which was hardly an improvement when there was still a needle in his skin. His left wing stretched all the way over his shoulder, close enough he could've scratched his nose with it, but of course Sherlock didn't see a thing. "I'll be in the waiting room," John said, as briskly as he could. There was no point in fighting a deduction. "We'll share a cab, yeah?" "Just tea, thanks," Sherlock said vaguely, and twisted his uninjured arm around his back to feel his shoulder blades. John made eye contact with the doctor, who was young and bright-looking and clearly didn't deserve any of this. "You've my permission to sedate him, if that helps," John told him ernestly, and went back to the waiting area to prepare himself, if he possibly could, for the conversation to come. -\-\-\- Sherlock, surprisingly, restrained himself all the way back to the flat. Or maybe he was still processing some of the data. John consulted his prescriptions and thought of three ploys to ensure Sherlock actually went back for his follow-up appointments. As soon as they were up the steps, however, Sherlock said quietly, "There is something on my back." John didn't say anything. He didn't even know what to say. "I found your list, you know," Sherlock continued, which, well, John had pretty much given up on changing his passwords long ago. "No common thread among all the names, collectively or according to the groups you put them in. But it's something about