Sherlock gets his wish for about ten minutes - there are patients to see, even if the condition of them is not nearly so troublesome as what's to come. John sees him, but for the sake of professionalism and other such appearances, he ignores the man while he does his rounds. He doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger, after all, he just looks watchful. Expectant, perhaps.

To be honest, he's a bit surprised. For the first month he arrived, he could almost count on seeing the detective bumming around the medbay, looking generally disdainful and picking at things he wasn't supposed to. As time went on, the work racked up, and Sherlock found other things and people to take his attention instead. John didn't blame him. He hated it, but he didn't blame him for it.

And this one isn't technically his Sherlock - John rather hates thinking of it in such words, like the man is some possession when he's not - but, like Holmes, he's someone familiar all the same. It is Sherlock, just not quite the man he knows. Used to know. Remembers, mostly.

And while he's busy, he's got no plans to ignore his visitor forever. John's curiosity is a weakness, always has been, and no one piques it quite so readily as Sherlock. Because Sherlock isn't here just to be, nothing so soft as sentiment - he'll have another excuse at the ready. Boredom is a possibility, but rather unlikely, considering the environment and how long this one's been here. John's rather curious about what it is... even if it's possibly something that's going to upset him. Something about this one has always read as a bit... off, to him. John's not able to put his finger on it, but it's there.

Soon enough, he's promising a patient he'll be back to check up on them later and breaking off from the beds, approaching the detective. When he gets close enough to get a good look at him, he's almost sorry he made the man wait. Oh. This is an Actual Issue, isn't it?

"Hello yourself," John's eyes do narrow, and drop over the younger man appraisingly. His arms fold over his chest and the next breath comes, sighing, through his nose. The other doesn't look good, but it's something John attributes to withdrawal. It's the third one he's seen out of the technically same man, and the look is almost identical. "Office or bed?"

"I'd rather avoid the temptation," Whether he meant sleeping or having Sherlock make himself comfortable... was up in the air, actually. He'd slept more in the past few days, but there were still echoes of gray beneath the doctor's eyes. He eyed the other when he stood, but turned toward his office. He kept Sherlock in his peripherals, unwilling to touch unless the man seemed ready to fall. The room in question wasn't all that far, perhaps somewhere between twenty to thirty meters, past equipment and patient beds.

"Depends how much you've figured out, I suppose. Six months in four days? ...Guess I couldn't put it past you."