"You're feeling better, then?"

Sherlock nodded, stretching. The motion brought a bit of pain- mostly from sore muscles, he was sure- but he didn't mind it now. He was pretty sure that his pain tolerance had kicked up a notch ever since he had started feeling the appendicitis pain. Nothing could be worse than that...

Well, okay, probably some things could, but those were things that Sherlock never, ever, wanted to experience.

"Good. You should still be resting, though," John said.

"I've rested for the past few days in hospital," Sherlock muttered. "I don't want to continue resting. I want a case."

"Number one, you still have to go back to get the stitches out-"

"No, you can do that," Sherlock interrupted.

"I'm not doing that. They need to make sure you're healing nicely and that there's no sign of infection and I'm not letting you get by with just me supervising you."

Sherlock sighed, sinking onto the sofa. It was comfortable, it felt like home, and Sherlock was so glad to be back at Baker Street.

"I don't want to go back to the stupid doctor, John. I was miserable enough that I had to go there in the first place, wasn't that enough?

"It will be as soon as your follow-up shows no sign of infection or anything else crippling," John replied, peering into the fridge. "Do you want to eat? You're on a normal diet now, so you can have pretty much anything."

"I'm not hungry," Sherlock replied carelessly.

"Yeah, you're clearly feeling better..." John muttered. "Tea and toast, at least."

"Fine."

He wasn't hungry, honestly, although he knew that John wouldn't accept that explanation. So, he'd stomach a piece or two of toast and he'd take the cuppa gratefully.

John delivered both to him, after smearing jam onto the toast and putting milk and sugar into the tea. Sherlock munched absently on one of the pieces of toast. It took him a minute to work up what he was about to say and he took a sip of his tea to wash the lingering taste of strawberry out of his mouth.

"Thank you."

John glanced up at him, looking away from a microwaveable dinner that he was holding. "What?"

Sherlock frowned and turned back to his toast. He took a calculated bite before speaking again. "While I don't condone visiting hospital unless absolutely necessary, you took it in stride to make sure that I received the care that you thought I needed. The gestures that you performed throughout the stay in the hospital were... appreciated," he finished stoically.

John looked surprised, although Sherlock was quick to catch the amusement that danced across John's tired face. "Really? Because I was under the impression that you hated to have me hovering."

"If I had to be in hospital, I would rather you be by my side," Sherlock said, taking a drink of his tea.

"Well." John paused, glancing back at the defrosting box in his hands. "You're... welcome."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Right."

Sherlock returned to his tea.

John turned back to his microwaveable dinner.

"Three minutes and thirty seconds," Sherlock intoned.

John looked up again. "What?"

"Your microwave salisbury steak. Three minutes and thirty seconds."

"Oh... Oh, okay, right." John opened the microwave door, peering into it. "Is this safe? Didn't explode any eyeballs in it?"

"I never explode anything." He paused. "Except that stomach once."

"Don't remind me," John muttered. "That was a mess."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed.

He smiled sardonically at the memory and, from the corner of his eye, noticed John smiling to himself, too.

So, after not having access to Fanfiction for almost a whole week, here's the final (short) chapter of this story. Honestly, there isn't much to say after the surgery. So, hopefully you all enjoyed this story. Thank you much for the reviews and the favourites and the follows. They are so appreciated!

I do not own Sherlock.

Thank you!