A/N: This is only my second Sherlock fic and it has the NSY team, Johnlock and Fem!John. Inspired by Judging a Book by its Cover by InkinmyHeartandonthePage. Sherlock is injured and the team are baffled when a woman shows up claiming to be his wife... Pre-Study in Pink

Apologies for excessive use of italics and messed-up POV.

Disclaimer: It's all mine. Right, guys? Hey, why are locking me in this room!? At least it's got cool, springy walls...

Lestrade dragged a weary hand over drooping eyes as the harsh hospital lights attacked his retinas, piercing them with unwanted rays, as he sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair outside of small room, the need to do something warring with his crushing fatigue. It had been a very long day. Sorrow and fear washed through him as he beheld the room's sole occupant. Sherlock lay pale against the sheets in the peace-less sleep of sedatives, the humming and beeping of machine around him the only lullaby. It reminded Lestrade uncomfortably of the times when Sherlock's search for quiet from his own mind, the search for silence, for the ultimate high went too far, and all he found was weeks in hospital; it was only by pure stubbornness that the genius clung to life.

But this time the torment was not self-inflicted. The murder of a homeless child had drawn a block for the police, so Sherlock had been called in. It had become personal for Sherlock then, as he had known the poor boy from his Homeless Network, and so when he had found a breakthrough he had not waited for Lestrade. The Consulting-Detective was found in time for the murderer to be caught, but not soon enough to prevent the scuffle between the two men. It had been brutal and dirty, both combatants suffering injuries, until it suddenly ended when the murderer found a knife. Sherlock was in the process of bleeding out when the Detective Inspector had arrived, his great black coat and pool of blood spreading around him as his life slipped away.

That had been three days ago. Lestrade had spent the first day waiting in the hospital, praying, hoping that the genius would pull through as doctors and nurses worked over him for hours, putting him back together. When he came out of surgery, the older man hadn't left his side until Donovan had forced him to go home and get some sleep. He had reluctantly done so and then had been at the station for the last fourteen hours, making sure that the murderer would definitely be convicted, both for killing the child and for attacking Sherlock. Afterwards he had come to stand vigil by the Detective's bed and was rewarded when he'd awoken briefly and had promptly rattled off a list of his deductions that led him to identifying the killer. Lestrade had only just managed to write the helpful data down before he was bustled out of the room by agitated nurses.

"Hey, Boss. You alright?" He looked up to Donovan's anxious face.

His voice was hoarse, and he had to cough before speaking, "Yeah, fine. What are you doing here?"

"We brought you some coffee." That was when he noticed Anderson, standing further back and holding a tray of three Styrofoam cups of coffee. Their boss nodded his thanks and took the proffered cup. The pair dithered, not knowing what to do. Finally they made a decision and both of them sat down to his right. They sat together in silence for a while until they were distracted by a commotion down the corridor. It sounded like a nurse was having an argument with someone. The mystery person was not shouting but the noise still carried down the corridor.

"I need to get in there!"

"I'm sorry, Madam, but you can't visit someone in intensive care without ID!" The nurse was also growing irate.

Considering he had nothing to do and he was a police officer, Lestrade levered himself out of his chair and walked briskly down the corridor. Pulling out his New Scotland Yard ID badge, he approached the two women and spoke gently.

"Excuse me, is there a problem?"

"Yes!" said the taller of the two, her annoyance clear as she turned towards him. She was quite tall for a woman, about 5"9, her blond hair pulled back in a neat French-plait away from her pretty face. "I need to see my husband; he was injured a few days ago." It was then that the police detective noticed she was wearing tan combats. "Please." She begged, more softly this time.

Her distress was obvious, so Lestrade looked at the nurse. "I'll vouch for her and I'll stay with her." It was better than waiting for Sherlock's sedatives to wear off, and this way he could give someone some happiness. "What room is your husband in?"

"307."

Lestrade frowned, that was the room Sherlock was in. "I'm sorry, but you must be mistaken."

The lady shook her head and pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket. "No, it definitely says 307 here."

Lestrade was confused. "I know the man in that room and he's not married."

"What's his name?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"Please, just his first name."

"Fine. He's called Sherlock." Thinking this would reveal the woman's mistake, Lestrade was shocked to see recognition in the woman's face. "How do you know him?"

"For God's sake! We're married! How many times will I have to say that?"

"I'm sorry Mrs..."

"Jamie Watson-Holmes. Now, can I see Sherlock?"
"Umm, I don't see why not." Leading Jamie back to his fellow officers, he heard her choke back a sob as she caught a glimpse of Sherlock through the glass of the door. Sally stood up when he approached.

"Who's this, sir?"

"Well, umm, this is Mrs Holmes. Mrs Holmes, this is Sergeant Donovan."

"What! The Freak got himself a wife!?" Sally's disbelief was obvious as she turned to speak to Mrs Holmes. "Where have you been then, he's been here for three days? Hate him that much, 'Mrs Holmes'?"

"I'm half-way through my second tour of Afghanistan. I was only authorised leave yesterday and have been travelling since then," said Jamie, eyes flashing, her voice dangerously soft. "And it's Captain Jamie Watson-Holmes MD, thank you very much. Now, can I see my husband?"

Without waiting for an answer she pushed past the officers. Just before she reached the door she turned back to Donovan and the venom in her voice was clear, every word laced with a threat.

"Oh, and Sergeant Donovan, if you ever call Sherlock a freak or try totell me I don't love him again, I will hit you, and I have black belts in judo and karate, plus army training to draw on. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Sally's quick temper was riled and she drew herself up, no doubt to deliver a torrent of exactly what she thought of the Captain, when they were interrupted by a weak voice from the room's occupant.

"Jamie?"

"Oh my God, Sherlock!" Jamie rushed into the room but slowed down as she reached the bed. Sitting down on the bed-side chair, she took his hand gently and asked him,

"Do you need anything? Water?"

"Water would be good, thank you." Sherlock's voice was stronger now, the rest having refreshed him. Jamie looked around and grabbed the cup of water on the bedside table and helped her husband sit up, pressing the cup to his parched lips. It was an oddly touching scene-Jamie helping Sherlock and the man actually accepting assistance. In all the time Lestrade had known the man he hadn't accepted help from anyone, not even in his rehab stages.

Now that he'd had a drink, Sherlock turned his attention to Jamie.

"Come here," he said affectionately, pulling on Jamie's hand until she was seated on the edge of his bed. "Thank you for coming. I missed you."

"I missed you too," assured Jamie, leaning in and kissing him, one hand cupping his face. Her husband snaked an arm around her waist and deepened the kiss. It was a few minutes later that Jamie broke away, and Sherlock pouted. He pulled her back down for another kiss but was slapped lightly on the shoulder.

"No," laughed Jamie. "You've only just woken up and I know you. We'd end up breaking several public decency laws and there are several police officers outside."

A quick glance from the man recognized them. "Oh, you've met Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson then."

"Didn't know Anderson's name but yes, I've met them."

Sherlock chuckled, "I heard your 'meeting' with Donovan."

"Well you know how much I hate that word," Mrs Holmes said, her brow creasing as she frowned gently.

Sherlock looked at her like she was the only thing on earth, his face full of disbelief at the fact that this wonderful woman was his. "God, I love you."

Donovan's strangled gasp at the sociopath uttering such a declaration didn't drown out the reply from Jamie.

"I love you too, my awful, rude genius."