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Mad as a Box of Frogs

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As might be expected, once Sherlock’s condition had stabilized after his escape from the hospital and all that followed, John had much to say about the wisdom, or lack thereof, in Sherlock’s escapades.  Meanwhile, Sherlock did his best to ignore John’s scolding by speaking on his current favorite subject: Mary’s good intentions.

 “John,” Sherlock was saying with the tone of one explaining something for the twentieth time to the not-so-bright, “I’ve told you.  It wasn’t a kill shot.  That bullet was perfectly placed to spare my life—“

“Are you as mad as a box of frogs???” Both Sherlock’s and John’s heads abruptly swiveled to look at the doctor in the doorway who had apparently overheard the tail end of their conversation.  “I apologize, Mr. Holmes, but—“

“Doctor—“ Sherlock began to say.

“No,” she proceeded indignantly, “It’s obvious from your earlier premature departure that you are not taking your injury seriously enough.  And I can’t allow you to persist in this dangerous belief that it was anything but an absolute miracle that you lived and that your condition is anything other than serious.”

“Doctor—“ he attempted to interject again, but she only spoke louder over top of him until after a moment he gave up with a resigned look on his face.

“You died on the table, Mr. Holmes.  Repeated attempts to resuscitate you were made, and they all failed.  Every one of us had reached the obvious conclusion that there was nothing left that this hospital could do for you other than send your corpse to the morgue for an autopsy!  Not even one patient in one hundred would have survived at that point.  So no more nonsense about this being anything other than a mortal wound that you somehow amazingly managed to survive!”

The doctor strode over, took a quick look at the chart and machines, and then took a deep, unsteady breath.  “I will be back to speak with you about your condition in a few minutes, Mr. Holmes, when I’ve had a chance to calm down,” before she exited the room.

After a few moments’ silence, John turned to Sherlock with his eyebrows raised, “Well, she put paid to that question, didn’t she?  Surgery, was it?”

With a scowl on his face, Sherlock said, “Oh, do shut up.”

And John had an all-too-brief smirk on his face, before he sobered up as he as he recalled the serious issues at hand.