Chapter Text
Sherlock groggily lifted a hand to his eyes and examined the color. Midnight blue. Tired. Made sense - after all, he’d been shot. There was a sudden movement as a red hand caught his own. His eyes followed the red hand to the sleeve of a jumper, and the sleeve of a jumper along an arm along a shoulder to a red neck, and then his eyes slowly fell upon a red face, looking into terribly familiar blue eyes.
“You lied,” he said, his voice soft and irritated. Sherlock’s brain scrambled to remember what John’s red skin meant. Not furious, he decided. It meant a softer emotion, thankfully - something that was between somewhat irritated and actually angry. Swirls of something else, Sherlock noted now. A purple relief.
“I do have a tendency to do that, I suppose,” he said softly, his voice hoarse from disuse and smoking. He couldn’t bring himself to try and tug his hand away.
“You’ve got Mood Skin,” he pointed out as well, entwining his fingers with Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s eyes moved to focus on them.
“Such a complete coverage is a recent development,” he admitted.
“How recent? What did it used to be like?” John demanded.
“Three years ago. A ring.”
“Around your heart?”
Sherlock looked down at his own chest and then toward the window, disentangling his hand from John’s.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“I love you, too, you big git,” John grumbled. Sherlock’s eyes widened and he looked back, only to see a shock-blanket orange covering John’s cheeks like a blush.
Sherlock reached up to grip John’s collar. John’s eyes widened.
Sherlock leaned up and John was pulled down and then their lips met. Near instantly, both of them were entirely shock-blanket orange, and neither of them could bring themselves to think, just this once, of how people might talk.