![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Work Text:
Tachibana Wato opened her eyes to a clean white room and beeping. Hospital. Her head swam. What had happened? Another explosion? In Syria or in Tokyo?
On the bedside table was a plastic-covered plate of apples, cut and half-peeled into bunny shapes. Wato smiled woozily. No one had made usagi ringo for her in ages, not since she was a child recovering from a high fever.
Briefly she wondered if the apples were Sherlock's doing, but no, no. It was unimaginable.
Sherlock. What's happened to Sherlock? Wato tried to sit up but her neck and head insisted she stop immediately.
A faint feminine groan came from across the room.
Wato looked over as best she could, in time to see the pile of tan fabric in a stiff-backed chair erupt with arms, legs, and a head that didn't dare be tousled unintentionally. Mighty stretching occurred, as gracefully artless as a pampered cat in the sun.
"Sherlock," Wato said, relieved, voice quieter and raspier than she'd intended.
"Ah!" Sherlock unfolded rapidly from the chair before stepping into her shoes and going to Wato's bedside, pulling the chair behind her.
Wato looked her friend over but she didn't see any injuries. Still... "Are you okay?"
Sherlock flapped a hand dismissively. "Fine, fine, entirely well," she said, peeling back the plastic cover on the plate of usagi ringo, spearing a piece, and holding it out to Wato.
Wato blinked at it a moment before accepting. "Thank you." She bit into the apple. The tart-sweetness of the apple's white flesh was cool and refreshing, chased with a hint of bitterness from the crisp red skin.
Sherlock smiled. "Now," she speared a piece for herself as well, settling into the chair. "Tell me everything."
-.-
(that's it)