Chapter Text
John poured himself another cup of coffee and rubbed his temples in the darkened call room. He’d been on twenty four hours; he’d offered to cover for Sarah, whose mother was undergoing her first chemotherapy treatment. It was hard for him, but he understood it was hell for her, so he sucked it up.
He did lament that the hospital was at maximum capacity, and one of his patients was a loud, obnoxious, very high man whose spot on accusations and vitriol made two of the nurses cry, and one refuse to treat him. He’d had to rely on Josi, a study, weathered nurse in her mid thirties with the stout sensibility of an eighty year old Russian babushka. She pretended to be deaf, which the man called her out on, but as she continued the ruse, he found it impossible to rile her, and finally his protestations died down.
He sat down, closing his eyes in the cool room and savoring the relative silence for approximately four minutes, at which point his pager went off. He sighed, chugged the last of the slightly too hot coffee, coughed, then called the number back.
“323, again, Dr. Watson. His brother’s here now, but he’s nicer. I think. Kind of creepy. Wants an update from the doctor. Apparently I’m not good enough.”
John moaned. Being the doctor had its perks. This wasn’t one of them. “Yeah, I’ll be there in five.”
John sat down for two more minutes, letting the darkened room soothe his senses, then steeled himself for the hustle and bustle of the A&E. With a deep breath, he swung open the door and squinted into the artificial light.
“Mr. Holmes,” he addressed his patient, “How can I help you?”
The pale, dark haired young man scowled, “I don’t need anything. Get out.”
“Now, Sherlock,” John was surprised to see a man hidden in the corner, “I need an update as to your condition.”
John paused, the man spoke softly and firmly, and stood, lean and resplendent in a three pieces suit. Power wafted off him, and John took in a deep breath to center himself. “I’m sorry, Sir, I can’t release information without the patient’s consent.”
“Ah, you will see, Doctor-“ here the man paused, prompting John.
“-Watson,” John offered.
“Dr. Watson, yes. I am Sherlock’s legal guardian. He is just seventeen, as you can see in his records, and I am entitled to know his medical history, outside of reproductive history,” the man smiled blandly, but a twinkle in his eye intrigued John.
He looked into the chart to verify the man’s claims. “I see, Mr. Holmes, the elder.” He turned to his patient, “I’ll be sharing information with your brother now.”
“Fine.” The young man spat, losing an argument to which John clearly wasn’t privy.
He turned back to the striking figure in the corner, “Your brother was stabbed in the torso. His condition is complicated by his use of cocaine. He needs to stay overnight for observation, since his drug use can counteract the beta blockers we used.”
The patient scoffed, “What do you know? You’re just a resident, you haven’t been certified yet.” His tone went from dismissive to cruel, “You’re recently back from the military, you’ve been shot. Trained as a surgeon, but your hand isn’t steady enough anymore. So you’re stuck with junkies like me, in a never ending cycle of dull, boring patients. You’ll hate your job soon enough. It doesn’t pay well enough for a flat in London, and you’re living with your brother trying to make ends meet. It’s not working, and you’re worried you’ll have to move.”
John stared at his patient, then smirked. “That was brilliant. You were almost entirely right.”
His patient looked offended, and shrieked, “Almost?!”
The attractive ginger in the corner smirked. “You see, Sherlock, but you don’t observe. He’s clearly been living in the hospital call rooms for that last three weeks. He and that brother didn’t get along.”
His patient glared amidst his sulking.
John took pleasure in announcing, “Well, you’re both wrong. I have a sister,” he nodded at his patient, and turned to the brother and nodded again, “who kicked me out. How did you know?”
The brother smiled genuinely, albeit a bit confused, and offered his hand, “Mycroft Holmes, how do you do, Dr. Watson?”
“John,” John offered, taking his hand with a bright smile.
His patient groaned.
“John, you have been most helpful. I look forward to discussing my brother’s case further with you.”
“NO!” John’s patient yelled, “He’s MY doctor. You can’t have him!”
John snapped his head to his patient, “I’m sorry, I don’t belong to anyone, regardless of your sibling rivalry. Your brother has rights to your information, which I will provide for him.” John turned to the brother, the gorgeous, sexy, powerful brother, and stood strong, “And I will discuss nothing more with you than the necessities of your brother’s case. I will not be a pawn in whatever game you’re playing.”
The elder Holmes stared at him, and gathered himself enough to say, “Of course, Dr. Watson. Please excuse us.”
John nodded, then left the room. It’d been a while since he’d been attracted to another man; he’d need to work that off before coming back. He rushed back to the call room, and grasped himself through his scrubs. He moaned, thinking about the tall ginger in the jet black suit. He imagined being restrained by the blood red tie, and groaned further as he lowered his scrubs and began to stroke himself. He thrust into his fist, thinking marginally of his patient’s gorgeous brother, and within minutes, his deprived libido burst into joy over his fingers, soaking the front of his scrubs. He sighed in his own hands, cock throbbing, pulsating the final throbs of come onto himself and melted boneless into the call room bed.
After recuperating, John stripped himself of his come streaked scrubs, and put on a pair of fresh new green ones. With a through hand washing, he went back to tend to his patients.