They stayed like that for a while, the second time he'd done that, once when remembering, and now when sharing.

"I hate finger painting," Sherlock admitted eventually.

"Yeah?" John asked.

"I didn't like getting dirty. Or sticky."

John laughed at that.

"And painting."

"Oh yeah?" John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock nodded. "It's all... subjective. Creativity and..." he waved his hands about.

"Right. I know exactly what you're saying."

Sherlock glanced at him. "Really."

John nodded. "It's not something that you can quantify and perfect. And you're bad at it."

"No I'm not. How would you know?"

John smirked. "Just a guess."

Sherlock scowled and shied away from John.

"Well you are a dreadful singer."

John paled. Sherlock briefly wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"You heard that?" he whispered.

Sherlock examined his cast, picking at the edge of the padding.

"Umm... yes."

John swatted his hand away.

"Stop picking at it. You seemed to like it though. Every time I sang your heart rate lowered and the EEG calmed down."

Sherlock pulled away from John's prying hands and stuck his tongue out.

"Well, I was in a coma at the time, so it's hardly my fault. When does it come off?" he whined as he tried to reach an itch.

"Never if you keep doing that," John said pointedly as Sherlock tried to get his other hand up it to scratch.

Sherlock scowled. "I'll take it off on my own."

"No. You won't," John replied forcefully.

Sherlock stared him down. John was stubborn, but so was he.

However, when it came to medical things involving Sherlock's health, John always seemed to prevail.

"What if it gets wet?" he countered.

"Water proof," John smirked.

Damn. Not going to win this one.

"John," he announced. "Fetch the markers."

John raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Sherlock scowled. "I wouldn't have said it if I was kidding."

"Right," John muttered, heading to his desk to dig through drawers. "Permanent?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded.

"Colours?"

"All of them."

John returned with a fistful of markers, Sherlock's cast just waiting to be decorated.

"I knew the white would come in handy," Sherlock declared.

John scoffed. "Please. You were comatose when they chose the colour."

Sherlock dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"What are we drawing?"

"Everything," he declared. "Chemical formulas, molecules, things from cases, umbrellas, jam, cake to taunt Mycroft, mobile phones, lab equipment..." he shrugged. "The usual stuff."

John laughed. "Right. I don't even want to know what the unusual stuff is."

Sherlock grinned mischievously. "No. You really don't."

John began with a green and blue, eventually ending up with an earth, adding a sun.

"This way you'll know the earth revolves around the sun," he said, pointing to the little arrows he'd drawn.

Sherlock scowled.

"And what have you drawn?"

Sherlock pointed to a tiny rabbit with glow lines, a little pink mobile next to a pink case, and a remarkably accurate picture of Mycroft with his umbrella, except that he looked about 50 lbs heavier than he was in real life.

"That's... um... good."

Sherlock laughed. "I can't wait until he comes over to intrude. Draw a cake next to him."

Grinning, John obeyed.

Sherlock etched a scarf that went all the way around his wrist and moved on to chemical formulas and molecules. There was no need for John to know what molecules they were. It would be his little secret. And if he was humming while he drew? Hardly on purpose.

Sherlock went to bed that night pleased with the artwork. He didn't even try to remove the cast for a whole week. And that was progress.

They both knew it would be a long recovery, one not at all helped by Sherlock's stubbornness and his inability to admit anything was wrong, but they'd get there.

Eventually.