Epilogue

It had been nine weeks since that terrible day. Nine weeks of pain and embarrassment; nine weeks of pushing himself though a physio regime that seemed to have been developed by a sadist. Nine weeks of self-pity that only grew worse as he was forced to watch his friend haring off on another case while he was stuck in the flat.

But it finally was over. Today was the first day that Sherlock had allowed John to attend a crime scene. The doctor was finally rid of the walking boot; his fracture was fully healed and his ankle was able to support his weight. The cast on his arm had come off weeks ago and his shoulder was back to normal … well, as normal as it would ever be, considering the bullet wound.

In fact, the only indication that John was not up to snuff was the fact that he was still using the frankly gorgeous walking stick that Greg had gifted to him all those weeks earlier. The ACL tear in John's right knee was healing, albeit rather slowly, and he still required some support when walking. But John wasn't complaining; in fact, he thought he looked rather dapper carrying the stick!

Walking stick and all, John was enjoying this perfect day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping in the trees, there was a body splayed across the grass, and after far too long he was finally assisting at a crime scene. John was so happy to be there that he was sporting a grin to rival the Cheshire cat and was bouncing lightly on his toes.

Lestrade was standing with John at the edge of a patch of grass, the two of them watching Sherlock flit around in front of them, his eyes taking in everything, his hands quickly depositing various things into evidence bags and his voice rising and falling as he spouted his observations aloud. Noticing the not-so-subtle movement from his companion, Greg watched John for a couple of seconds before saying, very seriously, "Oi, this is a crime scene you know. I don't think grinning is quite appropriate, do you?"

Embarrassed at being caught, John tried to compose himself as he turned to Greg to apologize. However, the smile and twinkling eyes of the grey-haired man just made John's grin grow even wider. "You're one to talk," he said as he elbowed Greg lightly in the ribs.

"I'm just glad to finally see you out and about, John," said Greg. "It's been a long haul."

"Yeah, it has," said John. He opened his mouth to continue speaking when he was interrupted by Sherlock's soft "Oh!" The Consulting Detective quickly stood, snapped off the latex gloves he was wearing and stuffed them in his pocket. "Lestrade, call Molly and tell her I'm on my way. I need to see the bodies of the first two victims." Sherlock then sped down one of the pathways towards the road, presumably to hail a cab.

With a fond smile on his face, John watched his friend hurry off. Some things would never change. But it was of no matter; John was perfectly capable of getting himself home. He was just turning to say good-bye to Greg when Sherlock suddenly reappeared at his side.

"John, you head back to the flat; there's some on-line research I need you do. Lestrade, see to it that someone gives John a lift home. Don't forget to do your physio, John. I'll see you at 6:30 and I'll bring dinner with me. Lestrade, I'm leaving John in your care. Later!" he called as he raced back down the path towards the street and presumably the solution to the case.

John and Greg exchanged smiles. "Give me five minutes, and then I'll give you a lift."

"I'm perfectly capable of getting myself home, you know," said John as he shifted his weight and prepared to set off after his friend.

"I know, but I'd rather like to avoid Sherlock's wrath, if possible!" Gazing down the path where Sherlock had disappeared at a run, Lestrade turned back to his friend and continued, "You were right all along, John."

"Thanks! Right about what?" asked the doctor.

"Sherlock. He's proven himself to be a good man and an even better friend, hasn't he?"

"Yeah; he has," whispered John.

A/N: And so we come to the end of a story that I've been wanting to write for almost two years now. I often read stories where John is hurt and Sherlock is either (a) the most useless caregiver or (b) so focused on the medical side of things that he forgets the human side. I wanted to write a story where Sherlock shows his caring side and proves to everyone around him that he is a good friend to John. I hope I've succeeded. Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed and marked this story as a 'favourite' - I truly appreciate it!

Finally, in case you were wondering, the title for this story comes from the song "You've Got a Friend" by James Taylor:

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you've got to do is call
And I'll be there, yes I will.
You've got a friend