, but to have been so severe as to need hospitalization? It infuriated him. And yet he didn't seem to express this. John, however, could see the anger in his eyes. He was scared that Sherlock was mad at him, but he had a feeling it wasn't. After all, why would he be mad at him?

Sherlock then sighed quietly, his gaze softening as he went to speak. "John, I--"

"Don't-" John suddenly spoke, his voice shaky and quiet, still a bit hoarse. "Just-...don't. Not now..." he said quietly, gripping onto the bedsheets below him. How could he just tell Sherlock that he'd been raped? And what if he asked who did it? He had to stay quiet about the individual.

Sherlock bit his lip, clenching his hands a bit into fists as he just stared at the male. What...had happened?