Work Text:
It was odd the things you noticed when you were bleeding out, or when someone you (absolutely didn't) care about was. What Sherlock noticed as John worked to stop Lestrade bleeding to death on a London street after a drive by shooting was the way John had lain out his tools, the same ones in the same order with the same spacing between them, all the same way up and round as he did when he took them out at home to stitch Sherlock or on one horrible occasion Mrs Hudson.
Always the same regardless of the circumstances, and they always went back into the roll at home or John's coat if they were out, in the same sequence and into the same space or pocket. It was a small thing, but Sherlock had built a career on observing small things, observing and wondering about small things. So when the ambulance had come and gone with Greg and John he picked up John's coat and the used tools as John had instructed over his shoulder as he scrambled into the ambulance with Greg and set off for St Thomas A&E wondering.
He arrived at the hospital to find he was expected, John had gone into theater with Greg the overworked staff grateful of extra qualified medical help. So he spent the wait restocking John's coat, carefully packing the wrong instrument into the wrong pocket achieving a perfect balance so that neither side weighed more than the other. That done he waited, reviewing the details of the case that had found him. He fired off a few texts and then thought some more, and then suddenly John was there in front of him smiling. Sherlock returned the smile and stood offering John the coat, John took the offered garment and frowned hefting it slightly.
"You've packed it wrong." John said softly head cocked to one side looking puzzled.
Sherlock smiled and thought to himself, question answered, theory proved.